Humble Beginnings

As I was losing tennis against the handball wall this morning - the third superbly humbling experience of the day - I realized that this is my destiny for the summer. I am a teacher, so I always get the question, “What are you doing with your summer?” I think I’ve found my answer.

“I’m being humbled.”  

This is officially the Summer of Humble.

The morning began with a realization. I’ve come to hate my core.  It’s true.  

This year, something has shifted in my body.  Call it age, call it lack of any type of mid-toning/strength work, call it regular, increasingly frequent margaritas. Whatever you call it, thy name is gut.  

It’s not an overwhelming gut.  It only slightly protrudes, so a few of my loved ones have rolled their eyes when I’ve brought it up.  There have even been a couple of scoffs. I get it - they don’t live in my skin. It’s a gut to me, though.  It’s knocked my confidence a bit. It changes the way my clothes fit, it affects my decisions about what to wear. (Right now, I’m favoring shorts and t-shirts over sun dresses.)
It weighs on me.
It’s taken me years to grow into my body. Yes, I laugh at it a lot, and use it as joke fodder, but I’ve truly come to love my no boobs, no hips, athletic pre-pubescent boy look. I’ve even accepted my block of a middle.  For a long time, that block was ripped and tight, and it made me feel bad*ss. But the block is now a bit squishy - it’s thicker and rounder, which makes it even more obvious that I have no boobs and no hips.  I got used to - and embraced - my proportions when my middle was thinner and flatter.  Now, I feel more barrel-ish.
The realization that I hate my gut led to my first humbling experience of the day.  I realized that when I talk about my physical core, I may also mean the core of who I am.  This goes deep, folks.  I really pride myself on being disciplined and structured.  I like to think that I get sh*t done, and that if there’s a problem, I can and will solve it.  So, how is it that this thing - this small, inconsequential thing in the big scheme of things - is causing the most self criticism and loathing? Why can’t I stomach fixing my stomach?I
I’d had one realization and one humbling experience, and it was only 6:30AM.  I had to act.

I had to do something to save my core(s).  
I decided that I was finally going to go across the street and take advantage of morning lap swim at the local Parks and Rec pool. I’d signed up online and bought the goggles the week before.  All I’d needed was the nudge, and here it was.  

I grew up as a swimmer. I spent five years on a swim team. When I was 22, I spent the summer swimming a mile each workout.  How hard could it be to get back in the water?

My first lap was steady.  I felt sleek and powerful, like a shark.  My slightly cupped hands pierced the water and dragged down the center of my body. I was a predator!  I turned for small side breaths rhythmically after every four strokes. That’s right, the old form was still in my muscles, I thought. I still got it! I sped up at the end, held my breath an extra few strokes and tapped the side.  
When I popped up out of the water, I attributed the slight light-headedness to the rush of reclaiming a sport… until I not only felt but heard my heavy panting. I hadn’t noticed it underwater, but the sharp, jagged breathing resembled a panic attack. I pretended to readjust my goggles until my body stopped heaving and my heart rate had returned from one comparable to a small rodent’s.
I'd gone from shark to rat in one lousy lap.
Feeling deflated but not defeated, I pushed off again.  It only took two strokes to realize I’d blown the majority of my energy on my first pass. Over the next four eternal laps, whatever form I thought I had deteriorated.  My body rocked and swayed like a flat bottomed boat. My side breaths grew to largemouth bass gulps.  I churned the water around me like a drowning man.  When I finally brought my personal nor’easter to shore, I slumped over the pool gutter, closed my eyes, and prayed for lightning or a bomb threat.
Sadly, the day remained beautifully peaceful. I couldn’t bring myself to leave yet, so I decided to slow things down with some breaststroke. The next couple of laps felt slightly easier but just as uncomfortable as the freestyle laps. At least I wasn’t taking on as much water.  I stood up.  An older man working behind the reception table was looking down at me.  I shook my head and said, “It’s been a while.  Pacing is killing me.”
“Here’s what I want you to do,” he said. “This time, I want you to hold your stroke for two extra seconds.”
I nodded and repeated, “Two more seconds. Okay.”  He gave an unconvinced smile.
I turned with new enthusiasm.  I had been given a charge!  Maybe all I needed was a slight adjustment, and I’d be back to my shark self. I pushed off and elongated every stroke.  On my return, I noticed my new coach getting out of his chair and approaching poolside.
I hadn’t seen anyone else getting schooled, and I could only hope it was because he saw some special potential in me. I stood up. He bent over, put his hands on his knees, and leaned in close.
“This time I want you to hold your stroke for FOUR seconds. And I want you to look straight down at the bottom of the pool.  Put your face all the way in the water, look down, and breathe out ALL of your air.” He took a moment, then added pointedly, “ And I want you to RELAX.”
“I don’t look relaxed?” I said.

“No. You don’t look relaxed.”

I nodded. There was a pause.

“So what are you going to do this time?” he quizzed me.

“I’m going to hold the stroke for four seconds.”

“Yes, FOUR seconds, not two.”

“No, FOUR.”

“And…”

“I’m going to look straight down at the bottom of the pool, and blow out all of my air.”

“And…”

“And I’m going to RELAX.”

“RELAX.  Good.”

I failed on the very first stroke.  I didn’t have enough air in me to blow out for a whole four seconds. I was spent after two. I felt my body sinking.  I’d always learned to look where I was going. It felt unnatural to stare at the bottom of the pool.  And it sure as sh*t felt unnatural to RELAX.  
I wobbled and bobbed and strained and gasped my way through set after set of laps, just long enough to feel like I could honestly call it a workout, not simply a bath.  As soon as I felt like I could get credit for this catastrophe, I jelly-leg jumped out of the pool, grabbed my gear, and waddled home.  As I unlocked the door to the apartment, I felt a wave of nausea overcome me...until I let out a giant belch.  I was only surprised not to see pool water and an errant fish tumble out.
The burp helped my stomach but not my core.  

At this point, I decided that what I really needed was to change gears and do something I felt somewhat successful at.  Another sport I’ve been trying after a long, long hiatus is tennis.  (Well, tennis if you’ll consider the loose definition of “smacking a tennis ball against a wall with a tennis racquet.”) With new resolve, I threw on some dry clothes, jumped on my bicycle, and headed over to the local handball courts.  
Humility was NOT going to get the better of me! I was going to dominate SOMETHING!

Then why did I choose another sport I’d just rediscovered?  I’ve never been good at tennis, and that was evident once again the moment I started trying to hit a wall.  My tennis should actually be renamed retrieving. That’s mostly what I do.  And as I was chasing the ball down and digging it out of the bushes and thanking the player on the next court over for returning it, I understood the pattern of my summer vacation.  
This summer, I’ve dedicated myself to doing a lot of things I haven’t done for a long time and/or was never very good at.  

I’m trying to eat better. I’m trying to take care of my upper body and work my core by jumpstarting new tennis and swimming workouts. I’m trying to return to my writing life with the help of a Fellowship with the NYCWP, an incredible community of educator-writers.

But trying is hard. I’m rusty and uncomfortable and self conscious.  I don’t like to NOT be good at something.  I quit things I’m not good at.  Some pursuits are worthy of the struggle, though. I want to be better, so I’m going to unabashedly embrace my Summer of Humble, and hopefully learn a thing or two.

And that makes me think that the core of me is still intact.