Andrew and I joined a gym here a little while ago. We were pretty excited about the fact that they give you towels when you come in, which just goes to show how ghetto we are at heart. Another one of the gym's perks is a free personal training session when you join. You can do the training session on the weights, in the pool, on the Pilates machines (which look like fancy torture devices), or however else you can think of. Since I am no good at swimming, I decided to do my session in the pool.
My thinking went something like, "If I do my training session in the pool maybe I will get some good pointers on how to swim better. Maybe I'll learn how to actually put my face in the water when I freestyle." My brain should have been saying something more along the lines of, "If I do my training session in the pool I will have to wear a bathing suit in front of the whole gym (the pool area is lined by glass walls that face the cafe and entrance area) and my trainer will probably get more than frustrated at having to teach me like a little kid to hold my face under water for more than 2 seconds at a time."
Since my brain doesn't think like it should, I went ahead and scheduled my session with Alex. Since Alex speaks Spanish and French and very little English, I offered to do the session in French. I was actually surprised at how much I understood him, but quite embarrassed at how little I could respond to him. Being able to understand him would have been very encouraging if it weren't for the fact that the next two weeks I kept thinking French whenever I was trying to think Spanish.
At least Alex was patient with me while I tried to swim without hyperventilating. Oh, and did I mention the horrible acne and pink eye I had that day? I still cringe at the thought that I let someone see me that way. For the last 10 minutes of the session the trainers have you lay down and relax while they stretch you out and give you a massage. That would have been nice but it is pretty awkward to have someone push on your leg to stretch your hamstring while you're in your bathing suit in front of strangers. For all the new things I learned and the progress I made with Alex, though, I am now even more aware of what a poor swimmer I am and even more embarrassed to go back and practice. And I still get French in my head.
3 comments:
Did I ever tell you how I used to hyperventilate in the middle of swim meets? It wasn't because it was cold, either. They were always in the summer, and once it was even in an indoor pool. I was not a very good swimmer, but I compensated by also being a very poor sport about it. Although I did get a ribbon the once. It was white, I believe. Could have been red. Sure as hell wasn't blue.
At least they didn't call you an ambulance in front of your whole ward, but no, you never did tell me that. And you did get as far as actually going to meets, much forther than failing a tryout where they accepted everyone, like I did.
Oh, the things I'm learning about my children and their spouses through this modern miracle of blogging!
Love, Dad
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