I’m like a fish out of water … when I’m in water
Yesterday at the gym I concluded my workout with a swim for a change and I struggled to complete 20 lengths. As I powered through the last length I felt my knee tweak and emerged from the water breathing heavily. It felt strange to be so fatigued from a modest exercise and to feel that way while still feeling cool and not sweating.
I’ve never been especially proficient in the pool.
Like quite a few of my lesser skills my swimming is entirely self-taught. I learned as a five year old when someone kept pushing me into the deep end of a pool in South Carolina. My minute frame was easily shoved back into the deep waters by a mystery assailant and in terror I managed to manipulate my limbs in such a way that I didn’t drown. I thrashed and flapped and made my way back to the safe shallow end, fear propelling my stringy arms and stick legs into something that resembled swimming. I was pushed back again and again, I think it was at a barbeque or something and one of the adults must have thought drowning a five year old was a bit of a larf.
I suppose I could sympathise with that.
Over time my technique has not become anymore refined.
I still find moving underwater a laborious process, my legs kick and my arms whip through the water with all the grace of … well, a fish out of water. Like the dying salmon it is clear I’m far from my comfort zone. I would imagine there were fish moments from death that looked better than I did.
If my life is ever dependant on me swimming underwater for a period of any longer than 30 seconds I will die. I never would have survived that bit in Alien Resurrection where the survivors swim through a flooded kitchen while being pursued by aliens. It was about the only decent part of an otherwise terrible film and I watched knowing full well I would have suffered the same fate as Hillard. I don’t know if I would have even made it as far as she did. I would have outright refused to have even attempted the swim, which saddens me as I think I’d have a pretty decent survival instinct.
If I had to outrun someone or something I probably could.
On land I’m quick and agile, I can run for hours and my balance and core strength are good but put me in water and I’m plankton. Suddenly all of my physical attributes are nullified to the extent that almost anyone with reasonable technique could out-swim me.
When I was flapping through my 20 lengths I was overtaken by a doughy middle-aged man and almost overtaken again. I saw the other swimmers glide through the water, at least in my mind, like silvery fish. Their smooth strokes contrasted starkly with my own shambling efforts.
I thought about reasons for my aquatic ineptitude.
I thought blaming my long hair and hairy legs for dragging me down but a look at multiple gold medal winner, Mark Spitz, kind of makes a mockery of that excuse. Perhaps if I actually learned a proper technique based upon the advice of a professional and not the efforts of a child fearing death I might be better.
It’s possible that I may improve over time but I’m not going to trouble Michael Phelps anytime soon … or even Eric the Eel.
