The Invisible Black Woman

Now, in my quest to commit fully to this new physical therapy journey, I decided to incorporate swimming. Now, let’s be clear about something. I know y’all love a good underdog story, but I am no novice when it comes to swimming. Born on an island, remember? A strong swimmer through and through. It’s basically in my DNA. But here’s the fun fact that will make you laugh: despite growing up on an island, I didn’t actually learn to swim until I came to the States. You read that right. It wasn’t until we went spent an entire summer in Florida at the pool every day that I finally learned how to swim. I think I was nine, maybe going on ten? Anyway, that’s how I became a swimmer that looked like she was born on an island.

Fast forward to present day: I’ve decided to really give swimming a go as part of this whole physical therapy routine. So, I did what any reasonable person would do: I started looking for a pool that was close by. Lucky me, I found one within walking distance of where we live. I was so excited. Like, this is going to be it. This is the missing piece of my health puzzle and everything is going to fall into place. I could swim a few laps before work, get in some low-impact cardio, and then head home to start my day. Truth be told, swimming is another one of my happy places, so I could do laps for an hour and the time would fly by.

Sounds like the perfect solution to my health issues, right? Y’all, it was everything but.

So that morning, I walk to the pool from our place. It was nice and sunny out and warm, so I could not wait. The first red flag when I got there was that the pool was in the basement. Normally that wouldn’t be an issue, but there was no elevator I could access. Bum knees, remember? So trying to go down the stairs was gonna be something. But I figured I’d just take my time and it would be okay. I make it down the stairs with no major mishaps or knee-out-of-socket sensations, so now I’m all pumped and ready to get my swim on. I had my bag, my towel, the whole nine. The pool was technically in an apartment complex, but they’d turned it into a community center, so it was open to the public. I had already envisioned me going there the entire year since it was indoors and seeing myself healthier and slimmer.

The second I laid eyes on that pool, I knew we had a problem. Y’all, when I say it looked like a tetanus shot waiting to happen, I mean it. There was rust everywhere—on the ladders, the pool edges, places that should never have rust, and places I didn’t even think could have rust. My excitement fizzled out real quick, but being the committed (read: stubborn) person that I am, I thought, Okay, I’m already here. Let’s make the best of it. So, yes, I did go in and swim. I won’t lie, though; the entire time I was praying I didn’t catch something that would have me losing a limb.

I swam my laps and got out of there as fast as I could. Needless to say, that was the first and last time I ever swam in that pool. I love a good workout, but not at the expense of my health—or my life.

After that near-tetanus experience, I had to pivot. I found another pool, this time through the city’s parks and recreation system. A little farther from home, but worth it. It opened an hour later than the tetanus pool, which wasn’t ideal, but I rolled with it. Plus, it was an Olympic-sized pool, and honestly, I was excited to finally swim in something that wouldn’t make me feel like I needed a hazmat suit.

So, I get there early the next day, ready to dive in. I’m feeling good, I’m energized, and I’m about to put in some laps like I’m training for something crucial. The pool is practically empty except for a few swimmers, so I head straight to the deep end because, you know, I can swim.

I’m doing my thing when all of a sudden, I notice more people start filing in. No big deal, right? Not exactly. These newcomers weren’t just any swimmers. These folks were serious. I’m talking speedos, swim caps, goggles—the whole professional swimmer getup. I look around and realize that I’m the only one in the deep end who doesn’t look like they’re training for the next Olympic trials.

Now, nobody actually said anything to me, but the looks I was getting? Whew. It was like I had walked into a meeting I wasn’t invited to. Turns out, there’s this unspoken rule that the deep end is reserved for the “serious” swimmers, while the rest of us mere mortals are supposed to stay in the shallower end. I didn’t get the memo.

But y’all, here’s where it gets hilarious. I’m over there, doing my best, feeling confident as ever, when it’s time for me to get out. Now, I’m not a small woman by any stretch of the imagination. Yet for some misguided reason, I thought I’d just pop myself out of the pool like those cute, graceful swimmers do in the movies. You know, the ones who just push off the edge with their hands and hop out all effortlessly? Yeah. That didn’t happen. Not even close. Because, gravity.

The pool was 12-feet deep, and here I was, trying to push myself out of it like I was Michael Phelps. I struggled, y’all. Struggled hard. But wait, it gets better. There were stairs built into the pool, but they were all the way on the other side of the pool. And remember, by this time, every lane was taken by these “professional” swimmers, so I had to time my escape like I was playing Double Dutch. Y’all remember Double Dutch, right? When you had to time it just right to jump in without messing up the ropes (or power cords #iykyk)?

Yeah, that was me. But instead of ropes, I was trying to dodge swimmers and make my way to the stairs without getting hit or hitting anyone else. I wish y’all could’ve seen it because it was ridiculous. Somehow, by the grace of all things holy, I made it to the stairs and climbed out—nowhere near as fast as I was hoping because now my body was even heavier after the swim, but definitely as fast as I could.

I was glad to have my back turned to everyone else, but I could feel the judgy stares and head shakes. All I kept telling myself as I scurried off as fast as I could was, never, ever again.