I’m different in the pool
I used to have to pump myself up to go swimming. Tyler and I started swimming once a week on Saturdays many years ago. We swam at a small pool on the Cal campus, paying to join as non-Berkeley-affiliated swimmers. There’s a very small hill from the parking lot to the pool. I’d get slightly breathy walking up, and I’d have to start amping myself up (while also being cruel to myself, as I was wont to do):
“You think you’re out of breath NOW? You think THIS is hard? You’re about to do something much much harder. Get ready, champ, cuz you’re not going to be able to breathe for at least the next hour.”
I actually liked swimming a lot. I took swim lessons for most of my life, but Tyler swam competitively in high school and college and thus had much to teach me. I learned I was doing breast stroke all wrong. My body position in the water was slowing me down. THIS is how you actually do butterfly (sort of, with flippers on, and awkwardly). I loved how he’d adjust to swimming with me in the same lane, passing and making room for me with ease. I love how he helped me get better.
But eventually, I got annoyed. I didn’t want to keep focusing on what I was doing wrong and doing badly. I was already so damn mean to myself. I just wanted to swim. I wanted to feel the cool pool water and the hot sun and watch the clouds drift by as I swam backstroke. I wanted to enjoy myself!
One problem though: I had no idea how to do that.
And like many things in my life, my eating disorder ruined swimming for me. It caught wind, you see, of how many calories I burned during an hour of vigorous swimming. Ho boy, that sold it. Tyler and I HAD to go every week. I HAD to swim. I HAD to climb that dumb, small hill from the parking lot and prepare myself to be out of breath for an hour because my body needed to burn calories so I could stay skinny.
Another problem: swimming made me anxious.
For most people, swimming is beyond relaxing. A “meditative state,” a space to zone out and be with your thoughts and let your body float. But if you have anxiety and you like to swim, maybe you can relate to my conundrum: it’s hard to breathe when you’re swimming. 1) It’s tiring, and you need to breathe a lot. 2) You can’t just breathe when you want and need to, because, well, your face is in the water and that’s how people drown. 3) If you’re lane-sharing, which if you’re swimming at a public pool, you probably are, you might feel like you have to swim faster to accommodate the fast swimmers in your lane and thus you will push yourself past your cardiovascular threshold and need to breathe WAY more to keep up.
I get panic attacks. My anxiety lives in my lungs. In fact, when my panic attacks became increasingly debilitating, I had to stop doing any cardio beyond light walking because my body perceived any elevation in heart-rate and breathing as a panic attack, and I’d start having one. I have to be as present and mindful as possible during exercise to keep my body calm as my heart begins to beat faster and faster. It’s a skill I’ve only recently gotten the hang of.
When the pandemic hit, we stopped swimming. For obvious reasons. Then the pool we swam at opened up, but only to students and faculty. Every now and then, we’d try to book appointments for lap swimming at a pool a few minutes from us, but when we went to sign up, everything was booked. Two years passed before I put my body in a lap pool again.
Our new apartment is only 8 blocks from a public pool. I went one day, on a whim, in the middle of the work day. (Working for yourself has significant perks in this regard). “This is gonna suck,” I told myself. “It’s been TWO years, and you’re at least 30 pounds heavier. This will be hard. DO NOT LET YOURSELF BE SAD ABOUT THAT, SARA!”
It was kinda hard, especially because this new pool is 33 yards instead of 25. A slight but disarming change I wasn’t anticipating. The wall was juuuuuust far enough away that I was gasping at the end of each length.
But I’d been using my Peloton for almost a year at this point. I bike 1- 3 times a week. It’s the most consistent cardio I’ve ever done. So while I was breathless, I wasn’t really panicking. I had gotten somewhat comfortable being breathless.
Still, I didn’t go back to the pool for a few months.
