Saturday, May 06, 2006
Clase de natacion
Part of the reason I came to Mexico for the year was to challenge myself. I have lived abroad by myself before—junior year abroad in England and then four years in Taiwan. While they were both worthwhile experiences and I learned a great deal, they were not exactly the most fun years of my life. I think I keep going abroad because I want to get it right.
I’m thinking about this today because I had a mini-drama this morning in swimming class. I keep having to face challenges and to learn to keep going despite feeling bad, and every time is like the first time all over again—it doesn’t feel like it’s getting any easier, though I know that I must be handling it better now than ever. Feeling frustrated with myself this morning, I have been reflecting all day.
Certain things come easily to me. For example, school has always been my area of greatest confidence, because it’s not difficult for me to get As and Bs—even if I am struggling in a field I no longer care for. I have a good memory, so I am a good test-taker. I write passably. I can find joy in learning so I have the motivation to do the work. I’m the kind of person who excels academically.
But ask me to do anything athletic and watch me cringe. As I child I always hated P.E. If we had to play dodgeball, I would fake getting hit to avoid actually getting hit and so that I could sit in the grass and talk with my friends. (What a traumatizing game for children!) I was always one of the last to be picked to be on a team for any game. I walked most of the way when we were supposed to run. It was not easy to play any sport or to run or to catch or hit a ball or to exercise in any way, so I usually gave up before we even began.
When I began going to aikido class in college, I realized I could probably learn to do it, but that it would take a lot of work—more work than I was used to putting into anything. I didn’t learn much aikido; all I have retained from aikido practice is how to fall and the knowledge that my blood pressure is on the low end of the normal range. But I fell in love with martial arts and decided to go to Taiwan to learn some Chinese kung fu. It’s embarrassing to admit, but I had this fantasy of becoming a kung fu master, like the characters that Michelle Yeoh plays in Hong Kong action movies.
I did not progress rapidly in any of my martial arts endeavors, and my dream of literally being able to kick ass faded as reality hit me harder and harder. I spent over a year in Wing Chun kung fu training, but I don’t have much to show for it. Then I tried karate and gave up after a couple months. Then I tried tai chi and gave that up after a few months, too. At OSU, I went back to aikido and then tried another type of karate, but I only lasted a few classes in each. I gave up. I was never going to be like Wing Chun or any of Michelle Yeoh’s action-movie characters.
Swimming classes at the YMCA had ended much the same way. I was probably about 7 or 8, and I never learned to swim. I hated my teacher, who was pretty mean. I inhaled a lot of water. Once at a very young age, I was sitting in an inflatable boat in our little backyard pool and was tipped over as a joke, only it wasn’t funny to me at all. That memory is pretty clear—that’s what comes to mind whenever I think about being underwater. Ever since then I have always held my nose with my hand in order to submerge my head, or else I swim like a dog and keep my head above water. This becomes more and more embarrassing the older I get, but my fear of inhaling water and drowning has been too strong to stop doing it. Especially if I am at a beach in Mexico and a big wave is coming my way and I have to dive under it to avoid being pummeled.
So when the P.E. teacher at the school invited me to a swimming class he gives on Saturday mornings, I said yes, because I know I have to get over my fear of being underwater. I thought about not going, but I forced myself to the class. At first, I was getting water up my nose a lot and scared and feeling hopeless. But after a while, I was actually able to put my head underwater easily without plugging my nose, because the P.E. teacher kept telling me to do it, and because I was embarrassed in front of all those people to be so scared.
Next came exercises with the floaty board, with breathing and putting my head underwater. Though I don’t kick my feet correctly and tire myself out quickly as a result, it was not hard to do; I only swallowed a few gulps of pool water. Finally he took away my floaty board and told me to try the crawl. This did not go well. I couldn’t coordinate my arms and my feet and the breathing, so of course I ended up coughing and trying to clear my nostrils of water at the side of the pool halfway across. I tried a couple more times but every time was worse. I was crying before I even realized it, because my face was wet anyway and my eyes irritated from the chlorine. I think the teachers and the other students realized it even before I did, because they were telling me it was enough for today, that I had learned a lot and that I was doing fine. I got out and went to shower, and I cried in the shower, without really understanding why.
