learning to swim

I don't remember learning how to swim.  I do remember being about six years old and being plucked out of the group of fellow 5 and 6 year olds at our daily practice.  Coach Ted wanted me to demonstrate one lap of butterfly.  Me??? I don't remember doing that lap in the pool, or what the other kids' reactions were.  But I do remember being very proud of being asked to demonstrate.  Obviously I had teachers and coaches that helped me learn the butterfly stroke.  I'm sure hours were spent while I flailed and splashed through the water in efforts to learn how to "legally" swim down the length of a pool.

Swimming is a skill I think most parents want their kids to learn at a young age if for no other reason than to be safe when near any body of water.  However, competitive swimming is a whole other ball game.  Freestyle, Backstroke, Breaststroke and the often dreaded Butterfly are the four technical strokes in swimming.  You learn them as if you would a pirouette in ballet, a back handspring in gymnastics or how to swing a bat and make contact with the ball in baseball.  Yet when you swim, your body is floating through the body of water, gravity is defied and all you hear when your head is submerged is the swishing of water past you.  In learning the strokes, you must manipulate the water around you, using the force to propel you down the pool, moving your arms and legs, which feel much lighter under the water, with deliberate strength and force.

I started teaching swim lessons several weeks ago to beginner swimmers.  I suit up twice a week, get in the three foot deep pool with my swim students and try to teach them the basic swim strokes.  Most of the kids I teach are about 5-7 years old.  They are eager, full of energy and once they are used to the water and submerging underneath it, generally fearless on all counts.  Their enthusiasm for learning aside, teaching swimming is one of the more challenging things I've tried to do.  I suppose like any other skill or sport it takes repetition, practice and instruction.  Just yesterday, I was explaining breaststroke to the two five year old girls that were in my lesson.

First, I tried to explain how to move your feet,

"Who knows what a frogs feet looks like?" I ask and they raise their hands excitedly.  "Your feet go up at the same time, out to the side and then swooosh together in a glide."  I demonstrate myself in the three foot pool.  "Did you see what I did?"

"Yeah," one of them replies.  "But your feet sank!?"

I blink a few times, smile and then tell them their feet should not sink.  I'm too big for this three foot pool... 

Okay, now it's time to try, I tell them.  Off they go.  Feet kick wildly, every third to fifth time the up, out, together motion is achieved.  They cling to the kickboards willing the foam pieces to propel them forward. Maybe it will be better when we add the arms...  

"You scoop your arms like you're grabbing your favorite treat, take a bite and then push it out to share with your friends!" I try valiantly to explain in a way they understand.  

They copy my motions and I think yes, they get it.  Okay, time to try it altogether.  Off they go again this time flailing, scooping, arms by their side, pushing the water trying to do anything they can not to sink to the bottom.  The feet look pretty good, but the hands are a disaster, at one point I pull each of them up and say "Don't forget to breathe!"  Not sure how far those little lungs can hold the air with all that wiggling about underwater.

Our time together is only thirty minutes, just long enough to cover three of the strokes and I'm thankful we didn't have to try butterfly yet.  We play a quick game of sharks and minnow and I chase them down the pool pretending they are too fast for me to catch.

The lesson is over, they are smiling.  Thats good at least. I'm optimistic that they'll eventually get the breaststroke, that I'm at least teaching them something...  I don't remember how I learned to swim, but I'd like to think I was just as fearless, willing to try (between a few tantrums I'm sure...), and at least liked it somewhat.  Maybe these kids will teach swimming 20 + years down the road, maybe not.  They probably wont remember how they learned to swim.  In the meantime, I'll try to teach them to swim in the three foot pool and we'll all try not to sink together.

 

 

vacation hangover

Confession: I've been sitting, staring at my computer screen for about an hour.  I'm trying to write a short essay to submit for an essay contest but I can't will my fingers to type out anything.  I wish I could blame the fantastic two-week family extravaganza that I am currently recuperating from; however, I know it's not the entire reason for my lack of creative juices.  So instead, I'll just partially blame the fun-filled vacation days for distracting me...

Why is it that vacations can make you less productive? Maybe it's because I can't stop thinking about sand between my toes, of noon-time naps because you can, of the refreshing cool feeling of water when dipping in the pool.  Case in point, there are far too many distractions to think about when experiencing a vacation hangover.

