The summer I learned to swim

Y'all. I hesitate to say it, but I think I've learned to swim. No breaststroke, butterfly craziness... just freestyle with the occasional backstroke I'mma-gonna-save-my-life and breathe stuff.

Last April, I looked like this.

Yeah, that was me, in one my earliest attempts to put my head in the water and swim to end of the pool.  I had no reference for how long it took to get to the edge of the pool with fins, and this is what happened. Concrete edge of pool, meet Jennifer. Jennifer, meet concrete edge of pool. Now, let's avoid each other like orange juice with toothpaste, 'k?

My first and only swim lessons took place when I was five. Apart from that, I did NOT live in pools, swim in lakes, frolic in the ocean; and I certainly did not swim on a team. I dipped in some random pool as some teenage social situations necessitated, and I got out. I was never really comfortable in water.

Most of my phobias can be linked to one thread -- claustrophobia. I need to breathe, metaphorically and physically. I don't like covers on my head, being in a small doctor's room with the door shut, or wearing restrictive clothing. I've seen maybe 5 episodes of this television series, but this scene with Carrie in Sex in the City resonates with me a lot. Crazy, crazy head games go on when I feel like I can't breathe. I don't know the root of this phobia, but I do try to over-ride my emotions with my brain. Sometimes it works.

I can get to one end of Barton Springs now, without having to stop. Major change. Can I tell you what a difference five months make? A few months ago, I couldn't go 10 meters without holding on to the side for dear life and breathing like my life was in jeopardy. It honestly felt like it was. I still take what seems like an hour to acclimate to Barton Springs, finally dip my head in its waters, and scope out the journey ahead. And then I go. Ever better, ever onwards. Next week, I hope to go down and back without stopping. 400 bloomin' meters in deep, cold, open water. Hope springs eternal.

I feel like I know God has used my physical journey as a metaphor to teach me about my spiritual journey. I'm thinking He's not picky; He uses any way to get to me. I'd do the same with my kids. The physical is a method used often in the Bible, and there's nothing new there. That he'd use the exercise to reach my previously un-athletic self is the ding-dang absurd thing.

Clearly, irony is one of God's preferred methods. I like that.

I am 42 years old and reporting that I've learned to swim. I feel like Sarah who had Isaac when she was around 90. Okay, maybe it's not B.C. worthy. But if the Bible were written in 2012, I just might have made the cut. :-)

Just keep swimming.  ~Dory from Finding Nemo