The Risk of Being Healthy

I like to think that I am all grown up at the ripe age of thirty, that I’ve put away childish habits and insecurities, that I am manly and tough. The occasional purchase of a My Little Pony, crayons and a coloring book, and continued to addiction to Archie comics should have been clues enough. To my chagrin, my lack of personal growth was made abundantly apparent last week. I have taken up swimming to replace my typical cardio portion of my workout. Due to this chronic Achilles Tendonitis that I can not seem to get over, I recently purchased on of those swimming buoys that lets your legs float while you swim with only your upper body. With the exception of realizing that is going to take me awhile to be able to build up my stamina enough to really be able to get a decent workout in the pool, things have gone relatively good. Until last Wednesday.
I’ve only had to wait for a lane to open up once. There is always at least one or two of the four lanes open. However, I stopped with surprise when I went in the swimming room of the gym and I was the only one present. I felt my heart start to beat a little faster. I did my best to ignore it. I walked to the edge and jumped into the four feet of frigid water. I immediately shot back up. Not due to the chill, but to the fact that as soon as my closed eyes submerged flashing sharp gnashing teeth assailed me. As soon as I wiped the water from my eyes, I assessed the water around me. All seemed serene.
With heroic effort, I began my first lap. I rotate my laps. Fist breast stroke, then the typical swimmer’s stroke with your arms acting as propellers and you coming up for air every time your right arms comes back around (whatever that is called), then the backstroke. Then repeat. During the breast stroke, I never let my face go under the water as I considered how to attempt the next two laps in the rotation without having my face submerge or turning my back to the depths. I always want to see what’s coming. If I’m going to be slaughtered by insane clowns, burglars, or a Jaws wannabe, I’m not going to do so surprised.
I made it through my first lap, only having to stop and stand up checking the water around me three or four times. For my second lap, I repeated the breast stoke again. I couldn’t force myself to have my head underwater. I tried, but I was immediately plunged in the dark, cold, swirling, infested ocean. I came up gasping, so I figured it wasn’t going to be a success to continue with anything but the safest stroke. By the end of the second lap, I was nearing a panic. I had to stop and stand up at least five times, and I knew I was doing very little in the way of cardio, even though my heart rate was successfully elevated. I decided that before the creature showed up that I should ‘throw in the towel’ and focus on cardio on a safer day. Just as I put my hands on the side of pool to life myself from the watery death trap, an old man walked out into the pool room and slowly lowered himself into the pool.
Wonderfully, everything was a shallow pool again. I finished the rest of my workout in a truly masculine and testosterone filled way. After all, if the demon of my childhood showed up, I figured between me and the old man, I would be harder to catch.