The two week extravaganza started off with my youngest sister coming to visit me in South Carolina.  She stayed for a few days during which we floated the river in big yellow inter-tubes, as she put it "the laziest thing she's ever done", and she has a good point being that we tethered ourselves to the back of the kayak that my hubby was paddling so there was absolutely no work at all involved in our float down the river.  Also on our agenda was floating in the pool on magenta pink floaties (clearly we like to float), indulging in a plethora of bad-for-you food including Southern BBQ, sandwiches dipped in thousand island dressing and at one such dinner, a side of lobster mac and cheese.  It was a glorious few days where we got to laugh, play and just spend time together.

Our visit continued when we picked up my parents from the Savannah airport and headed to Hilton Head Island for a week.  Hilton Head is beautiful with marshy scenery and cobalt blue skies.  The only downside to a trip there in August is the intensely thick humidity that made 90 degree days feel like 104 days.  To us, it didn't really bother much; we wiped away the sweat and enjoyed paddle boarding, swimming in the pool, bike riding, going to the beach, water skiing and once again indulging in delicious Southern fare.  

At the tail end of the trip, my other younger sister and her boyfriend traveled back home with us and spent a few more fun-filled days soaking up the Southern sun.  We once again floated the river with them on those huge yellow inner tubes; this time, actually paddling ourselves for a fraction of the way, an improvement over the first ultimate lazy trip.  We sweated through a walking tour of the town and took part in even more gorging of delicious meals and treats.  I absolutely loved and cherished my time talking, visiting and enjoying my sisters company.  Moments that are treasured.

With everyone gone, I find myself in a state of post-vacation blues.  I close my eyes and think of the sky melting into watercolors of pink and yellow as the sun fades down into the water.  My toes curl under my desk thinking of tanned feet from the perpetual wearing of flip flops.  The one plus I think of is that the smell of sunscreen and bug-spray are actually gladly replaced by the scent of my own sheets and towels now that I'm home.  

personal reflections on two years of marriage

In nine days, my hubby and I will celebrate our second wedding anniversary.  Our wedding day is still vividly preserved in my memory, as I know it will be for years to come.  I can see the chocolate brown of the tablecloths, the bright blue and white of the fresh hydrangeas popping up over the tables in beautiful arrangements.  I can smell the slight hint of salt that the ocean breeze blew inland, and the feeling I had when I slipped on my white wedding gown and zipped it up the side is still richly imprinted on my mind.  Although two years seems to have passed by quickly, I also feel that the amount of time has allowed me to grow and mature, to experience many new things and make new memories.

I remember the night that I first met Eric in December 2006 at my company's Christmas party.  Despite the fact he is insistent I was wearing a red dress, when in fact I was wearing black pants and a black top, we often reminisce about the first meeting that he remembers clearly too.  There are a few slight discrepancies between our memories of that night.  Aside from the red dress debate, he also contests that he was standing at a bar, ready to offer me a drink when I allegedly walked by quickly with only a brief smile.  I continue to argue that if he wanted to talk so bad, he could have gone after me.  The second meeting, in January 2007 can perhaps be considered the real start of it all.  During a Saints vs. Bears playoff game, he asked me out on a first date and two and a half years later we were married.

Aside from the first six weeks of our marriage which were spent living in NYC, the rest of our time has been spent in Columbia, South Carolina.  A place neither of us had spent any time previously.  The move was difficult for me; I always thought I was adventurous, up to live anywhere and ready for big changes.  In reality, it was hard to move from my friends and to still live so far away from my family.  I find myself now very thankful for the challenge.  It gave our new marriage the opportunity to be removed from everything safe and familiar.  We have taken the opportunity to discover the many great things about the place we live, which has even led us to discoveries about each other and our interests.  It has also challenged us to go out and make new friends, to be independent and outgoing. 

The move was not the only huge change we took on post-wedding; relocating coincided with our purchasing a franchise.  We would own our own business.  I think we were both slightly apprehensive of how it would be working together.  It all happened so fast that we really didn't have too much time to worry about it.  I could say luckily I love working together, but I don't really believe it has anything to do with luck.  I think it has been an exercise in understanding each other better, maintaining respect for one another and putting forth good old fashioned effort.  I've witnessed a very commanding, determined, pragmatic and discerning side to the person I married that I'm very proud of.  Working together has exposed our strengths (which oftentimes are different) and our weaknesses.  It has led to a different understanding of one another and a deeper appreciation.  Admittedly it isn't always rosy; sometimes we disagree on how to solve a problem, how to approach a situation, it's all part of working together.

