My husband is trying to teach me to swim this year. I’ve never liked swimming. I think I was traumatized in middle school during swimming lessons with water up my nose and a stolen swim suit. Regardless, I’m determined to test my edges this year, and say yes to the things I’ve most often avoided. Swimming is one of those things.
Yesterday was my 10th visit to the pool with my husband. I was able to swim an entire lap (50 yards) of the American crawl. . . with a buoy between my legs to keep me afloat and allow me to focus on my breathing. My husband, who swam in high school and college, hailed this as progress.
The moment begged to be a poem to document the event.
Scaffolding ~ She began her quest of 1000 yards of the American crawl or front crawl as originated by Ojibwa swimmers named Flying Gull and Tobacco some time in the early 1800's. Tending to her breath arms and legs neglected her body sank like a ship with too much cargo a buoy placed between her thighs supported her to the end You're doing it hon, he cheered. You're actually swimming! Applauding her progress, a beaming smile admired her yet. . . she resisted - shaking her head. It's like cheating, she degraded herself Needing a device to keep me afloat? I should not need this extra help. The yards do not count. They are cheapened. Yes, they do count, he assured her pride I count my yards swimming with buoys and boards. You do? she questioned her All American Swimmer. I didn't know. . . Who do I think I am? her expectations chased away by the sword of the teacher. 8 tons of cargo lifted from her drowning ship. Shari Daniels; draft 2022
I’m taking part in Poetry Friday this year and if you’d like to join us and add your poem, head over to Carol’s site at Literacy Link and join us! Or, you might just like to grab a cup of coffee and enjoy the poems that others have shared there.
Whatever you decide, I hope you are safe and warm today. Take tender care of yourself and those you love.