I have started swimming backstroke voluntarily. For years, I have avoided this stroke out of fear of ramming my head into the concrete pool wall. I remained convinced, however, that if I ever did overcome my fear of cranial injury, the stroke would otherwise be pretty easy. After all, it’s basically upside-down freestyle, with the added bonus that my mouth would be out of the water the whole time, allowing unlimited breathing. As it turns out, I could not have been wronger about backstroke.
I found this out when I decided to sign up for a “Masters Swim Team” at our local Y (the name of which has recently changed from the delightfully descriptive “Towson YMCA” to the impenatrable “Orokawa YMCA”).The name of the class sounds like it’s an actual competitive team for extra-talented swimmers. It’s really just swim practice for old people. It was advertised as a swim-team-like workout for people aged 18 - 99, taking place at 6:30 a.m. As a fairly fit recreational swimmer, I was a little worried that it would be lame. I showed up the first morning with my day-at-the-beach tankini, wearing a swim cap that compressed my forehead into extra wrinkles. Clearly, the cap was not designed with after-40 beauty in mind. I do like swim caps, though; they make me feel like my head is floating. The next person to arrive was a very young woman in a very competitive looking red swimsuit. She told me she was 22, a professional dancer, and had been on the swim team at this very Y, just a few years ago when she was in high school. Then another young woman entered, and she said that she had just started swimming. That made me feel better. Other students came in, a few of whom seemed to be more my age, then the “coach,” Ryan. He was definitely young enough to be my son. And I wouldn’t have been a teenaged mom, either.
The workout was far from lame. When I swim for exercise, I am usually the fastest swimmer in the pool. This is largely because I usually swim at the time when the octogenarians show up. I was not the fastest swimmer in the class. I also had trouble converting yard to laps in my head, and could never figure out whether I had swum far enough. I watched the real swimmer in the red suit for cues, only she was always a few laps ahead of me. Then, about halfway through the workout, Ryan suggested that we do an I.M. Having been a swim parent for a few summers (and an enthusiastic fan of the summer Olympics), I know what an I.M. is. For anyone who doesn’t, it is an Individual Medley (of strokes), including backstroke, breaststroke, butterfly, and freestyle. I figured my only problems would be 1. Bumping my head; and 2. Butterfly. I made myself into one of those whining students who flaps her hand in the air and says,
“But teacher, teacher, what if I don’t know how to swim butterfly?”
Ryan was patient: “You can just swim freestyle,” he assured me. After a moment’s thought, “Or I can teach you if you want.”
Hmmm. Do I want to learn butterfly? I think I have mentioned before in this blog that, as an independent adult, I can protect myself from having to do anything I don’t know how to do. I don’t have to learn things like a new swimming stroke. And really, why should I? In the course of my life, I’ve learned to read and I’ve learned to walk. I’ve leaned the Nicene Creed, how to bake bread, and how to multiply polynomials. I’ve learned how to play the guitar, speak French, and find my way through an airport. The chances that I will need this most difficult stroke are infinitesimal. The chances that I will ever be proficient at it are smaller. But, well,
“Yeah,” I find myself saying. “I’ve always wanted to learn butterfly.”
Which is why I could be seen foundering gracelessly across the pool, arms and legs flapping wildly. I went home and watched several youtube videos on the stroke in an effort to improve. I still look ridiculous -- and I don’t look like I am swimming anything resembling the same stroke made famous by Michael Phelps -- but I think it must burn a lot of calories, so I persevere.
Butterfly, however, was not my only problem. It turns out that backstroke is really hard. I was so busy trying not to swallow water while keeping my arms close to my head and my chin up that I lost track of where I was and . . . bumped my head on the side of the pool. It didn’t actually hurt that badly. What did hurt was my shoulders and quads the next day. Apparently, in addition to being much more respirationally challenging than I had imagined, backstroke requires some muscle groups that are rarely used, in my body, anyway. I decided that this was a good thing, apologized in advance to my lane partner for my inevitable swerves into her lane, and swam backstroke with a will -- even choosing it sometimes for those laps variously termed “choice” or “stroke.”
I have found out that not only do my backstroke and butterfly lack finesse, but my freestyle, of which I have always been proud, stinks, too, from a technical standpoint. Also I do breaststroke wrong and my flip turns are too close to the wall. Nonetheless, the class is the highlight of my week. Sometimes I feel foolish taking instruction from someone less than half my age, but I think being willing to learn something new is actually the opposite of foolish. And the exercise-induced endorphin buzz from my new tricks is worth every humbling lap.
