Avoided at All Costs.
I loved everything about summer camp except for one thing -- the swimming lessons -- and did everything I could to avoid them. In the early years, crying hysterically got me front row seats on the sidelines of the freezing cold pool while everyone else practiced doggy paddling. In my teenage years, "monthly obligations" exempted me from graduating to freestyle, as I read YM magazines on the sandy beach while clutching my imaginary cramps. And later, as a camp counselor, I devoted myself to "boathouse duties," never leaving the shore without my life preserver, behind the facade of proper counselor role-modeling. Flash forward to adulthood where I made two separate attempts (years apart) to master the basics at the local YMCA, but quit after 3 lessons -- both times. Needless to say, I've accepted my lot in life as the blanket-watching, lunch-gathering pool/beach/bodyofwater friend who will never master the art of the breast stroke but will always eagerly volunteer to make a lunch run, even if it involves rowing out to the middle of the lake. Enjoy!
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