I love swimming. When I was much younger, we had a pool in the backyard. I practically lived in it all summer long. I even invented my own unique way of swimming, I called it the Froggie because I would kick my legs out like a frog. Imagine my disappointment years later when I learned that the “Froggie” was actually called the Breaststroke, and I hadn’t invented it at all. *S*
We moved when I entered 6th grade, but the new neighborhood had a community pool & membership was one of the neighborhood perks. Throughout middle school and high school I swam on the community team in the summer. I was ok, it was hard to compete against kids who were swimming year round in the public school system, but I managed to have fun anyway.
I’ll never forget the year I came in 7th place in Divisionals for my 50 meter breaststroke. To me, it might as well have been first place. It meant that I was the 7th fastest kid in the biggest age group (15-18) in the whole division. I missed out on Regionals by just a fraction of a second, but I didn’t DQ, and I gave it my best against kids who had way more practice time. Awesome.
So why this trip down memory lane?
This past week, my kids started swim lessons. The smell of the cholrine water takes me back. The lane ropes beckon. Oh how I long to slice through the water. Yes, I’m sure my old swim coach would find this highly ironic, but… I actually want to swim laps.