The Roanoker - March/April 2021 - 14

the home front

Life in the
Slow Lane

'm now a masters swimmer, which
simply means that I swim, as part
of an adult group, with a coach.
The term implies mastery, which
couldn't be further from the
truth for me, though many of my fellow
goggle-d and rubber capped comrades
are absolute experts, gorgeously gliding
through lap after lap.
So how did I wind up here, Monday,
Wednesday and Friday mornings, lungs
screaming for air? It started with watching
my nine-year-old daughter Amelia climb
onto the swimming block in December. It
was her first meet for the Marlins, one of
Roanoke's year-round swim clubs. She'd
suffered a broken wrist in October, which
had sidelined her for weeks, and she was
still tentative in the water.
Her first meet, her newly healed wrist.
The pomp and circumstance of the event,
with its whistles, timers and judges. She
shifted her weight from foot to foot,
twisting her mouth in that way that has
signaled to me since she was two years old
that she's uncomfortable. We had already
had the car pep talk, about doing hard
things and facing fears head on, but I was
50/50 on whether she'd bolt and wind up
somewhere on Electric Road.
Because of COVID restrictions, I had
to keep my distance, watching from afar. I
couldn't guide her to the blocks, or ensure
that she'd follow through. But she did. She
survived the swim, and the ones that came
after it that day, and was proud and happy,
even though after the 100 freestyle she
joked, " I thought I was going to die and
my graveyard was going to be the pool. "

" See, " I said, wrapping the towel around
her shivering shoulders. " It was hard but
you did it. "
After my pep talk about doing hard
things, about getting vulnerable and
uncomfortable and pushing through, a
nagging thought pulled on me for days
afterward. It whispered, " When was the
last time you did that? Got uncomfortable,
got vulnerable? Did hard things? "
While growing up I was forced to try
new things all the time, as are most people.
New classes, schools, sports and activities.
This continued throughout college and
young adulthood, while acclimating to
new cities and jobs. My life was in motion,
and the kind of energy generated from
challenge is a good one, for me. It makes
me feel alive and part of things.
But now I've reached middle adulthood,
and at 42, I'm nicely comfortable in my
roles and my well-worn ruts. How can I
possibly dole out advice to my kids from
the sidelines about change and challenge,
when I don't model it anymore? They didn't
know me when I worked to earn a college
scholarship or nailed a job interview. They
need to see me do hard things now. So out
of my newfound respect for swimmers, I
decided I'd join Amelia and my son, Ben.
I signed up for the Marlins too, though I
haven't swam seriously since 1988, on my
neighborhood summer team.
I showed up that first day, new and
awkward. I didn't know the swimming
lingo, or any of the drills. Most masters
swimmers are former college swimmers,
and their strokes are refined and polished,
perfected over years of work. As a former

collegiate softball player, I recognize this,
I admire it. I know the work it takes to be
skilled.
My strokes are decidedly less refined. I
don't know how to breathe to my left side
in freestyle, so I'm stilted as I try it. But in a
few short weeks, I've learned flip turns, I've
stopped running into the lane lines quite as
much on backstroke, my breaststroke has a
better glide. I show up on the days when it's
easy and days when it's hard.
The challenge of a new thing has given
my brain a boost-my coach, Austin Criss,
echoes in my head now when I'm grocery
shopping, or waiting in the elementary
school car line. I think of getting my elbow
up higher on my freestyle, or keeping one
goggle in the water and one out when I
breathe, instead of lifting my head.
It's hard to be the slowest one, the one
with the least skill. It never gets easier,
really, to be the least qualified in the room
(or the pool). But there is value in showing
up, in keeping to your own lane and
worrying about your own goals, your own
metrics even when other people one lane
over are blowing by you. I'm getting to live
out what I believe-show up, do the work,
listen to people who know more than you
do. And when I bounce those things back
to my kids, the wisdom isn't gleaned from
years ago. I'm learning in real time, lane six,
Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. I

CHRISTY RIPPEL is an award-winning freelance writer, covering lifestyle, design, health and parenting. A VT graduate, she likes to bike and walk local trails. When she and husband Chris
aren't watching the Hokies, they watch their four kids compete in sports. Christy is a Maryland native and lives in Roanoke County.

14 MARCH/APRIL 2021

TheRoanoker.com

CHRISTY RIPPEL

written by Christy Rippel Showing up in the pool is half the battle.

http://www.TheRoanoker.com

The Roanoker - March/April 2021

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