Swimming and the Primal Survival Instinct

I "swam" laps today for the first time since I was, oh, 11 years old. I say "swam" in quotes because it was a pathetic display of unswimming, or more-appropriately, floundering. As an aside, the expression "floundering" doesn't really make sense to me because a flounder, being a fish, should be a pretty good swimmer. Unlike me, apparently, which brings me back to my story.

I took swim lessons for a couple of years when I was a kid. I remember learning rotary breathing and the backstroke. I know I wasn't the worst kid in my classes, because that kind of humiliation would have stuck with me. I think I enjoyed going to the pool. So it was quite a shock when I jumped in the water today and realized that in the 15 years since my last swim class, my subconscious has become convinced that I will die if I exhale with my face in the water. Having a primal survival instinct is a good thing, except when you try to do something like make bubbles underwater and find that your abdominal muscles inexplicably received a massive dose of botox.

After six gasping, sputtering, frozen-diaphragm laps, I gave up and went for the kickboard. Actually, that's probably not a bad thing, because I went to the pool because I've been having some knee troubles and wanted to get a no-impact leg workout. At any rate, I guess it'll take more than 45 minutes in the pool to get my groove back. Until next week, then...