The Do-Over(50)
Author: Suzanne Park
I lifted my head. “I haven’t swum since high school. And swim is an exaggeration. I sink. You’d think that going from a C cup in college to a D cup now would mean I’m more buoyant, but it’s actually exactly the opposite. It’s like my body is sixty percent sand instead of water. I can kind of doggy-paddle. Floating on my back is iffy. I know some basic strokes but I can go maybe one lap.” I needed three. Three whole Olympic pool laps.
“High school was only four years ago . . . oh shit. I keep forgetting.” Beth winced. “Maybe it’s like riding a bike and it will all come back to you.”
Clearly this girl had never seen me ride a bike.
It was too late to add the Intro to Swimming PE class to my course load, and I couldn’t graduate without passing the test before the end of the semester. All these years of summer vacations, tanning poolside, going down lazy rivers, and I never once tried to swim. The last time I got into the water was to order a round of drinks at a swim-up bar.
Beth changed her tone and spoke to me like she was coaxing a preschooler. “Hey, maybe I can help. I was a lifeguard in high school and taught lots of kids how to swim. We can go to the pool a few times a week to work on your strokes and build your stamina.”
Oh God, my stamina. Earlier that morning I dropped a Q-tip on the bathroom floor and got winded squatting and crawling around the floor, trying to reach for it in a crevice next to the sink. How could I possibly go from Q-tip crouch-n-crawl fatigue to seventy-five yards of swimming in a few weeks?
I opened the top drawer of my dresser and pulled out a swimsuit. “It’s a two-piece, and it’s meant more for lounging than exercising. It’ll be big on you.” The black-and-white swimsuit had cute detailing and was expensive, even on sale. I’d worn it only a handful of times. I thought it was dumb to pack it with my boxes headed to college, but I guess I was wrong.
“I’ll wash it and give it back to you when I’m done.” She took the suit from my hands. “And I mean it, let’s go to the pool soon to get you used to being in the water.”
My breath quickened and I tried to slow it down with slow exhales. It almost felt like I had low blood sugar because my knees weakened, my head got lighter, and the room came in and out of focus even with calm breathing.
“Lily? Are you okay? Is it something I said?” When I didn’t answer, she grabbed my chair and rolled it over to me, then helped me sit.
It took some time for this bout to pass. I explained what was going on so she wouldn’t get freaked out. “I’m sorry, I should have told you earlier when I first moved in.” I swallowed hard and took a deep breath in and out. “I have high-functioning anxiety. I’ve dealt with it since college, though I suspect it started much earlier than that.” I took another deep breath and divulged something only a few people knew about, not even my parents. Especially not my parents.
“It started with insomnia in high school. Then, after weeks of terrible sleep, I woke up one morning during exam week and it felt like I had something stuck in my throat, like a ball of sadness and worry, and I couldn’t swallow it away. Then, in college, the ulcers and stomach pain came. After years of hiding it from family and friends, I finally went to seek help, thanks to Mia putting me in touch with a friend in the medical field. I’ve been able to manage it over the years with medication and therapy, but it resurfaces. I can’t go to concerts anymore—too scared of mob mentality and crowd surges—and one of the reasons I left corporate America was because it became clear that no amount of self-care and PTO days was helping with my job-related stress. Since then, I’ve made life, work, and family adjustments for my mental and physical well-being, trying to minimize my anxiety when I can.” I smiled weakly. “Apparently swim tests are a stress maximizer.”
I expected Beth to give me a full-on “rah-rah-you-can-do-it!” pep talk, saying something motivational or responding with a semi-relevant, Midwestern-funny anecdote. Instead, she bent down and tackle-hugged me, pinning my arms against my torso, squeezing air from my lungs. She nearly caused me to lose my balance in the chair.
“You inspire me so much!” Beth eventually loosened her arms, allowing me the luxury of reinflating my lungs and chest. “I mean it.”
“Thank you,” I said while gulping air. “Wow, you’re really strong.”
“It’s the kettlebells.” She smiled. “Thank you for telling me about your anxiety. I’ll do my part to help. And I’ll make your swim test preparation as low-hassle as possible. It’ll be great.”
“Thanks.” Once she had unsqueezed my upper body, I hugged her back. “And thank you for being a good friend.”
Our hug fest was interrupted by an urgent email notification, which meant the message had come from someone on my VIP list.
It was a note from Jake. But it wasn’t personalized to only me, it was a mass email.
Dear CS class,
Congratulations on finishing midterms! As we ease into the final weeks of the semester and prepare for finals, I wanted to introduce you to Sudhir Misra, who will be sharing the remainder of my TA duties this semester. He attended Wake Forest for undergrad and is in his third year in the CS PhD program, specializing in machine learning approaches to predicting Parkinson’s disease using gene expression. I’ve linked to his bio below.
Our new office hours are as follows: M and F, 1–3pm Office 1001011 for Sudhir, and Th 1–3pm Office 1001011 for Jacob.
If you have any questions for either Sudhir or me, please let us know. And as always, see you in class!
Jake hadn’t been to the lectures that week. I assumed that he was sick, or vainly assumed that he was avoiding me at all costs. With this new TA development, it seemed like there was something bigger going on than just us.
“Anything important?” Beth asked, studying my reaction.
“Not really. Jacob seems to be transitioning out of his TA duties and he sent an email to the class about it.” I tucked my phone into my jacket pocket.
Worry flashed across her face. “Is he okay? Like what if he’s on the one-way escalator to heaven?”
Nothing like that had even occurred to me. Leave it to Beth to show me a new, albeit morbid, way of looking at this situation. “I’ll reach out to him to make sure he’s okay.”
She hugged me again, but this time with less strangulation. “After you message Jake, let’s go sign you up for a swim test.”
I couldn’t think of two things I dreaded more. But with Beth’s encouragement, I reluctantly agreed to do both, and she rewarded me with a half sheet of apple strudel. Rather than text Jake informally, I replied to his email and vaguely asked how he was doing. I received an out-of-the-office reply, implying he was busy and it would take a few business days to get back to me. Jake being busy and possibly overextended wasn’t a surprise.