Personally, I believe that love has many different levels, different meanings and different applications.  I love my friends for their companionship, loyalty and fun-loving nature.  I love my family for supporting and loving me back unconditionally.  I have even learned over the years (an ongoing process) to love myself, to appreciate my own abilities and to love other people in return.  In my marriage, I love my partner in each of those different ways.  

Undoubtedly, the next few years will feel like they flew by.  In my twenty-seventh year, I feel self-aware while still a bit unsure of what the future will hold; but as I continue to grow as a person, I know we will continue to grow together in our relationship.  

As we count the passing years and celebrate anniversaries to come, I'll keep close the memory of the first Christmas party, and of saying "yes" to being asked out on a first date.  I'll still recall the intense fluttering in my stomach and rush to my head as I looked at the man before me down on one knee with a ring in his outstretched hand.  An imprint of the sounds, smells and people that were there on our wedding day will remain on my mind and now I also have these first two years of change, challenge, triumph and growing to look back on and cherish.   

Chains do not hold a marriage together.  It is threads, hundreds of tiny threads which sew people together through the years.  ~Simone Signoret  

a proper lowcountry birthday

An owl hooted in the distance, a slight almost undetectable breeze blew through the trees, a blue heron took off down the winding river hoping to escape our boat as it glided through the water.  There was a calm and quiet peace that came from knowing that we were probably the only two people out on the creek for miles.  I imagined for a minute what it would have been like to float the waters during the time of colonial settlers.  The scene was part of my birthday celebration, which I playfully (but in all seriousness) stretch out for at least a week or two flanking the actual day I was born.  Yesterday was the actual birthday, when I turned 27.  I really love birthdays; it provides a perfect opportunity to plan something special, out of the ordinary and truly fantastic which I am lucky enough to say was the case on my birthday this year.

My very wonderful husband planned quite the dichotomy of adventures to celebrate my special day.  The first part was an overnight kayak trip where we paddled down a 7 mile stretch of a creek in the Congaree National Park which fed out into the Congaree River where we camped on a sandbar.  We set off on Saturday afternoon in our new 14 foot camo colored boat stocked with an 8 pound tent, one sleeping bag, two coolers full of water and beer, one Lunchable snack, trail mix, two peanut butter sandwiches, lots of bug spray and our dog, Gunner.  The creek was flanked by dense forrest which thankfully provided tree covered shade throughout our journey.  The water was calm and inviting and our boat glided through it like a knife slicing softened butter.  In many parts around our boat, we could spot garfish swimming through the water, some of them at least three feet long.  The unwelcome animal spotting came when we ducked below a fallen tree, only to notice mid-duck that a snake was lying just inches from our heads...

Unfortunately, we have had some very severe storms in the Columbia area recently, which we did not take into consideration when we planned the trip.  The storms had caused many trees to fall across the creek, oftentimes blocking our path and making it frustrating and difficult to maneuver.  One such time we had no choice but to get out of the boat and walk it around the obstruction.  I swung one foot over the side and hopped out where I promptly sunk up to my thigh in mud.  You can probably imagine I was not too pleased by the encounter with the thick, slimy, brown substance.  The unexpected sinking caused me to lean forward where I all but planted my face in the gooey grossness.  At first I yelled out, then had no choice but to laugh through the ensuing battle with the mud.  I finally made it the twenty feet around the fallen tree, but not after sinking both arms and legs and flailing less than gracefully through the fight, all the while my dog prancing beside me, too light to sink down in the mud... it's good to be a dog sometimes.  When I made it back to the boat, I took one look at my better half and we both lost it in laughter.

It took us four and a half hours to reach the river, at which point we were quite exhausted and ready to set up camp before the sun started to set.  We found a beautiful sandbar and set up our tent beneath the shelter of the tree-line.  Gunner lost no time exploring the small beach, darting in and out of the water which thankfully was clear with a hard sandy bottom.  It was the perfect place to spend our overnight adventure, we sat on that beach with no one in sight and it seemed as if we might be the only two people (and dog) that had ever been to that place.  The peaceful and beautiful night reflected the perfect start to a great birthday weekend.

