A few months ago, me and my sister Kelsey decided to join the YMCA. It's nearby, it's affordable, and it has a pool. So, naturally, I dusted off my Target bathing suit and 3-sizes-too-big soccer shorts and jumped in. I quickly discovered, however, that I don't know how to swim. Nor could I learn to do so by watching YouTube videos.
The first time I went, it was with the moral support and audience of Kelsey and Catherine. I doggy paddled, pushed off the wall underwater while pretending to be Ian Thorpe and the pot-smoking-American-Olympian-whose-name-I-can't-think-of-right-now. I tried freestyle a bit, going about 1.5 strokes before choking. The lifeguard, at one point, starting walking toward me to make sure I was OK.
The second time I went I was alone. I tried freestyle again, only to get 1/4 of the way down the half-lap-length-lane before having to flip over and do a back stroke. (To be honest I have no idea if what I'm doing is a true back stroke. I just appreciate having the ability breathe, so I don't care if I look like a moron ... clearly.) This time I caught the life guard actually walking beside my lane as I inched my way down. I was so startled and embarrassed I stopped; Found out she was watching a 6-year-old one lane over do a swim test.
The only ability I seem to have in the pool is producing an inordinate amount of snot and becoming incapacitated by charlie horses. Seriously, I thought I'd had a charlie horse before. FALSE. Now I know. They are a demon from hell ripping its way through your muscles. I couldn't walk for three days. I kid you not. And they always seem to come when I'm in the 8-foot-deep water and the middle lane. My muscles couldn't seize up when I'm in the shallow end next to a ladder. Noooo. That would be too kind.
Michael Phelps! I remembered the pot-smoker's name.