We are in the middle of a heat wave here in central Maryland. Yesterday the temperature was 105 degrees. When it gets that hot, I think of swimming. Ever since I was a kid I've loved to swim. The feel of that cool, clear water on my skin is just too, too delicious.
But for the last twenty years I have denied myself the pleasure of a good swim because I thought I was too fat and ugly to show myself at our neighborhood swimming pool. I would laughingly say to friends that the sight of me in a bathing suit might scare the children. I joked that I had the ugliest legs in Christendom. I was afraid people would stare.
And to make the situation even worse was the fact that our neighborhood pool is virtually across the street from my home. I can watch the bathers from my deck. In the twenty years that we have lived in this community I have gone swimming in that pool maybe 3 times. That is, until last year.
In May of 2009 I had a total knee replacement performed on my left knee. Physical therapy was mandatory and when I was finished with physical therapy, it was important, Dr. C. said, that I continue exercising that knee to keep those muscles toned. Swimming, he said was the perfect exercise, because there is zero impact on your joints.
So once the 10" incision running from several inches above my knee to mid-calf healed over, I put on the brand new swimsuit I'd bought online and Eric and I headed over to the pool. I took off my sun dress and looked down at my new robo-knee. Dotted scars from the surgical staples running down either side of the scar gave it a Frankenstein-like feel. Talk about scaring the children!
Thankfully the pool had a stairway leading into the shallow end of the pool (something that the Olympic-sized pool at the Y unfortunately doesn't have). I eased myself in, relishing the cool water all over my skin. I walked over to the lap lane and slowly began to sidestroke to the other end of the pool. The sun glistened on the clear water and for the first time in months I was free from the pain accompanying my operated knee. Swimming became a peaceful meditation for me.
For the rest of the summer I spent at least 40 minutes a day in that pool. And yes, there were some children that noticed my scar and once I overheard a young women say to her friend that she would kill herself if she ever got as fat as I was. Wait until you hit your mid-50's, I thought, undeterred by her vicious remark.
By the end of summer my knee was working just like a real knee should work. I was grateful to not have the pain I endured before the operation and even more grateful to not have the pain I endured after the operation (which was significant, don't let anyone fool you. Total knee replacement is not for sissies!)
Now it is summer of 2010 and I am exercising my right knee that was operated on in February. Swimming really is the best medicine, not only for it's kindness to the joints, but for the way it quiets the mind. For me, swimming has become a much needed time for reflection and meditation.
As we used to whisper to one another in the halls of my Catholic high school: Non illegitimi carborundum. Translated from Latin it means: Don't let the bastards get you down!
Peace/Love,
Betsy
But for the last twenty years I have denied myself the pleasure of a good swim because I thought I was too fat and ugly to show myself at our neighborhood swimming pool. I would laughingly say to friends that the sight of me in a bathing suit might scare the children. I joked that I had the ugliest legs in Christendom. I was afraid people would stare.
And to make the situation even worse was the fact that our neighborhood pool is virtually across the street from my home. I can watch the bathers from my deck. In the twenty years that we have lived in this community I have gone swimming in that pool maybe 3 times. That is, until last year.
In May of 2009 I had a total knee replacement performed on my left knee. Physical therapy was mandatory and when I was finished with physical therapy, it was important, Dr. C. said, that I continue exercising that knee to keep those muscles toned. Swimming, he said was the perfect exercise, because there is zero impact on your joints.
So once the 10" incision running from several inches above my knee to mid-calf healed over, I put on the brand new swimsuit I'd bought online and Eric and I headed over to the pool. I took off my sun dress and looked down at my new robo-knee. Dotted scars from the surgical staples running down either side of the scar gave it a Frankenstein-like feel. Talk about scaring the children!
Thankfully the pool had a stairway leading into the shallow end of the pool (something that the Olympic-sized pool at the Y unfortunately doesn't have). I eased myself in, relishing the cool water all over my skin. I walked over to the lap lane and slowly began to sidestroke to the other end of the pool. The sun glistened on the clear water and for the first time in months I was free from the pain accompanying my operated knee. Swimming became a peaceful meditation for me.
For the rest of the summer I spent at least 40 minutes a day in that pool. And yes, there were some children that noticed my scar and once I overheard a young women say to her friend that she would kill herself if she ever got as fat as I was. Wait until you hit your mid-50's, I thought, undeterred by her vicious remark.
By the end of summer my knee was working just like a real knee should work. I was grateful to not have the pain I endured before the operation and even more grateful to not have the pain I endured after the operation (which was significant, don't let anyone fool you. Total knee replacement is not for sissies!)
Now it is summer of 2010 and I am exercising my right knee that was operated on in February. Swimming really is the best medicine, not only for it's kindness to the joints, but for the way it quiets the mind. For me, swimming has become a much needed time for reflection and meditation.
As we used to whisper to one another in the halls of my Catholic high school: Non illegitimi carborundum. Translated from Latin it means: Don't let the bastards get you down!
Peace/Love,
Betsy
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