Big Fish, Little Pond  

I'm not a big fan of cliches. For instance, I hate the phrase, "That's like the pot calling the kettle black." Um, first of all, pots can't talk; and furthermore, my pots are silver, not black, so it doesn't even make sense.

I've felt particular disdain for the cliched saying about being a big fish in a little pond. The main reason why I dislike it so much, however, is because - at least in my experience - it's true. Scathingly true. When I was in high school, I thought I was a big shot - I was near the top of my class, and I thought that made me a genius. Then I got to college - Duke - a land of true geniuses, and BAM! I went from being a big fish in the little pond that is high school to being a small fish, struggling to stay afloat in the massive ocean.

The same was true of my favorite extracurricular activity, swimming. I thought I was the shit in the water; after all, I had amassed enough gold medals and blue ribbons by the time I was 16 to start my own trophy supply shop. But every year, I was reminded of just how average I was when I went to the district championship meet. Each year, the same girl - who, in all fairness to myself, went on to win not on, not two, but FOUR Olympic medals - whupped my butt: whupped it hard.

So when I said goodbye to swimming, I didn't look back. I was happy to be done with it, to put it in my life's rearview mirror.

Until this past summer.

Thanks to the 50 pounds I'd gained during my pregnancy with baby C, I was looking for a low-impact way to burn a lot of calories. Since we were already spending a lot of time at our swim club, I started spending the hourly 10-minute "safety" breaks to swim laps. At first, I swam painstakingly slow, and the ten minutes just about did me in. But by the end of the summer, I was once again feeling the need - the need for speed (sorry, another cliche).

That's when I took my swimming talents to our local Y. I devoted one hour, one morning a week to lap swimming. And that's when I realized something:

At the Y, I was once again the big fish in a little pond.
Because of the day and time during which I chose to swim, I was surrounded not by high school athletes or even masters-level swimmers, but by little old ladies who were aqua-jogging; elderly men who swam fast and furious for four lengths of the pool before calling it a workout; stay-at-home parents, like myself, who were looking for a way to keep in shape that didn't involve an elliptical trainer or a treadmill.

Once they realized I planned to become a regular, they started commenting on my technique. "You must have been on the swim team," they'd say to me. When I'd confirm their suspicions, they'd go on to tell me that their son/niece/granddaughter was on the swim team now, and how much dedication it took. I'd nod in agreement; after all, I spent 3-4 hours a day with my head below the water's surface for most of my teen years.

Soon, I found myself handing out advice to my new workout partners. For example, just last week a woman who joined our ranks only a few weeks ago asked me how I got my stroke so even, as hers was a little lopsided. I urged her to invest in a pair of hand paddles, which would help her slow down her stroke and isolate her movements, eliminating the hitch. She thanked me profusely. When I saw her this morning in the pool, she waved enthusiastically - in her hand was a paddle.

Sure, sometimes I find myself getting competitive with my just-for-fun swimming friends. Sometimes, I try to see how quickly I can lap them, or see if I can keep up with their full stroke while I'm just kicking.

But overall, I'm happy where I'm at. I've found peace with my swimming ghosts.

And I'm darn happy to finally, finally be the big fish once more.