i could do it. nobody needed to see it.
which is slightly ridiculous considering how much of my life has been spent travelling to beaches, islands and places surrounded by beautiful water.
i’d been in some of the most beautiful water in the world.
usually standing up.
preferably somewhere i could feel the bottom.
so, naturally, instead of getting lessons like a sensible person, i googled how to swim.
then i watched youtube videos.
a lot of youtube videos.
breathing. kicking. where your arms are supposed to go. how not to look like you’re actively fighting the water.
eventually, armed with absolutely no qualifications and the confidence that can only come from watching strangers on the internet do something well, i decided i was ready.
i drove to the pool.
and sat in the car park.
i watched people going in and out. kids running around like the water had never once occurred to them as something to be frightened of. older women swimming slow laps. everyone just getting in the water as though this was a completely normal thing to do.
i sat there for about 40 minutes.
then i drove home.
a few days later, i tried again.
drove there.
parked.
sat.
watched.
left.
same car park. possibly even the same spot.
i didn’t even take my seatbelt off, which really should have told me how committed i was to learning to swim.
the third time, i went inside.
and i swam.
badly.
i tried to remember everything youtube had taught me about breathing and kicking and not drowning. i swallowed half the pool. i stopped at the end of every lap. i was puffed after what felt like seven metres.
but i kept going back.
and eventually, i learned to swim enough that i can now do a few laps.
not beautifully. not quickly. but well enough that years later, i can look back and realise that the hardest part of learning to swim had almost nothing to do with the water.
it was getting out of the bloody car. and not giving into fear. especially to the fear of what people think.