5:00 AM on a Saturday. 11 year old brushes her teeth, gets her swimsuit on, and sits, bleary-eyed, at the table pretending to eat bread.
We are in the midst of swim season.
And now I know why I never took up swimming. Well, that and the fact that I hate putting my face in the water.
Even though I doggie paddled my way through that section of gym, I do have a general understanding of swimming. But on Saturday, I watched my daughter do a medley where she swam one length each of the breast, back, butterfly and freestyle. And, she swam 200 meters of freestyle. That’s 8 pool lengths, my non-chlorine friends. I ask, could you swim 8 pool lengths (the long way, not the short way) without stopping? I could not. In fact, if I were being chased by Jaws, which often happens, I would have to pray that James Bond would rescue me, which could also happen (not Roger Moore. Who wants Roger Moore to rescue her? Who believes that Roger Moore is even capable of rescuing someone? If I had to choose between Roger Moore and Jaws, I’d choose Jaws.)
I was never good at anything that amounted to a recognized sport. So it amazes me that my genetic offspring is not only willing, but excited, about getting her face in the water 6 days a week. In fact, that isn’t enough, because when asked what she wants to do for fun, she says, “Go swimming!” I can honestly say I have never once in my memory wanted to go swimming. Unless I had a cute new swimsuit and thought a cute new boy would be there. Even then, I didn’t actually want to swim. That would have messed up my hair.