Personal Narrative On Becoming A Swimer

MY JOURNEY TO BECOME A SWIMMER

I remember everything, so clearly, as if a film were playing in my head. Everything was cold and blue. My body was stiff and I was uncertain. I knew what I had to do, but I didn’t know how to do it. Instead of even trying, I gave up. I threw my head above the water and started gasping for air. My parents came to my rescue. They reassured me that everything was going to be fine and patted my back to help get the water out of my mouth. Wrapped in a towel, with my parents’ arms around me, I walked out of the shallow water pool. And that's when I told myself I would never try to swim again.

Six years later, I was in the fifth grade and still didn’t know how to swim, and I was fine with it. In my perspective,

However my parents disagreed. My parents wanted me to learn and registered me in Red Cross Swim Lessons-Level One. I was spending half an hour every Saturday morning at the recreation centre being terrified of what I was expected to do-- put my head underwater. I remembered my past experience of trying to swim and that motivated me to do anything to keep my face out of the water. When the day arrived to receive our “reports”, I knew I had failed and that was exactly what my report said. My parents’ talked to my instructor and they asked what I needed to work on. My instructor listed a few things and told my parents if I work a little harder I will pass next time. Before they re- registered me in level one, they showed me a movie; Heart:The Marilyn Bell Story. The movie was about a 16-year old Canadian teenaged girl who was inspired by her coach to swim a 52 km race. She spent time preparing herself for the race and then she found out that she was going against an

The first course I took was called Bronze Medallion which focuses on water rescues. Right from the start it was a challenge for me, especially the distance swim and some of the new strokes we had learned. I spent 2 and a half hours every Saturday morning on this course. After classes I would spend another hour practicing whatever I had trouble apprehending. Sometimes even spending the whole hour on just a single stroke. I would repeat steps in my head, of how I need to do it over and over again, until I got it right! Flex, out, whip around, glide. Flex, whip, glide. 10 classes later.The moment of truth; our final exam. One mistake could be the end of it all. Moments before the exam began, I stood outside the door to the pool and took a deep breath. “You have practiced hard! You are definitely going to nail this exam!” I repeated to myself and then pushed open the door. My exam would soon