Frustration with myself always makes me upset, and even after having come this far, it still happens. I’m still a little kid in that way. So I will have to keep going to the class and make myself learn to swim, to get over this fear and to stop having these too-high expectations of myself.
I do have something to brag about this week, however small it is. On Thursday, the students participated in a competition for singing the Mexican national anthem, and they won first place. There were about six or seven other schools in the contest, but none of them (including our school) were very good. The ones who had CD accompaniment often got off tempo and sang faster than the recording. The ones who didn’t have CD accompaniment couldn’t stay on key. We were the only ones with keyboard accompaniment as well as a CD, so the kids stayed pretty much in tempo and, well, those who can sing on key stayed on key. “Keyboard accompaniment” here means that I played the melody with one hand on the keyboard. I had been practicing and trying to learn to play both hands together, but I only had one week to prepare, and I haven’t played the piano in years. I still have high expectations of myself, but I did well just playing one-handed, and it helped the school. Now we will have to go perform again in Tepatitlán, the large town nearby. I don’t know when it is, so I’m not practicing much, which I’ll probably regret later. But I have an excuse! I left the piano music somewhere and I think the music teacher took it with him, so I have to get it back from him somehow.
Other news: I finally got my FM3 (my work visa)! It’s a little green book with my picture and signature and specs.
Friday was Cinco de Mayo. I finally learned the story of the Battle of Puebla, which this day commemorates. (I got the story in Spanish, however, so I might have understood it wrong.) Apparently, during the administration of the illustrious president Benito Juarez (sometime in the 1800s), he announced that Mexico would not be able to pay its debts to the U.S. and some other countries, for financial difficulties. (Sounds like the economic hardship deferments I’ve been requesting for my student loans.) All the countries but France were OK with this. France sent its army to Mexico and they fought in the town of Puebla. Mexico won. Who knew that this day on which OSU students all gather in Mexican restaurants to get wasted on margaritas commemorates the day the Mexicans beat the French?
My celebration here to commemorate the Battle of Puebla began impromptu in my afternoon English class the day before Cinco de Mayo. Only Aracely and Cristina showed up, so instead of having English class we just chatted, in Spanish of course. Then when Rocio got off work (because she was held after as she often is), we went to my house to eat snacks and drink tequila and chat some more. Aracely was a bit depressed and went home early. Cristina and Rocio and I started dancing around like the madwomen that we are. Cristina put on the big yellow skirt I bought in Oaxaca and showed us how to dance baile folklórico to the famous song, El Sinaloense. She taught me a few steps. I taught Rocio the basic bachata steps. We all cracked ourselves up dancing like Lety la fea from our favorite telenovela.
The next day, Cinco de Mayo, we met up early for breakfast at Aracely’s house. She made these wonderful chilaquiles, and I am convinced I should buy a blender so that I can learn how to make some essential sauces for Mexican dishes like chilaquiles before I leave. Then we were hoping to go swimming at the club campestre, which has an awesome pool. We had heard that it only costs 20 pesos per person, so we went over there hoping to be able to get in. It ended up being 40 pesos per person (about US$4), and since there were four of las locas and four kids, it would’ve been 320 pesos for all of us! Instead we just had the kids play on the playground equipment while we chatted and did a bit of yoga, and then we went back to Aracely’s and filled up the kiddie pool with water for the kids while we cooked lunch. I was so tired after all that that I went home to watch La Fea and do email and sleep. Cinco de Mayo isn’t really celebrated much except in Puebla, I think. Here some of us just get the day off and laze around, no fiestas or anything. How funny how different it is here in Mexico. Back in Columbus, I probably would’ve had a huge party at my house, like I did last year. Well, back in Columbus at that house, we would’ve had parties for just about any occasion….
