We came, We Swam, I'm Still Alive

My wife has been a swimmer since she was in grade school. She was on swim teams, won awards—a regular dolphin with legs and a gorgeous face. I know how to swim, and by swim I mean not drown. Generally, lifeguards do not have to worry about my safety unless I decide to swim moments after consuming a disgusting amount of red meat.

I love the water. I'll swim around in a lake, in the ocean, in a pool—whatever. But I have never utilized swimming as a method of improving my physical health. Granted, I haven't done much at all in the way of improving my physical health. As I watch my high score on the scale in my bathroom rise, I have become a bit more motivated to do something to maintain my health at a more respectable level.

The Mrs. has been trying to get me to use swimming as a tool in this quest for as long as I have known her. I had been reluctant for all of the obvious reasons: no shirt in front of people, fear of looking like I'm drowning when really that's just what I look like when I actually try to swim, sinking & chlorine tolerant sharks. Yesterday, I finally agreed to let her introduce me to the wonderful world of fat reducing aquatic activities.

We arrive at the local YMCA and make the treacherous journey through the interesting smells and random naked people in the locker room. I keep my head down and forge ahead, determined not to let my insecurities get the best of me before I even get in the water. Finally, we are standing at the edge of the water. She hands me an old pair of her goggles. I think to myself, these goggles are instantly going to transform me into Michael Phelps, and actually get excited for a moment. The goggles don't fit. I try adjusting them—not gonna happen. I decide to try and use them anyway which resulted in plastic painfully digging into the sides of my nose and goggles filled with water and eventually I just threw them on the side of the pool which then led to some very bloodshot eyes. (Side note: It is not recommended that you chop onions soon after having your eyes burned by chlorine. It is not a good combination. The tacos were good, but not sure it was worth the torture.)

My wife says we are going to start with two lengths down and back and asks if I am ready. Despite the painful goggles, I am ready to go, thinking that it cannot possibly be as difficult as I think it is going to be. I tell her I'm ready. She jumps into the water and pushes off the wall and there she goes. I jump into the water, push off the wall and there I go. Half way down my first length I suck water into my lungs. Not a lot, so I push forward. I cough and sputter for a second and get my breath back. I get to the end of the lane and head back. I'm doing pretty good. Then about half way back it gets harder to breathe. I'm determined not to stop. I get to the wall, push off and head for lap #2.

By the time I reach the far wall I think there is a good chance I won't make it back. This is the end for me. I've had a good life. My wife is already at the other end of the pool waiting for me. I plant my feet on the wall and shove off with everything I have, thinking maybe I can just coast all the way across the pool without putting in anymore effort. I start to sink quickly and so I start to swim again. My arms are on fire. My legs are on fire. My eyes are on fire since my goggles are full of chlorine water. My lungs are on fire because oxygen is important to survival. I contemplate what signal is typically used, outside of screaming, to get a lifeguard's attention. Finally, I reach the wall again. The water, at this wall, is nine feet deep. I grasp the edge of the pool and hold myself up, gasping for breath as if I had just broken the world record for length of time holding my breath.

My wife asks if I am okay, and since I am a guy, I tell her I am fine quickly and then go back to wondering why my lungs aren't filling with air like I want them to. It takes me a good two minutes to gain some level of control over my breathing again.

So now, since I've almost killed myself, you would think I'd learned my lesson. But no, I kept going. By the end of the work out, I had done less than half the work my wife did and she was breathing normally—as if she'd just gone out for a morning stroll. Still, I thought I was done after those first two lengths and I ended up doing going for just over a quarter mile when it was all said and done. It was a reminder that we really can do more than we give ourselves credit for. It may not be effortless and it may be painful, but its possible. That's the moral of this story.

That night, flying high on our achievements and our new healthy lifestyle, my wife and I shared a family sized order of cheese curds from Culver's.

#EARNEDIT