Chatting with Mary, our instructor.
The concept of the water doesn’t bother me. I like being on the water in a boat, or playing in the waves at the beach. Kayaking is a lot of fun. I’ve always thought that despite my inability to swim, I was entirely comfortable with the water.
That theory took a blow tonight, as my swimming instructor took us to the deep end of the pool for the first time. My panic was not overt. I didn’t freak out, at least not in a way that the casual observer would see. But I knew it, and Katie knew it. My kicks became short and choppy, my breathing fell apart, and my whole body became tense, just as soon as I saw the pool floor slope away beneath me. Things were fine and dandy, practicing in the shallow end. But as soon as failure (and drowning) became a real possibility, my mind sent all of the classic signs of panic through my body, and the wheels fell off.
Fear is a funny thing. It feeds on itself, magnifying the dangers we face. Like most people in modern, Western society, I spend so much of my life comfortable and unafraid, that when fear does rear its head, I don’t know what to do with it. My immediate reaction is to be fearful of the fear, compounding my problems.
On a mountain bike, when faced with an obstacle you’re not sure of clearing, the solution is most often as simple as pulling two levers with your fingers, and twitching an ankle to unclip. You can stop, eyeball what you’re afraid of, approach it slowly as many times as you like, until you’re comfortable enough to try and clear it.
Kicking just as fast as my little legs will go!
Such options aren’t really available in 9 feet of water. For a moment, as I wobbled and sputtered my way to the far side of the pool for the first time, hands out in front clutching a kick board, the panic reaction nearly overwhelmed me. My body stiffened. I got water in my nose. I forgot entirely what I was supposed to be doing. I just wanted it to be over. I kept at it, kept breathing and kicking. Finally it was over, and I grasped the wall with white knuckles, more shaken at the experience than glad to have done it.
Subsequent attempts were only marginally more successful, in terms of swimming technique. But they were also mildly successful in a more important way: shrinking the monster. Every trip down the lane and back is one more time I didn’t die. One more time I made it under my own power. By the end of the session, I still felt the clutch of panic as the floor dropped away, but at least I knew it was coming, and that meant I could stay a little ahead of it, even at my snail’s pace. Now that I’ve acknowledged the fear, identified it and faced it, I feel that it’s only a matter of time until I beat it.
And for that, I can’t wait until I get back in the pool.