How I learned to swim

I signed up to take eight 30-minute lessons at my local YMCA. These would be private lessons, to minimize the COVID-19 risk for me and the instructor.  On the first day, I met my teacher, Christy Durbin. 

Durbin, who at 48, has a background in nursing and has been teaching at the Y on and off since 2007. She's an inspiration all by herself. Swimming has helped her manage rheumatoid arthritis, lupus, and tarsal tunnel syndrome. She has regained motor control, strength, and it's been physically and mentally good for her. "It is a good environment to heal in," she told me.

Coaching beginner swimmers, especially adults, is her passion. 

Durbin was firm, but motherly. When she asked me how comfortable I was in the water, I told her I was scared, even though I had once jumped into the Pacific Ocean. Every single lesson felt like I was conquering an unknown fear. 

The very first day, we did head bobs, which Durbin said teaches you to keep the water out of your nose.

You hold your breath, dunk your head in the water, and then blow out through your nose so bubbles rise to the surface. Only then do you bring your head up for air. That came easy to me.

"For someone who is afraid of water, you did swimmingly," Durbin told me.  

Kicking took me a few lessons to get the hang of. After taking a water aerobics class, I was able to kick halfway down the pool with very little resistance. I felt powerful. I felt in control. There is simply no greater feeling than learning how to do something you previously didn't have any idea how to do. 

After that, the lessons grew more challenging. I panicked at the loss of control when my instructor tried to get me to float on my back, or remember to breathe while moving my arms and legs in a crawl stroke. 

It was hard to know where the stress from losing control in the water ended, and where the stress from the grief I felt from losing control in my personal life began. This seemingly never-ending coronavirus pandemic, experiences with racism and misogynoir, loneliness, stress, and the loss of loved ones who died tragically – all of it was weighing on me during the time I was learning to swim. 

Learning these new reflexes that often come naturally for children, but not for adults who've had decades to learn fear, was life-changing for me. Durbin always ends our lessons with something that I mastered, which lights up the dopamine part of my brain that had been inactive for so long. It was the therapy I never knew I needed. 

It's August now, and I'm so surprised at my progress.

I can float on my back and face-up, kick my way halfway down the pool, and swim the backstroke. Durbin sends me videos of swimmers doing the freestyle and backstroke. She tells me that it's all about repetition and visualization. 

Durbin has gotten to know me a little and she has this saying, "progress not perfection." I've started saying that in my daily life.  

According to my coach, I still have a lot of learning to do. She still wants me to better manage my muscles so that I can relax what I'm not using. Windmilling through the freestyle has also got to end. 

My personal goal is to swim 100 yards without stopping – front or back – and to tread water for one minute. I want to be able to dive off boards and compete in triathlons. 

I want to feel in control while doing anything I please in the water – not only for me, but for every Black person who wants to feel accomplished doing things that were previously forbidden. In order to do that, I've learned I have to be okay with losing a bit of that control, too.