Learning to swim as an adult gave me the courage to try new things and the wisdom to realize my true potential.
As a travel writer, I've been all over the world, even flying to countries the US State Department advises against visiting. But the most terrifying experience of my life took place not in a remote airport in a country ending with "–stan," but on a serene lake in Canada more than 20 years ago. It was the last night of a 10-day high school canoe trip, and as part of an initiation ceremony, our chaperone threw me into the lake. I wasn't in there for more than 10 seconds, but because I didn't know how to swim, it was a paralyzing moment that sealed my fear of water for decades to come.
That trip was a departure for me, as my mother had steered me away from athletic pursuits after our family doctor told her I was born with weak bones. As a result, I avoided sports at all costs and embraced my schoolwork and the arts, studying piano for 10 years and regularly attending symphony and ballet performances. I was the "smart girl," a label that felt safe and easy.
Which is why, even though I'd visited Mexico, the Caribbean, and other destinations that revolved around water, I'd never waded in past my waist. Despite my understanding that bodies are buoyant in salt water, I didn't trust Mother Nature or myself enough to take the plunge. Anything could happen—I could get swept under by a rogue current, for example—so why risk it?
While others frolicked in the crystal-blue ocean, I'd read a book in a lounge chair or take a walk along the shore. That all changed six years ago during a trip to the Parrot Cay resort in the Turks and Caicos. It was a perfectly timed escape, as I was suffering the after-effects of a nine-year relationship gone bust. Past the denial and sadness phases, I was just starting to deal with my rage. I believe it was the anger I directed at myself—both for staying in a relationship longer than I should have and for not having the guts to snorkel with my peers—that propelled me to sign up for swimming lessons upon my return to New York City. As luck would have it, I lived a few blocks from Chelsea Piers, a sports complex with a beautiful six-lane pool.
Immersion therapy
I was nervous (not to mention humbled) during my first lesson. Fortunately, my instructor, a guy whose usual gig was teaching kids at a YMCA, had a gentle, patient demeanor that quickly put me at ease. Over the course of six years and a total of three teachers, I went from barely being able to float to swimming all strokes, from freestyle to butterfly. In addition to taking a private lesson each week, I'd hit the pool by myself twice weekly for a swim team–type workout that included a warm-up, a sprint, and long-distance sets, as well as resistance training using paddles. While others might have used this time to sort out problems, I didn't. Ever the conscientious student, I focused solely on the task at hand, concentrating on my breathing, my form, and the clock.
My discipline and dedication paid off in spades. I no longer have chronic back pain, and my upper body has developed a tone I love. Perhaps best of all, confronting my lifelong fear gave me the confidence to try other feats I would never have considered before. I've snow-mobiled in Yellowstone, dog-sledded in Alaska, and swam with sea lions in Baja. At the age of 39, I enrolled in gymnastics classes and learned to somersault, hoping it would help my flip turn (I'm still working on that!). And last year, for my 40th birthday, I took a solo trip to Africa to climb Mount Kilimanjaro. I was always identified as smart rather than athletic; now I know I'm both.
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