Today, after six months of lessons, I passed my swimming diploma (C). 

I can now swim a few hundred metres fully clothed (including coat and shoes), dive into the deep end and swim 15 metres underwater through a hole in a screen, and tread water in the deep end for as long as I like.

Living in the Netherlands, this feels less like a hobby and more like sensible risk management. We are surrounded by canals, crossed by rivers, and bordered by the North Sea. To add a little existential spice, my own house sits three metres below sea level. Until now, my relationship with the local geography was based largely on faith and  sturdy dikes. Now, at least, I have a fighting chance if the water ever wins. 

I still remember those first few lessons, struggling to master the breaststroke. Who invented that technique—with the arms, the frog legs, and the sequencing? It doesn’t feel like a naturally human movement. It took a surprising amount of effort to persuade my adult body to cooperate. But eventually it did. When I stopped thinking.

Looking back on the past six months, the most surprising part of the experience was how much I enjoyed learning.  In fact, I enjoyed learning to swim more than actually swimming.

The Joy of Being a Beginner

It’s funny which learning experiences stay with you. The two standout experiences in my life so far have been:

• Learning to play the double bass as a child.
• Learning to swim as an adult.

The two have more in common than you might think. In both cases, your ego has to leave the room. You can’t think your way through it or compensate with experience from somewhere else. You simply turn up, practise, look slightly ridiculous, improve by small increments, and one day realise you’re doing something that seemed impossible a few months earlier.

There’s something deeply satisfying about that. 

People Made the Difference

What I’ll probably remember most from these lessons are the people.

The instructors were endlessly patient, encouraging and quietly demanding in exactly the right proportions. I remember saying “I don’t think I can do it” when my instructor told me to swim through a hole in a screen after diving into the deep end.  Her reply – “don’t think, just do it” – was exactly the feedback I needed at that moment.

My fellow students were just as generous. There is a surprising amount of camaraderie that develops among people who are all trying to learn to swim as an adult. We all had our own reasons for not learning to swim earlier. Mine was a lack of talent, fear of water and physical clumsiness. (I’m great with books). I expected to feel embarrassed. Instead, I felt supported—and proud that I was doing it.

When your confidence wobbles—as it inevitably does when learning something completely new—the people around you matter enormously. They gave me the encouragement to keep going until I could do it.

So yes, at 56, I finally have my swimming diploma. I also have a newfound energy to tackle the things I’d love to do, even if I don’t naturally have the talent for them.

Anyone for tennis?