on swimming and another year
When I was a wee sprat, my parents made me (or let me) join the swim team. I wanted to be a diver but was afraid of the ledge. I wanted to swim but was afraid of putting my face in the water. I remember spending a sunny afternoon at the pool with my mom in the water, me on the side, only 5 or 6 years old, her trying to convince me to dive in and me standing, wobbling with my arms pointed over my head, and then grabbing my nose at the last second and landing butt-first in the water. My favorite part of swim team was the pizza party. I think I did backstroke (no face in the water bitches!) at a few meets. I had a navy blue bag with a lobster on it that I loved. Everyone exhaled in relief when I was allowed to quit after most of a season. I didn't swim again until I got a weird still-undiagnosed but super hurty foot pain several years ago, before the chronicle of my life on the internet even began. My running buddy had been a high school swimmer and she convinced me to jo