To Swim or Not to Swim: An Anxious Girl’s Guide

I’ve wanted to swim in open water for awhile now. I remember telling G, his father, my father, his mother, my mother, even his cousins, basically whoever would listen to me that I took an adult swimming class once and how it was amazing, although I'm pretty sure I only went to like four of the classes, but that's our little secret. To my credit I took the classes in the dead of winter and the pool was not heated, although it was indoors. Of course, the more wine I drank the more adamant I became about how much I learned from said classes (all four of them), even when the conversation had moved on to other better topics, like what city in Mexico has the best tacos, the consensus is Mexico City although I’m sure it’s divided in some circles, I would circle back to my swimming skills. How to be efficient in the water is less about your arms and legs, I would say, an excited flush forming on my cheeks. It’s more about the tilt of your torso. Look at the dolphins and how they swim, I would continue, ignoring the glaze that had already formed over the person who, unfortunately for them, made the mistake of speaking to me in English once, signaling their forced best friendship status. I ignored the glazed over look, the side eye that was signaling someone, anyone to please carry this chatty girl away and take her swimming knowledge with her, please.

Yesterday, I once again found myself regurgitating past swimming stories. After a glass or two of wine I heard myself promise the room that I was going to swim in the ocean tomorrow. I can do it, I said. Will be so fun, I said next. And I did mean it at the time; I even brought my fitness swimsuit, matching blue cap and goggles from home, to prove how serious I was.

The thing about me is I so often like the idea of something; I romanticize it in such a way that I really do want to do the thing, whatever it may be. I think at the time, this is me now; I’m that fit swimmer girl, what a cool, athletic, adventurous person I am.

The morning soon came around, the wine that had been buzzing through my system with its confident promises had long since vanished and left in its wake the promise that I had made. My anxiety went into overdrive after that. What if I step on a too sharp rock, begin to bleed and get attacked by a shark? I remember being told that sting rays had been spotted in this very area; are they dangerous, worse yet lethal? What if there is someone fly fishing and I get caught in their hook? What if I get hit by a wind surfer or a kayak or worst yet a boat full of really attractive people and I’m the drowning whale that they ran into? I was, in a word, spiraling.

Knowing that most of my anxious thinking has no grounds in reality, I decided to push them aside and attempted my first open water swim because I’m a woman, of course, of my word. So, with my parents-in-law watching while enjoying their morning coffee, I embarked on my hard thing for the day or maybe week, depending on how it went.

I at least looked the part, right?

Here was my destination.

There was not a boat in sight or person for that matter, thank goodness for that much. It's all pretty shallow, even when you get past the ridge. But I couldn’t really do a lot of swimming until I made it to the rocks, instead I did a very attractive mixture of using my hands to drag my body along and walking in a crouched position but trying to look cool because…parents in law watching from the beach.

I eventually did make it to the rocks.

And I did start to swim and damn it if it wasn't a lot harder than I had expected it to be. I felt awkward, couldn’t breath, kept thinking that everything that I saw or touched was going to eat or sting me. I’m embarrassed to say that I may have screamed out a few times when something unfamiliar touched my arm or leg. However, I eventually did find a flow. I swam the width of the rocks four times with a goal of not stopping until I reached the other side if not for just one time and I did it. I accomplished what I set for myself on my last lap.

The butterflies celebrated my success.

To put it mildly I felt like I had climbed Mount Everest after I was done, but in all actuality I hadn't even swam a half mile. I was out of breath, but my endorphins told me that I did something great, if only to prove that I could do the hard thing. Here I am emerging from the ocean like the mermaid that I believe to be now (new character, dropped fit swim girl, mermaid is way cooler). Unfortunately, the pictures speak for themself.

And yes, my swimming cap had somehow pulled itself off of my head. How? I will never know.