Part two of the southern birthday extravaganza came Sunday after we had paddled down the river to where our car dutifully was awaiting our return.  The highlight of the river portion was spotting wild boar on the shoreline at two different points.  The first time was a mama boar with her three babies munching away at the grass on the shoreline.  For at least five minutes they were blissfully unaware of our presence; when mama boar did notice us, the babies ran off, she turned towards us and grunted and snarled before running into the safety of the woods.  I was very happy that thirty feet of water was between us and the protective pig.

Once we had carted our gear home, given Gunner a much needed bath and cleaned up ourselves, we headed to Charleston for a night in the charming city.  Charleston is a beautiful town, and this was my third visit.  It's almost like stepping back into Antebellum; the homes have beatufiul wrap-around porches and gorgeous trees that line the streets, many of which are cobblestone or brick.  Upon arrival, we strolled along the bayfront and wound through the streets, admiring the different homes and breathing in the salty ocean air.  Summer has definitely arrived here in the South, the temperature reached 100 degrees both days we were there, so a stroll in the sunshine has taken on a whole knew meaning.

Dinner was a delicious array of seafood (my favorite) at a restaurant established back in the 1800s.  As we sat enjoying the food prepared for us, I thought about how earlier that day I was floating down a riverbank.  Truly two very different lowcountry experiences.  The next day (my bday), we again strolled the quaint streets of Charleston and stopped for lunch at Poogan's Porch where there is a statue of the scruffy canine Poogan with a plaque below it, RIP 1970-1979.  It was a charming old house turned restaurant and we sat on the porch beneath the fans in the 100 degree heat.  It was all worth it the minute they brought out fresh biscuits with sweet butter, followed by our order of fried chicken salad and an oyster po'boy.  Gunner sat panting beneath my chair but I'm certain he felt it was worth it when I tossed him a piece of the buttery biscuit.  Birthdays are great.

The three of us were quite spent from the heat and all the birthday excitement so it was time to depart Charleston and travel back to Columbia.  I loved the contrasting events of the weekend, the time spent on the creek and the river and even in the mud as well as the time spent strolling through the streets of Charleston and eating the delicious lowcountry food.  It was a very memorable birthday filled with sights, sounds, smells and tastes that will be imprinted on my mind for years to come.  

are you a writer?

Do not be too timid and squeamish about your actions.  All life is an experiment.  The more experiments you make the better.  What if they are a little course, and you may get your coat soiled or torn?  What if you do fail, and get fairly rolled in the dirt once or twice.  Up again, you shall never be so afraid of a tumble.  ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

"Hi, I'm Rachel," I said while extending my hand forward for a greeting shake.

"I'm Elizabeth, nice to meet you.  So... are you a writer?"

I turned the question over in my mind.  How should I answer that? I like to write, but I don't necessarily make a living doing it... I blog - does that mean I'm a writer? Do you have to have a finished product in hand to call yourself a writer? Like a book or magazine article?

The question wasn't just out of the blue, or out of context for that matter.   The introduction took place at a writer's conference in Atlanta this past weekend.  The conference consisted of about 100 other women, mostly from the Southern or Northeastern region of the U.S., all of us either hoping to become published authors, improve our writing or market our current writings more effectively.  To be frank, I surprised myself by signing up for the event.  It was a risk.  I had no idea how good the conference would be, who would be in attendance, and if I would get anything out of it.

I decided that if I didn't push myself to learn, grow and develop as a writer, than I was doing a disservice to myself and stunting myself in what I truly love to do.  So Saturday morning, I checked my ego at the door and confidently hung the conference badge lanyard around my neck, committing to myself that I would attend every session, take notes and try to get the most out of the day.  It turns out, the conference far and beyond exceeded my expectations.

As I listened in each session to various speakers talk about writing, marketing and how to move yourself forward as an author, I felt energized, invigorated and motivated.  By the same token, I also had the realization that it is a self-motivating job.  No one will check behind me to see how much I've written this week, the next or for the month for that matter.  If I want to be a writer, it's up to me to push, take risks and produce.