I’m thinking about this today because I had a mini-drama this morning in swimming class. I keep having to face challenges and to learn to keep going despite feeling bad, and every time is like the first time all over again—it doesn’t feel like it’s getting any easier, though I know that I must be handling it better now than ever. Feeling frustrated with myself this morning, I have been reflecting all day.
Certain things come easily to me. For example, school has always been my area of greatest confidence, because it’s not difficult for me to get As and Bs—even if I am struggling in a field I no longer care for. I have a good memory, so I am a good test-taker. I write passably. I can find joy in learning so I have the motivation to do the work. I’m the kind of person who excels academically.
But ask me to do anything athletic and watch me cringe. As I child I always hated P.E. If we had to play dodgeball, I would fake getting hit to avoid actually getting hit and so that I could sit in the grass and talk with my friends. (What a traumatizing game for children!) I was always one of the last to be picked to be on a team for any game. I walked most of the way when we were supposed to run. It was not easy to play any sport or to run or to catch or hit a ball or to exercise in any way, so I usually gave up before we even began.
When I began going to aikido class in college, I realized I could probably learn to do it, but that it would take a lot of work—more work than I was used to putting into anything. I didn’t learn much aikido; all I have retained from aikido practice is how to fall and the knowledge that my blood pressure is on the low end of the normal range. But I fell in love with martial arts and decided to go to Taiwan to learn some Chinese kung fu. It’s embarrassing to admit, but I had this fantasy of becoming a kung fu master, like the characters that Michelle Yeoh plays in Hong Kong action movies.
I did not progress rapidly in any of my martial arts endeavors, and my dream of literally being able to kick ass faded as reality hit me harder and harder. I spent over a year in Wing Chun kung fu training, but I don’t have much to show for it. Then I tried karate and gave up after a couple months. Then I tried tai chi and gave that up after a few months, too. At OSU, I went back to aikido and then tried another type of karate, but I only lasted a few classes in each. I gave up. I was never going to be like Wing Chun or any of Michelle Yeoh’s action-movie characters.
Swimming classes at the YMCA had ended much the same way. I was probably about 7 or 8, and I never learned to swim. I hated my teacher, who was pretty mean. I inhaled a lot of water. Once at a very young age, I was sitting in an inflatable boat in our little backyard pool and was tipped over as a joke, only it wasn’t funny to me at all. That memory is pretty clear—that’s what comes to mind whenever I think about being underwater. Ever since then I have always held my nose with my hand in order to submerge my head, or else I swim like a dog and keep my head above water. This becomes more and more embarrassing the older I get, but my fear of inhaling water and drowning has been too strong to stop doing it. Especially if I am at a beach in Mexico and a big wave is coming my way and I have to dive under it to avoid being pummeled.
So when the P.E. teacher at the school invited me to a swimming class he gives on Saturday mornings, I said yes, because I know I have to get over my fear of being underwater. I thought about not going, but I forced myself to the class. At first, I was getting water up my nose a lot and scared and feeling hopeless. But after a while, I was actually able to put my head underwater easily without plugging my nose, because the P.E. teacher kept telling me to do it, and because I was embarrassed in front of all those people to be so scared.
Next came exercises with the floaty board, with breathing and putting my head underwater. Though I don’t kick my feet correctly and tire myself out quickly as a result, it was not hard to do; I only swallowed a few gulps of pool water. Finally he took away my floaty board and told me to try the crawl. This did not go well. I couldn’t coordinate my arms and my feet and the breathing, so of course I ended up coughing and trying to clear my nostrils of water at the side of the pool halfway across. I tried a couple more times but every time was worse. I was crying before I even realized it, because my face was wet anyway and my eyes irritated from the chlorine. I think the teachers and the other students realized it even before I did, because they were telling me it was enough for today, that I had learned a lot and that I was doing fine. I got out and went to shower, and I cried in the shower, without really understanding why.
