click here The third handicap, I associate with My Only Child Syndrome, was my lack of swimming skills, when I was an adult.
site de rencontre comme facebook Like a bolt out of the blue , it struck me , that I was wrong to think that I did not know Swimming. Of course , I knew swimming. I was swimming in-utero before I walked. I just had to refresh what I knew. I convinced Sam, of my earth shattering discovery and got him to agree to come for swimming lessons with me.
rencontre femme kinshasa Sam and I, both in our late 50s, enrolled at a summer swimming camp, in Chennai. These camps, are arranged primarily for school children, during the summer holidays. The average age of the child, at that particular camp, was nine, which made us, instantly prehistoric. We did not care. We were desperate, to learn swimming.
source link We ran the idea by our kids, Rekha and Anish, both Ace swimmers. I had insisted that they learned swimming and cycling early in life. They were extremely encouraging and cheered us on. Anish, a trained chef, explained it thus.
go Mummy when you make soup, the fat floats on top….Right ?
gratis datingside So don’t worry…You will never drown
site de rencontre franУЇais gratuit en ligne Reassured , we arrived at the pool, to see a bunch of exuberant kids, in swimsuits around a fierce looking, middle-aged gentleman, who was twirling a handle-bar moustache, that almost covered his face. We had just got a glimpse, of the most important man in our lives, for the next 8 weeks. Our swimming instructor, “Saravanan Sir”. We did a quick prayer and placed our lives, our lungs and our limbs in his hands.
web conocer chicas We bought our swimsuits at the reception. We were not measured for size. The lady at the desk looked us up and down, decided our sizes, handed us our packets and directed us to the Changing rooms. My swimsuit was a deep purple spandex one-size-fits-all. I shook it out of the plastic cover and got the shock of my life. It looked like pair of leotards, that had a low waisted, ballerina’s, polka dotted tutu, stitched around the hips. Even if it did nothing else, it would cover me from my wrists to my knees.
enter site An eternal optimist, I wiggled and wriggled and writhed into the spandex fabric. The push and shove of body parts, took almost half an hour. Sam, in better shape than I was, had got into his swimming trunks, with a towel around his waist. He kept watching the door of the Ladies changing room, waiting for me to emerge. Confused, he wondered if I had beaten him to the pool. After half an hour, he became a little anxious and sent the attender to check if I had passed out, or fled. Sheepishly, I emerged and walked gingerly to the pool with Sam following me, not daring to laugh.
cherche femmes en france I will kill you Sama, if you say one word ….I laughed, as I lowered myself into the water.
The frilly tutu bit, was of no use, to man or beast. It was definitely of no use to me. As soon as I got into the water , it floated up, like a cloth equator, perpendicular to my midriff, reducing me, a visibly relieved Sam and the curious spectators around the pool, to ripples of giggles.
A few minutes later , Anish came to see how we were doing. He laughed so much, he almost fell into the pool, when he saw his ageing parents, floundering like drowning ducks, among a bunch of noisy kids, splashing in the pool.
Good grief, He exclaimed.
You look like Shrek One and Shrek Two !!
Sam and I persisted with the classes and we learned to swim quite well eventually. With time the Purple Spandex, became a whimsical memory and was traded for a practical swim dress, that did not float up like a tutu, with a mind of its own.
I used to wonder, if my Mum and Dad, were watching with fear and trepidation, from above.