My favorite speaker of the event was the author Emily Giffin, who has five published novels, her first of which has been made into a movie that is currently in theaters called Something Borrowed.

Emily Giffin's Website

Ms. Giffin was honest, and forthcoming in her advice about becoming an author.  "You just have to start.  Start putting words down on the page."  It was perhaps the most fundamental and simple piece of advice, but it was what I needed to hear.  

I'm grateful to Skirt! magazine, who put together the wonderful conference.  Skirt! Website  

This weekend I learned that I am a writer, I love to do it and there are endless possibilities ahead of me if I continue to take risks, put myself out there and just write.

a different kind of dating

When I met my husband four and half years ago, I was confident that I would never go on a date again.  I was wrong.  What I didn't consider then was that I would most likely have to date for the rest of my life.  I'm not talking about romantic dating; instead, I'm referring to dating to make friends.

I moved to South Carolina a year and nine months ago without knowing anyone.  It was the first time in my life that I moved somewhere and didn't already have friends to call up to go shopping with, get dinner with or to just come over to hang out.  I went to college with friends I knew from high school and I moved cross country and lived with friends I knew from college.  Each new place I had moved, there was already a network of people that knew me and who I had a previous relationship with.  This move was different.

It became apparent to me very quickly that is is tough to make friends.  Sure I can sit down next to someone and introduce myself, "Hi! I'm Rachel!" Which I have proclaimed often paired with a big toothy grin.  There might be an ensuing conversation about where we are from, what we do for work and what side of town we live on.  The small talk gets really good when dogs come up - I've learned they are like children, people can talk about them for hours (including me).  After the commonalities and chitter chatter die down... then what?! I've run into this several times.  Do I get her number? 


Okay so the first meeting went great, we exchanged phone numbers and leave asking myself: did I just make a new friend? Just like romantic dating, the phone number is a tricky game.  Caution should be taken not to appear over-eager or quite frankly, desperate.  It's also important not to abuse a phone number, there's such a thing as too much contact.  Nowadays, there is less pressure with the prominent use of text messaging.  This way, there doesn't need to be awkward conversations or long silent pauses.  A simple text will suffice to set up a "second date".

The second meeting is in my opinion, more challenging.  Having covered all the basics and background information, this is where the friendship either starts or fizzles to an end.  Yep, as early as the second date.  I've been caught several times sitting across from my "date" in an awkward silence, both of us scrounging for a question to ask or something to say.  Even worse is when the awkward stare happens, you know when you both blankly look at each other as if silently saying "I got nothin to say..."

In several instances my husband and I have even dated together - yep, couples dating.  One time after meeting another couple I was sure we would have commonalities with and similar interests, I instead went home disappointed.  "I don't think we'll hang out with them again," I lamented to hubby.  "Did you notice they didn't ask us anything!"  In another couples first date we left the restaurant where we met for drinks elated and quite giddy.  "They were great! So much fun! I hope they want to get together again!"  Yes, it's true, couples dating is real and just as tricky as one-on-one friend dating.

In all seriousness, I've met some great people in my time living in this new town.  It has taken effort, time and an open attitude.  Sure, they don't know my quirks and eccentricities off the bat, but they will with time.  In no way can I replace all the wonderful and dear friends that I have in my life from my past, but I have high hopes that wherever life takes me, I'm sure I'll make some life-long friends and look back and laugh about our "first date".

"The only way to have a friend is to be one."
- Ralph Waldo Emerson

13.1

I rounded the bend and looked up at the white sign with the large black number 8 displayed across it.  Below the sign there were people cheering words of encouragement and praise to the perfect strangers running by.  There were several thoughts going through my head as I listened amongst the noise to my slightly labored breathing.  I was a bit surprised it wasn't a harsher and deeper heaving at this point, but the fact that it wasn't produced some confidence that I could do this, that I was going to finish and complete my goal.  My arms swung by my side in tandem with my feet as they hit the pavement in calculated and even movements.  I looked up from beneath the shade of the visor I was wearing, to my horror, there was another hill ahead.  With a deep breath, I murmured some words of encouragement to myself, pursed my lips together, narrowed my eyes, and resolved to just keep running. I had 5.1 miles to go.