Frustration with myself always makes me upset, and even after having come this far, it still happens. I’m still a little kid in that way. So I will have to keep going to the class and make myself learn to swim, to get over this fear and to stop having these too-high expectations of myself.
I do have something to brag about this week, however small it is. On Thursday, the students participated in a competition for singing the Mexican national anthem, and they won first place. There were about six or seven other schools in the contest, but none of them (including our school) were very good. The ones who had CD accompaniment often got off tempo and sang faster than the recording. The ones who didn’t have CD accompaniment couldn’t stay on key. We were the only ones with keyboard accompaniment as well as a CD, so the kids stayed pretty much in tempo and, well, those who can sing on key stayed on key. “Keyboard accompaniment” here means that I played the melody with one hand on the keyboard. I had been practicing and trying to learn to play both hands together, but I only had one week to prepare, and I haven’t played the piano in years. I still have high expectations of myself, but I did well just playing one-handed, and it helped the school. Now we will have to go perform again in Tepatitlán, the large town nearby. I don’t know when it is, so I’m not practicing much, which I’ll probably regret later. But I have an excuse! I left the piano music somewhere and I think the music teacher took it with him, so I have to get it back from him somehow.
Other news: I finally got my FM3 (my work visa)! It’s a little green book with my picture and signature and specs.
Friday was Cinco de Mayo. I finally learned the story of the Battle of Puebla, which this day commemorates. (I got the story in Spanish, however, so I might have understood it wrong.) Apparently, during the administration of the illustrious president Benito Juarez (sometime in the 1800s), he announced that Mexico would not be able to pay its debts to the U.S. and some other countries, for financial difficulties. (Sounds like the economic hardship deferments I’ve been requesting for my student loans.) All the countries but France were OK with this. France sent its army to Mexico and they fought in the town of Puebla. Mexico won. Who knew that this day on which OSU students all gather in Mexican restaurants to get wasted on margaritas commemorates the day the Mexicans beat the French?
My celebration here to commemorate the Battle of Puebla began impromptu in my afternoon English class the day before Cinco de Mayo. Only Aracely and Cristina showed up, so instead of having English class we just chatted, in Spanish of course. Then when Rocio got off work (because she was held after as she often is), we went to my house to eat snacks and drink tequila and chat some more. Aracely was a bit depressed and went home early. Cristina and Rocio and I started dancing around like the madwomen that we are. Cristina put on the big yellow skirt I bought in Oaxaca and showed us how to dance baile folklórico to the famous song, El Sinaloense. She taught me a few steps. I taught Rocio the basic bachata steps. We all cracked ourselves up dancing like Lety la fea from our favorite telenovela.
The next day, Cinco de Mayo, we met up early for breakfast at Aracely’s house. She made these wonderful chilaquiles, and I am convinced I should buy a blender so that I can learn how to make some essential sauces for Mexican dishes like chilaquiles before I leave. Then we were hoping to go swimming at the club campestre, which has an awesome pool. We had heard that it only costs 20 pesos per person, so we went over there hoping to be able to get in. It ended up being 40 pesos per person (about US$4), and since there were four of las locas and four kids, it would’ve been 320 pesos for all of us! Instead we just had the kids play on the playground equipment while we chatted and did a bit of yoga, and then we went back to Aracely’s and filled up the kiddie pool with water for the kids while we cooked lunch. I was so tired after all that that I went home to watch La Fea and do email and sleep. Cinco de Mayo isn’t really celebrated much except in Puebla, I think. Here some of us just get the day off and laze around, no fiestas or anything. How funny how different it is here in Mexico. Back in Columbus, I probably would’ve had a huge party at my house, like I did last year. Well, back in Columbus at that house, we would’ve had parties for just about any occasion….
