Hello, and welcome to my blog.
Today, I went back to school; Swimming school, to be precise.
I have decided that I want to have swimming lessons – not because I cannot swim; quite the opposite. Well, not exactly the opposite, because the opposite of me not being able to swim, is me being SO good at swimming, it would be as if the Man from Atlantis, and Michael Phelps had a ménage-a-trois with Flipper, and I was their streamlined bastard offspring. Sadly, this is not the case. I can swim, but my technique is poor. Don’t forget, that I was taught swimming when I was at school in the late seventies and early eighties, when I was literally thrown into the pool and forced to swim by my teacher. This was in the days when “Abuse” was pronounced “Character Building”.
But a desire to thrash about less as I move through the water was just one of the reasons for my resumption of aquatic academic activities. The other reasons were:
- To be more confident in the water, and especially when out of my depth.
- A recognition that I do not exercise anywhere near enough, am therefore overweight, and subsequently parts of me are now living in the shadow of my waistline – and as we all know, nothing grows in the shade.
So, at 11am this morning I started my first swimming lesson in about 38 years. I’m pleased to say that teaching methods have moved on considerably since the 70’s/80’s, as I could make my own way into the pool rather than be pushed in with a broom, which was then used to poke me as I attempted to swim. I was the only one in my class today. My teacher did consider putting me with a class of seven-year olds who were at the deep end of the pool, but then had doubts whether I would be able to keep up with them. Erring on the side of caution, I was directed to the shallow end where I had my lesson.
My lesson started with me swimming four widths in the swimming styles I knew. These were: Front Crawl, backstroke, and breast-stroke. My teacher watched me swim my three and a half widths (I am 47 you know), before I floundered breathlessly to the side of the pool, and she told me how appalling my technique was. I smiled inanely at her – which is my standard response to criticism of my technique – and then she began to teach me how to swim. She was very good in fact. She went through the mechanics, and I practised my body position, and using my body in a way which would help to improve my swimming, rather than my current technique of being rubbish. I did get to practise with some floats – but they didn’t have any armbands big enough for me.
My lesson was only 30 minutes long, but by the end, I had already made some improvements. Although, it was hard to remember all new information; body position, full leg kicking, using my hips, stretching out, head down, turn my head to breathe. For most of the latter stages of the lesson, I managed one or two of these things. At one point, I was concentrating so much on trying to remember as much as possible that when I did remember to turn my head to the side to breath, I forgot to take a breath in – and then very quickly spluttered to a complete stop. But still, it was an enjoyable lesson.
And my body knows about it – my thighs and my shoulders, and my stomach muscles all ache for being called into action after effectively retiring 12 years ago when I stopped playing football. But I feel good – I’m pleased I have done this, and am looking forward to getting fitter, healthier, and more confident.
I’ll keep you informed of progress.
(Obviously, if there is not update next week – I drowned)
W Is For Duck 