It wasn’t until my mental health started taking a dive (who knew that starting a nascent self-owned business and planning a wedding in a pandemic could take a toll on someone’s wellbeing?) that it occurred to me, “Maybe I should swim more…”
I made a list of the benefits of swimming:
Swimming is outside my apartment, which I sometimes never leave during the day
Movement feels good, and I get bored if I do the same thing too often
Sunshine
See other people and interact minimally so you don’t become some shut-in who forgets how to say hi to strangers
Work on breathing and anxiety
Relieve the stress on my knees
Pretend to be a mermaid
Prepare for the possibility that I am on Survivor one day
Tyler and I bought a 10-pack of passes, and I’ve been swimming on Saturdays and Mondays. Is it compliant with my hair-washing schedule? Absolutely not. Are my freckles out of control? They are.
Today as I was swimming, I had a thought suddenly wash over me. It was profound and simple and it seemed to come from inside my soul instead of my brain: “I could not be more happy right now.”
I was in one of the medium lanes with several folks who may have been more comfortable in the slow lanes. Pre-recovery me was always mean and grumpy (hunger does this to ya) and anyone who intervened with my workouts received the wrath of my eye-rolls and pointed “excuse me’s” as I passed them. I wasn’t a very kind person back then.
I’ve noticed in swimming again, how much kinder I am. It’s not so hard to be nice when you aren’t being a total dickhead to yourself 24/7. It’s not so hard to share the medium lane with people who are swimming slowly. In fact, I exchanged pleasantries with most of the people in my lane, and it was really nice.
It’s not just that I’m kinder. I’m a lot fucking faster now. I’m on my way to being a veritable swimming BEAST.
This is still astonishing to me, though it shouldn’t be, as part of my literal job is to help people stop associating health, fitness, and goodness with weight and body size.
But it’s still kind of amazing to me that even though I’m many sizes larger than I was when I first started swimming…I’m in much better shape now. I’m connecting my laps. I don’t need to take as many breaks. I’m sprinting faster.
Part of the reason why: I let myself swim more slowly.
I’m there to SWIM. Not to burn calories.
I’m there to FEEL GOOD, not to “earn” french fries.
Man, what a difference that makes. It may not be especially profound, and I myself talk about this all the time! So why is it still revelatory to me? That my body, being well-fed and respected after years of starvation and abuse would…preform better? That a body given room to do what it pleases instead of expectations to meet and rules to follow will…flourish? That movement when done for reasons of happiness and wellbeing instead of fear and regimentation will…yield more positive results?
Why does it still shock me that I can feel better in my body at a higher weight?
Fatphobia is pervasive. Fatphobia has perpetuated the false belief that physical fitness and body size are linked. We know this is not true. And yet, I surprised myself when I was swimming yesterday. Or rather, my body surprised me. Even though some of the most athletic people I know are not the skinniest people I know. Even though I know many thin people who rarely exercise.
If you are only practicing movement because you are laboring under the false belief that it’s a sure-fire way to shrink your body, how long will you be able to keep that up? And what happens if your ability changes and you’re not able to move in the same way (or at all) anymore?
Not everyone enjoys movement. I respect and honor this. Not everyone needs to! Some people will have to “force” themselves to practice movement, no matter what. I’d still suggest to you that you try out a bunch of different kinds of movement. You may find one that you sort of enjoy.
And remember: standing up to stretch your back is movement. Doing laundry is movement. Walking to your car is movement. Breathing is movement.
What I wish for you is that you’re able to find yourself smack-dab in the middle of your body—maybe in a pool. (Or a sidewalk. Or a trapeze. Or a couch. Or a diner booth. On horseback. In a thunderstorm. In your kitchen. In the arms of your best friend. On a boat. On a mountain.)—and find yourself thinking: “I could not be more happy right now.”
*If you’ve been struggling with your body image, your relationship with your body, what you eat & how you move, this is what I help my clients heal through working with me. Through coaching, you’ll develop the healthiest relationship you’ve ever had with your body. Click the button below to learn more about my coaching practice!