midnight musings

I remember my swimming lessons when I was little (everyone had to take those silly tests where you bob around with your pajamas blown up in a V). I was a really sad timid child who dreaded going for lessons alone, while my sister was the fearless leader, already attending the Gold Star lessons when she was 10.

The swimming coach was this skinny, hairy man with a moustache at the Tampines swimming complex who would shout at his students if they weren't doing the right thing. It didn't help that he couldn't pronounce my name, and mercilessly made fun of it. I was terrified of him, and of the deep middle part of the pool; and I used to cry the entire hour, making blubbing noises underwater that the other kids complained about. Once I veered towards the side of the pool as I reached the dreaded middle, where we had to end by treading water for 3 minutes. The exasperated coach told me it took longer to swim slanted than to swim straight and make a 90 degree turn towards the side (I would later learn that Pythagoras was the smarter man). I always wound up doing extra laps for 'slanting'.

This fear continued all the way until the time came to take my Silver Award (I was about 10). After finishing the pajama test, 16 laps, and the treading water, I triumphantly swam to the side and puked up the day's food.

After that my parents stopped sending me for swimming lessons. I would still swim regularly, just not in a crowded pool with umpety competitive kids and a scary coach.

Strangely enough I really love swimming and water sports now. I can't get enough of water, there's something really calming and yet exhilarating about it.

Maybe the most painful lessons are indeed the most fruitful?