Biola University First Year Student Journals

Swimming Through School

September 1, 2005 | 19 comments

By my second trip to the Biola Bookstore, I was ready to take on anything. My shelf was stocked with a handful of journalism texts, a sizable copy of The Iliad graced my nightstand, and I had finally purchased an official Biola University Academic Year Planner.

It was a canary yellow 05-06 version, and one, which, I am proud to say, boasted no classes before noon.

Except for one: beginning swimming. Piece of cake. Twice a week, fifty minutes, at 10:30 a.m. Knowing that I was a regular doggie-paddle master and could execute a technically flawless feet-first pencil dive, I was prepared to dominate the class.

After all, I had taken swimming lessons before. Up until fourth grade, I took a week-long session each summer. I was no Michael Phelps, but I could get around the pool, and if anyone had a fear of water, it certainly wasn't me.

Or so I thought.

It was with this cool confidence that I made my way to Lansing Pool on the second day of the semester. With my one-piece secure, my hair in a neat ponytail, and a fish-print beach towel around my waist, I took a seat alongside the water and listened to Mr. Shepard outline the course.

"We're going to learn the basic strokes in this class," he said, "and how to breathe properly and build endurance."

Mr. Shepard emphasized that he just wanted us to improve and wasn't expecting us to be incredible swimmers instantly. The class sounded easy enough.

Being the first day, the class was largely informative and didn't involve any actual swimming unless we wanted to jump in. Most students left early. I presumed it was because of a fear of water, or perhaps a lack of confidence in their skills.

But ever sure about my abilities, I got in the pool and swam a lap, using my "elegant" techniqueÑhead and face poised safely out of the water, arms leisurely paddling, and legs slowly drifting below the surface every few seconds. Convinced I was swimming, for the most part, correctly, I hopped out of the pool and called it a day.

Fast forward to class session #2. I approach half-expecting to see the other swimmers wearing water wings, or suiting up in life vests. But looking closer, I begin seeing ominous signs. Like logo swim caps. Expensive goggles. Swimsuits with team names on them. There wasn't a foam noodle floatie in sight.

It was obvious. There were no beginners in beginning swimming.

The warm-up consisted of three 50s. Some of the other swimmers literally dove in, sped on their way to the other side, and flip-turned back only to repeat the sequence six times.

That was about the time I realized that I hadn't exactly swam with my face in the water since fourth grade. Big problem. Gingerly dunking my face, I started that first lap. Four strokes into it, I realized I needed air and still didn't know how to breathe.

So that side-breath that looks so natural on TV ended up being an explosive gasp, which in turn shook my arms out of rhythm and then set my legs thrashing into panic mode. There I was, halfway across the pool, helplessly writhing and clawing for the wall. Yes, in the 5-foot zone. With approximately 12.5 meters left to go.

That confidence I floated on a few minutes ago sunk like a lead weight. Grasping that wall, on the brink of hyperventilation, it hit me.

I couldn't swim. In fact, I was the worst swimmer in the class.

A college girl, 18 years old, who couldn't complete a lap in the pool, was an embarrassment. Especially when I had considered myself such an expert. But each time I tried to resume that warm up, I would freak out about the breathing, and would have to stop. I decided I just couldn't do it. If I couldn't get across the pool, I was pretty much hopeless.

Enter Mr. Shepard, just as I was about to give up.

"You'll want to kick with your legs almost straight," he said, "and that should keep your lower body from sinking."

That was easier said than done. But after a few tries, I was able to control my legs from sliding down. Miraculously, it worked a lot better than my kicking did. I was able to stay flatter in the water, and I was actually moving now, rather than dragging through the pool.

When it came to breathing, one of the other girls who was struggling (although far less than I was) told me to breathe out underwater before taking a breath from the outside.

Miraculously, that worked too.

Swimming has been, hands-down, the hardest class I have this semester. Having to expose my comically poor technique in front of a group of well-skilled swimmers is often unnerving.

But one thing I have never heard is laughter. Even when I'm floundering in the water, frantically splashing around, there are no fingers pointing. There is a coach ready to correct my technique, a coach patient enough to wait until I get it. There are three other girls in my lane, noticing when I do get it, and telling me good job without hesitation.

That swimming pool is almost a microcosm of the Biola community. I've noticed people of all levels of spiritual maturity here. There are people who seem incredibly wise, who are humble prayer warriors, who are living out a genuine faith. And there are freshman who, while they think they know it all, are stuck in the high school mindset, probably a bit more concerned about wearing the right clothes and looking good than they should be.

But nobody is pointing fingers at those who are floundering in their faith. It's not a competition about who can look holiest. There are RAs, orientation leaders, and professors who actually do what the Bible says, by encouraging those less mature in their Christian walk and gently correctly them when necessary.

I'm still a little nervous every Tuesday and Thursday when I head to beginning swimming. But the great thing is I don't have to fear floundering, in Lansing Pool or in my relationship with Christ. I've noticed that here, people are willing to stand by and encourage you through the embarrassing stages, no matter how long those last.

They might challenge you; they might push you to go beyond what you think you're capable of doing. But one thing is sure - they will never, ever let you drown.

Journal Entries

• Swimming Through School
• Dance of the Head-Bobbing
• A Week in the Woods
• No Job, No School, and Six Weeks of Break
• Narnia Premiere Night - Just Short of a Fairy Tale
• Dating Churches
• Sabbath
• Musings on Torrey Honors and Jacuzzis

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