Just keep swimming.

Being a beginner is hard, but so is not chasing your dreams. Even if your dream is to swim laps at the YMCA.

With the Olympics starting this week, I thought it would be appropriate to share about my recent return to the YMCA after a 25-year hiatus. Katie Ledecky, I’m coming for you! But first, I’ll share a quick story about how it feels to be a complete fish out of water.

(Image credit: Thinkstock Images)

About two weeks ago, my partner decided she wanted to get back into swimming and asked if I’d be interested in joining her. I hesitated at first, recalling my swimming struggles as a kid at our local Y, but I ultimately said yes. Before I knew it, we were there and getting our household signed up.

The last time I swam was about two years ago in a pool in Thailand. My partner and I were visiting her family there and took an afternoon swim at our hotel pool. This was the first time she would see me swim, and I felt I had something to prove. She was a very accomplished swimmer in high school, has completed an Iron Man triathlon, and knows her way around a pool. Why was I trying to compete with her? I’m not sure.

We decided to “race” across the length of the pool (she didn’t know I was racing her until reading this) and I was determined to win. We set off, and since I was wearing contacts and had no goggles, I kept my eyes sealed shut and used my sense of direction, which I have none of—even with my eyes open. I swam in what I swore was a straight line. I was ready to shock her by reaching the opposite end of the pool first.

I reached what I thought was the finish line but unfortunately realized it was actually the concrete edge of the pool. I had been swimming on a sharp diagonal, and apparently, my internal compass was very off. I was greeted face-first by the rough surface of the wall and scraped the skin on the tip of my nose. Yes, everyone saw, and no, I wasn’t hurt (physically).

My ego, on the other hand, was instantly shattered, and any skill I had aspired to prove to my partner about how adept I was in the water was completely gone. The Dutch family at the edge of the pool did get a good laugh. I’m always happy to provide a chuckle or two, even if it’s at my own expense.

My experiences prior to this event consisted of splashing around at friends’ houses growing up (a few decades ago) and some swimming classes as a kid at our local Y. I’m familiar with the smell of the chlorine, the wet locker room floors, and the slapping flip-flops. I’m also familiar with the sense of anxiety this creates in me since I failed the YMCA swimming course (specifically the “flying fish” level) several times until I eventually gave up. I decided maybe the pool wasn’t for me.

A flying fish (Image credit: Caroline Reinhart via Getty Images)

However, I’ve always wanted to be the kind of person who swims. I love being in the water and spending time at the beach, and I appreciate the silence that comes with it. No one can email or call you in the pool, and since it’s hard enough to keep my head above water (literally), I don’t have the ability to overthink or ruminate on the everyday chatter that constantly runs through my mind. Instead, I can focus solely on breathing, feeling, and counting.

Many of my clients have mentioned how training gives them the opportunity to “zone out.” I’ve come to understand that people usually mean one of two very different things when they say this. Some people mean that they want to feel more disconnected from their bodies and the demands required of them during exercise. Training can be physically and mentally uncomfortable, and many people would prefer not to be present when feeling this way. On the other hand, some people want to disconnect from the stressors, anxieties, and discomforts of their day-to-day lives, but not from their bodies and physical experiences. They want to create space for themselves to reconnect with how they feel while forgetting anything except their current task at hand. In other words, some people want to tune out, and others want to tune in.

Do you relate to either of these mindsets? For some people, tuning out works. It’s what makes training tolerable and even enjoyable. For others, it makes them dread and fear it. The discomfort feels so overwhelming and anxiety-inducing that it no longer feels worth doing. If this is the case for you, there are things you can do to work through this.

I mentioned my own struggles with this dilemma to a mentor at one point and she suggested going into the feeling rather than running away from it. In other words, she suggested tuning in. This meant sitting with the frustration of not nailing a technique, the discomfort of being out of breath and fatigued, and the panicky feeling that sometimes comes with these physiological changes.

Photo by Andrey Metelev on Unsplash

So, what does this have to do with swimming? Well, I’m an anxious person by nature and do a lot of predicting and observing to understand my surroundings. So when my partner suggested swimming, I was excited, but also a bit afraid. I’ve recently stopped wearing contacts due to some eye pain, which means that I can’t see much beyond two or three feet. While I’m wearing goggles and can now swim in a mostly straight line, I don’t know how pool etiquette works and did fail my childhood YMCA program. However, I decided that if I wanted to swim, there would have to be some amount of going “into it.” Just not into the wall this time.

I know this is what my clients feel all of the time. Entering a gym is overwhelming and intimidating. I own one, and I still feel that way when I’m visiting a new gym myself. It’s uncomfortable not to know the rules and order of things. It’s uncomfortable being the slowest one. It’s also uncomfortable to ask the lifeguard (who you can’t see without squinting) which direction the circle-swim goes in. But it’s also your first day, or first month, or first year. And as I remind our students constantly, everyone starts somewhere. Even the Olympians swimming right now. They, too, had a first day. What matters is the willingness to be a beginner. Because the minute you’re no longer a beginner, it’s time to move to a faster lane.