Running a half marathon has always been a goal of mine.  It was one of the things on my "list".  You know, the list you have full of things you want to accomplish in life.  Things that are out of the ordinary and that provide sheer joy when you know you can put a check next to the item - the feeling of wow, I actually did that.  The half marathon was one of those things for me.  I've never really been a strong runner, I would consider myself more of a recreational runner.  I took up jogging in college mostly because our gym at school was usually too crowded and I figured if I lived on the beach I would be doing a disservice not to figure out how to exercise and enjoy the beautiful outdoors.  Three to five mile runs became my sweet spot, it was a perfect stress reliever and way to clear my mind, no equipment needed.  I could lace up my shoes and head out the front door and run for as long or short as I wanted.  A half marathon is 13.1 miles, about three to four times as far as I typically run.  Completing one would no doubt be a challenge for me, which is why I wanted to do it so bad.

When my best friend informed me there was a half marathon in Nashville, Tennessee, and that it was a Country Music half marathon, we both knew that it was our calling to sign up for the race.  My mom and husband signed up as well and in the months before the race we offered each other encouragement to keep training and kept a buzz of excitement that we would be traveling to Nashville to run with 30,000 people in a marathon/half marathon race.  I started training on longer distance runs about three months before the race, but to be honest, was quite terrified for the impending event.

On race day we all woke up excited and a bit nervous.  At least I know that had nerves welling up inside of me... my biggest enemy in training was myself.  I tend to talk myself out of the ability to run long distances, complaining that the weather is too hot, I'm overheated; some days it was my shoes which were cramping my toes, producing blisters that made the run that much more difficult.  Other days it was just flat out me convincing myself that nine miles (or whatever distance we were running) was way too far for me to humanly run (I can be quite dramatic...).  When race day came, the most miles I had run at one time in training was 10.  I had to add 3.1 to that to finish the race.  As we entered the coral together, waiting for the announcer to signal our official start, I gave myself a silent pep talk.  You can do this, I thought in my head.  No excuses, this is your chance to just do it.  The Nike slogan took on a new, more important meaning.

The four of us stretched together and jumped up and down to warm our blood as we waited to begin.  Finally it was our turn to, crossing the start line was invigorating, exciting and a bit daunting.  Only 13.1 miles to go! The four of us quickly split up from each other as we each ran different paces.  So it was me left with my thoughts to run the long and hilly course.  The only races I have run in the past are a few 5k races and one 10k race.  This one was entirely different.  Being a music half marathon, there were bands positioned throughout the course playing pump up music to motivate us to just keep running.  I absolutely loved the camaraderie of running a race like the one we did.  Amongst 30,000 people there is a sort of team spirit, that we were all running together towards the same finish line (well I was running towards the 1/2 marathon finish, those poor marathon runners had a much longer road).  I was delighted at how many people were on the sidelines throughout the course.  Granted many were there to cheer on a loved one as they trotted by, but those people would also cheer for perfect strangers.  It was motivating and wonderful to have people encouraging and supporting one another.

As I ran I had fleeting moments of serenity (in between the sheer pain of running up hill after hill), there is something quite therapeutic at taking in the moments when you are experiencing something new, something challenging and something that has pushed you further as a person.  When a guy dressed up in a full spider man costume ran by me, I couldn't help but laugh.  Here I was, fretting nervously about whether I was going to be able to finish the race or not, when some people chose to take the situation more lightly.  As the group of racers I was running alongside rounded mile twelve, an eerie quiet ensued.  All I could hear was the sound of rubber soles on the pavement and the breathing in and out of runners.  The last mile was perhaps the toughest, not only because at least half of it was uphill, but because at that point it took whatever energy I had left to push through to the end.  When I saw the finish line, I picked up my feet and ran as fast as my body would let me to the finish.

I felt exuberant, energized, and proud.  I had finished running 13.1 miles, I had forced myself not to stop and had completed my goal.  The experience made me really think about setting goals, and working towards something you want.  Ironically, when I got home from the trip, the official rejection letter from grad school was waiting for me in the mail.  I didn't feel frustrated or sad this time, instead, I just felt a weight lifted off.   I had just set a goal that was entirely up to me and completed it; to me the letter coming right after completing my challenge was "you win some, you lose some" played out in real life.  I initially thought the half marathon would be my first and last; but after such a gratifying experience, I might re-think that notion after all.