The Suit Makes the Swimmer

The narrative to which you are currently privy is one fraught with personal horror the likes of which I hope never to experience again. On my word, I have tried to dispel the memory of that day by securing it tightly in the deepest vault of my mind, monikerless, as if to deny a handle with which to pull it from the catacombs. Alas, my efforts have been in vain; it is my hope that the mere action of chronicling the incident for you will allow it to fade away in the brightness of day as the darkness of burial has not yet proven effective.

Sorry… I’ve been reading a lot of Sherlock Holmes these days, I got caught up in the style. Nonetheless, I do have a story to tell, a sort of ‘day in the life…’ if you will. Pray, bestow upon me the gift of your time and I shall reward you with a window view into a day that shall live on in infamy.

Ok, honest… that’s the last time, I’ll get into my story…

My day started like most days off, coffee, emails, a quick peak at the YMCA pool schedule... You see, the thing most people don’t know is… if you can’t hit the water before 5:30am the next best time is 10 minutes after water aerobics start. It’s almost a given that there will be empty swim lanes during water aerobics sessions because, frankly nobody wants to listen to that… that… cacophony while swimming. Aquatics center acoustics are obnoxious under ideal circumstances – throw in an aerobics instructor with older students who can’t wear their hearing aids in the water and well… there’s bound to be open lanes (and a mostly cleared out locker room). But I digress…

With the schedule for the day set, I started fretting about the actual swim. It wasn’t my lack of ability making me nervous although you should know I’m not a great swimmer; I’m self-taught and moderately afraid of the water. I swim for 2 reasons – to keep my fear at bay and because after years of running, my body ain’t havin’ it no more – I had to choose a lower impact routine.

Instead, my anxiety was due to the snorkel in my bag. As a testament to my body’s refusal to cooperate, my neck can no longer handle the repetitive motion of breathing in-stroke; insert snorkel here. Just thinking about using it made me feel like a dipshit – I’m not one to draw attention to myself in any setting, but especially not while in a bathing suit. Suddenly my worry over learning to use a snorkel was stronger than my desire to work out… and then I remembered that I’d bought a new bathing suit at the same time as the snorkel.

When I’d tried on the suit a few days ago it made me feel pretty good about myself. I was able to order a size lower than usual (still too big for my liking but going in the right direction) and the solid black design was as becoming as a bathing suit in that size can be. The new suit was enough to get me moving.

With only 2 changing rooms at the Y and my strict rule of avoiding public nudity, I never gamble... I always dress for my swim at home. That day was no exception. I pulled on the suit, covered it with baggy sweats and headed to the pool.

My timing was perfect! I had the locker room to myself as I did a few dry runs with the snorkel. Then, I grabbed my swim cap, goggles, a towel and the snorkel and headed to the shower. I happened to be having a hot flash at the time, so I turned on the water and stood to the side while rinsing each arm and leg separately. I pulled the swim cap over my hair and walked out to the pool deck.

I was surprised – and very annoyed – to see that every friggin lane was occupied. I am NOT a ‘share a lane’ level swimmer so I looked for a place to sit and bide my time. I spotted a bench at the far end of the pool deck and headed that way – with my snorkel safely hidden in the folds of my towel. With uncharacteristic confidence (thank you new bathing suit) I made eye contact with a number of people and smiled or gave a little finger wave as I strolled across the pool deck.

I got to my spot and started to arrange my gear on the bench. The benches are metal, so I laid out my towel to make my seat more comfortable… out tumbled the snorkel and fell against the wall, under the bench. Try as I might, I could NOT get to it with my foot. After mentally going over every conceivable solution to the snorkel problem I came to the devastating conclusion that I’d have to get on my hands and knees to reach it and my ass would most definitely be up in the air, facing the pool. But it should be quick and nobody would notice… surely… right?

I slid into position as subtly as possible and reached for it… and every time my finger touched the snorkel it moved further away. I was reaching beyond my comfort zone so there was a little bit of… I don’t know… whimpering(?) coming from my chest. I scraped the metal bench against the wall at one point (so much for nobody noticing me) and the sweat dripping into my eyes from under the swim cap forced me to stop and wipe my face. I got back after it and with one final grunt was able to grab the damn snorkel.

I planted myself and the snorkel back on the bench and tried to look invisible while all the confidence drained from my pores. The nervous can’t-reach-my-snorkel sweating was giving way to the nervous I’m-going-to-have-to-use-my-snorkel sweating so when a lane finally opened up, my feet were clammy – damp and sticky all at once. I had to sort of jerk my leg to release my foot from the tile deck and my left pinky toe and its little friend next-door came into violent contact with the metal bench leg. The clang was loud, my inner scream – louder.

In an effort to save even a modicum of dignity, I turned my back to the pool and bent over to grab the bench with one hand and the ill-fated tarsals with the other. My ass, again, up in the air, facing the crowd. I can’t say that I’ve ever determined which side is my most attractive, but I can say with some certainty – I’m sure it ain’t my backside.

Anyway, I usually enter the water step-by-step down the ladder but today I needed to get in quickly and wash away the humiliation and tears. To that end, I moved to the top of the lane, dropped my goggles and the snorkel and jumped in, feet first. I came up for air and could see something stuck to my swim cap. I snatched it off my cap and found myself looking at the white “Keep your underwear on while trying on this garment, remove only after purchase” liner that had undoubtedly come from the crotch of my new bathing suit.

It was all a little too much for me. I did a few laps (no snorkel… my limit for humiliation had been met for the day) and quietly slunk out of the pool when all the other swimmers/aerobicizers seemed preoccupied. I quickly gathered my things, walked from the pool deck with profoundly less confidence than I’d entered with and went straight to the shower.

I stood in the shower, hand against the wall, head resting on my arm… breathing. I didn’t know whether to dive right into a full-blown panic attack or laugh. Finally, I took a deep breath and told myself nothing I’d done was overly humiliating and everybody out there had probably already forgotten it… then I started to take off my bathing suit. I looked down and saw a weird tag-like thing on the side. I was twisted up like a pretzel, trying to read the tag, when it hit me…

The confident strutting across the pool deck, the ass-in-the-air search for the snorkel, the ass-in-the-air grabbing of the toes, the liner coming off when I jumped in the water… I’d been wearing my bathing suit inside-out the entire time. That blazing white liner was on the OUTSIDE of my all-black bathing suit…

And that’s the day I took up at-home yoga.