Swim Lessons

Julie Owsik Ackerman

As a girl, I swam with ease, rising through the ranks of the YMCA classes from guppy to minnow to flying fish. After a twenty-five year hiatus, I returned for more swimming lessons last winter, hoping to improve my nascent surfing. At the first class I met the teacher, Edmund, a forty-ish Albanian champion swimmer who resembled a bear in height, girth, and fur, but moved through the water with the ease of an otter.

           

Perhaps Edmund’s exacting standards and limited English had scared off all the other students, because I was his only pupil. Setting aside my discomfort at his intense scrutiny, I obediently swam a half lap of freestyle. When I reached the wall, he said, “You turn head, not body.” He demonstrated the difference for me and I felt that clunk of recognition, like when I hear an accurate critique of my writing. I imitated his motion, turning my whole body to the side to breathe, and immediately felt more comfortable in the water. In thirty seconds, Edmund had diagnosed and fixed the major thing that had kept me from swimming for two decades. Not bad.

Over the course of the next few weeks, he taught me how to stretch as I swam, to position my head to look down and not ahead, to use my whole arm to propel myself forward, not just my hands Sure he laughed after beating me in a race when he used only one arm and one leg. And yes, he looked genuinely impressed that I managed to move in the wrong direction while attempting the backstroke, as if I’d performed some feat of physics. But in the span of a month, I could swim freestyle and breaststroke fairly well.

My backstroke remained unimpressive (okay, abominable.) I continued swimming at the local high school pool, mostly freestyle and breaststroke, throwing in a few laps of backstroke when I had a lane to myself. The laps on my back lasted forever, as I snorted water up my nose, suffering and tense, and determined to keep trying.

Over the summer I happily traded surfing for swimming and when I dove back into the pool this winter, I noticed a shift in my backstroke. I didn’t dread it as much, and after awhile, even looked forward to it. Then last week I came across this advice from Duke Kahanamoku, Hawaiian surf icon and swimming champion: “Relax. Let your muscles be soft. When they tighten up from fear, you are as heavy as a rock and you sink.” I felt another clunk of recognition. During the backstroke, I was so afraid of swallowing water, hitting my head, and looking stupid, no wonder I couldn’t float.

The next day I took Duke’s words into the pool with me, but it took me a few laps to work out how to move forward without full-body tension. Gradually I became aware of which muscles I needed to move, and tried relaxing those I didn’t need at any given moment. With practice my swimming acquired a lightness, and a grace reminiscent of the little girl who splashed circles around her big brothers without even trying. As I floated through the water, I remembered that sometimes what is needed isn’t more effort, but less.