First Twenty-Five in Fifty

The simple email mentioned that the last day of swimming practice would be filled with fun and games and that the parents should wear suits to participate in a family relay. It was, in fact, very innocuous at best. It actually sounded like something I would not mind doing.

I knew only a small amount of the mothers had bodies suitable for the bathing suit competition in Miss U.S.A., so I had no shame in being in the larger percentage that did not. I also knew from conversations that a lot of them could not swim, either. And since they told us we would be wearing weights, I did not mind playing along for the children's sake. Lastly, the children had been told by their coach to make sure all of their parents remembered their suits, so there was little wiggle room for getting out of it, anyway.  Surely, I could participate where the parents had to run across with anklets while the children swam.

The morning of the big event, I awoke at 6:30a.m. as usual, threw on my shorts and a tank top, and headed out to walk my dog. I opened the front door and I was immediately assaulted by a burst of cold air.  The temperature had dropped 30 degrees. Instead of the 95 degree days we had been experiancing for the entire swimming season, the thermometer read sixty-four. Talk about an omen.

I quickly ran upstairs and threw on my sweats, and I do mean long pants and a jacket. This was going to be a probelm. If I couldn't even walk the dog without being bundled up, how was I supposed to strip down to a tiny swimsuit and then get into an unheated pool? It was just not going to happen. I was also sure that the children would not be forced to endure this. I hurried to check my email for the cancellation notice. 

There was none. 

That's when a tiny little voice in the back of my head reminded me of the rules: "They will swim every day rain or shine unless we hear thunder or see lightening." The rules book never mentioned temperature. And as much I was wanting to find a big black cloud off in the distance, I saw only a clear blue sky. We would be swimming. 

"Parents who are swimming, line up behind your child!" the voice commanded.

I moved to the other side of the pool and slowly began to realize something, First of all, there were very few participating parents... and secondly, most of them were men. I overheard one dad telling another how he thought it odd that his wife asked him to bring her today and then added "be sure to pack your swimsuit."

That is when it hit me, the other moms knew what was involved and had gotten out of it. The two men laughed at his joke, but they may as well have been laughing at me. I secretly cursed the fact that my husband was out of town. But I knew he could not have taken off anyway.

Next, I heard the coach announce jokingly, that the kids had voted for parents to do the breast stroke. Oh my gosh, I am actually supposed to really swim. And any stroke for me to attempt was going to be a joke. I told my son, I thought it was a mistake for me to be there and that I did not belong because I am not a real swimmer. But he looked at me and said "Uh-uh! You going in!"

Had he not noticed, I only play with him in the 4 feet, and  he has never seen me swim the length of a pool. In fact, he had to talk me into going down the waterslide for the first time last year. Somehow I feel as though those little facts escaped him. Unfortunately, he would have been heartbroken if I backed out of it now. (I know because I tried.)

I looked around again and noticed that the two other lady swimmers that I did see were wearing competition style speedo suits. The boring one piece suits that are ugly but extremely functional. I was in a two piece halter just waiting for my boobs to pop out. 

Just then my chest tightened and my breathing became very shallow. I  looked down into my proud son's face who was beaming and hugging and hanging off of me because he was so happy to have his mother one of the few participating. The was no escape. 

The whistle blew and the children swam the first leg, donning what I found out were the weights -- t-shirts that we would have to peel off of them and then place on our cold dry bodies before taking the next leg of the race.

As I fought to get into the twisted wet mess, I saw the two men on either side of me dive in like Michael Phelps. I, then, sat down shamelessly on the edge, slid into the water and proceeded to do the worst version of freestyle anyone had ever seen.

Everything I ever chastised my son for doing, was done, including keeping my head above the water. I stopped three or four times. I finally gave up on the stroke and did some crazy under water streamline the last 1/4 of the way. I stopped short of the wall because I was out of air and I couldn't find the energy to do one more stroke. It brought back images of my son struggling and stopping just shy of the wall while I screamed, "Keep going, you got to touch the wall!" Now I know what he was feeling.

As I mustered the last bit of strength to come up and lunge for it, someone grabbed my hand.  No, not to help me, but instead to get the wet T-shirt off of me while not understanding that I was fighting and pulling back under the water to keep my halter top from lifting with it.

Finally, it was on the next kid, and all eyes were off of me.

I had to stand there a moment longer to catch my breath and then it hit me, I am almost 50 years old had just swam my first 25 meters.

On the outside I may have been wheezing, and gasping for air with no energy to even climb out, on the inside I was beaming. Once again, I had conquered another fear. But for now, I guess I will finally listen to my husband and take those swimming lessons I had been avoiding like the plaque.

All Things Possible!

Yes, one and a half months ago I ran my first 5K. That was huge to me. But it cannot touch Saturday's feat. I completed a 1/2 marathon.

Anyone who knows me, knows that I have a bad back and knees. They also know that I signed up for this run back in December when I had not so much as run a 1/4 mile in two years. But Anita asked and I said yes.

Well, I honestly admit that I did not practice like I was supposed to for the race. I was either too cold, too late, or I was too tired, so I did not start practicing until February. I had my first 5K scheduled in March and had a big fall two days before the 3 mile run. But, I did it anyway and was fine. In fact I was proud of myself. I had run my first race. But the next day I was tingling and numb all over. I had to hang upside down on an inversion machine just to stop the pain and then lay on the floor for twenty minutes. I was a mess.

Over the course of the month, I was taking Motrin and/or Naproxin around the clock. I had all but stopped running and had told everyone that I would not be running in the race in June.

Before I knew it, it was June -- my girfriend arrived bringing along with her stories from her last few races of other women who were ill prepared but yet still tried. She also offered me other walk/run ideas. I listened. I heard. I thought about how much that race meant to me. It was a bucket list item. And on top of that, I loved seeing the pride on my husband’s face when he told others that I was going to attempt it. Needless to say, I easily took the bait (it did not help that the race cost me over 100 dollars). I was going to at least start. Since I had sore knees and a stiff neck, I told myself I would play it safe and run a mile, maybe even three, just to say I ran in it. I suited up -- pinned on my number and got in line with 3000 other overzealous people. 

It was a wine country event so I figured I could run a mile or two and then go back and drown myself in my sorrows until my friend crossed the finish line. 

I lined up, the gun went off and we ran. 

I felt okay. I was listening to my body, and I heard nothing. But I listened to my head and was told to stop before I do hurt something. I thought about a little more and decided that I had to take care of myself because my family needed me. I would stop at the second mile marker.

That’s when a lady ran passed and got in front of me. Her shirt was not covered in endorsements, but a message instead: I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me (Phil. 4:13).

Whoa! Is that message for me, I thought. I continued to question my abilities, my sanity, and whether or not I should even be trying. But the message kept coming into my mind.  I quickly realized that that message was absolutely for me.

I had been hurting so bad the week before that I was popping pain pills like candy. But that shirt was a sign to keep pressing on. Though I have herniated discs, bad knees, and a chronic achy back, I felt nothing that day. I took my time and was surrounded by the angels in the back: women half my height and double my width, men with limps, people way older than me both walking and running. How can you stop with them for inspiration? So I didn't.

I ran 11 of the 13 miles and walked two. And yes I finished the 1/2 Marathon. I eventually realized that it was not so I could gloat, but so I could stand as a testament to the power of the Lord. And I believe that I was allowed to do so to inspire someone else that if you believe and put your trust in the Lord, all things are possible!