Dearest Readers,
When I was a kid growing up in Toronto after we left the wilds of theĀ Yukon my sisters and I would spend a chunk of the summertime takingĀ swimming lessons at the local pool. My mother was pretty good atĀ keeping us active throughout the months of July and August andĀ swimming lessons were just one of the many activities we took part inĀ while on hiatus from school.
We lived in Cabbagetown and the nearest lessons were offered at JarvisĀ Collegiate Institute, which was about a fifteen-minute walk from ourĀ house. My sisters and I later attended high school at Jarvis (though IĀ got kicked out for skipping too many classes –that’s another blog)Ā but as kids it was still just the nearest local pool.
Every day for a portion of the summer we’d walk in the heat of the city to good ol’ JCI where we’d head inside to theĀ airless, windowless pool area. There, shut off from the summer sun, we would learn howĀ to perform and perfect all the strokes (front, back, breast and side), tread water and give mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. We’d learnĀ the flutter kick, the scissor kick and the whip-kick, how to scull and bob and how to pull a body to shore.
It was a heckuvalot of learning and I canāt say it thrilled me to death. I used to dread swimming lessons most days. And yet there were things that I loved. I loved the rescue jump (still do), leaping fast into the water withoutĀ letting the head become submerged.Ā I liked head- and foot-first surface dives and the dead-man’s float. And I liked going to the corner store afterward and buying a popsicle for a dime.
At the end of the summer, we’d get a badge and as the years went by we’d get higher and higher honours, moving from the colours (yellow was pretty beginner, white was getting up there) to the levels (I, II, III etc.) to the Bronze Medallion series. From there you could take more lessons and become a lifeguard. I never made it that far. At some point, I stopped being willing (probably around the same time I got kicked out of school).
This morning I went for a swim in a friendās backyard pool in a West Island suburb of Montreal. I thought to myself, āIāll do 100 laps!ā I ended up doing 50. I may be an overachiever but at least Iāve learned when to quit.
As I swam each lap I was brought back to the swimming lessons Iād taken as a child. When I did the front-crawl I remembered to keep my elbows high. When I did the breast-stroke I remembered the scissor-kick is more economical than the frog kick. It was impossible to swim without these teachings working throughout my body.
When I mentioned this experience to my eldest sister, with whom I walked those hot city blocks a hundred times and with whom I shared a gazillion lessons, she said, āMe too!ā For her, swimming has a meditative quality now because she becomes totally focused on the form. āIām constantly adjusting,ā she said, āMaking the corrections, aligning my body, whatever it is. It takes me to another place.ā
How interesting (but not that surprising) that she and I have the same experience. When we swim as adults we are brought back to the lessons of our childhood.
I suppose thatās what learning is all about!
Inspiring Message of the Day: When I have to learn something new it may not be immediately clear to me how the lesson will inform my experience. The real learning may not happen for many years. I will embrace learning today knowing the pay-off may be a way off š
