Swimming with broken legs

I went sledding once, with my family, in the woods nearby our house.  My mother towing all four of us and maybe some good friends, snow suits and sleds piled high in the station wagon.  I remember the crunch beneath my feet as I climbed the wooden steps, dragging my nearly weightless plastic circle, sweating and pushing my hat up to free my itching forehead by the time I reached the top.  

I launched myself from the crest of the hill but hit a bump of snow near the bottom, catching air and coming down hard, causing an injury that haunted me for years.  I always assumed I’d cracked my tailbone and it didn’t heal properly.  I never went to the doctor. I just learned to deal with it, the assumption on the part of my parents was that there was nothing the doctor could do anyway.

I joined swim team in high school but I quit before the first meet. I said it was because I didn’t like the way that people yelled at you but it was really that I felt like I was working too hard for little results.  I know how to swim, I was slim and tall and should have been better.  

Then, two years ago, I saw a physical therapist.  I discovered that the impact from that injury had twisted my pelvic bones, and they’d been that way for probably twenty years.  She taught me how to realign myself with three quick movements.  

I didn’t know at the time but my poor swim performance was was a side effect of that injury - I hadn’t broken my tailbone, probably just bruised it. But when your bones are in the wrong place your muscles don’t work right.  All those workouts and long swims weren’t helping me develop core strength, my legs weren’t able to effectively propel me through the water.  So I just stopped doing it, and assumed it was something else I just couldn’t do.  

Once I was back in working order, I started to notice all the little things I’d done over all those years to manage the pain.  I’d never really noticed before, it was just part of my life.  I couldn’t sit in one place for too long or on hard surfaces.  I could not sit straight without pain, so I learned to slouch and sit with my legs curled up to change the pressure.  I couldn’t stand for long either without needing to sit down or lean on something.  I hated riding my bike.  Everything was just harder than it was supposed to be.  I was right about swim team, I should have been better.  

Now, I’m consistently surprised at the results when I push myself to do physical things and I don’t die or perform terribly.  With hindsight, I can see how I’d become wrapped up by a deep but subconscious feeling of inadequacy. I never learned to test my strength, or to claim it or embrace it. And coming out of that is a slow process.  I have to fight my instincts and my fear every time I try to push myself.  But every time I do it, I realize that my insecurity and self doubt are the things that get in my way, not any actual problem.  So I keep pushing, and reflecting, and growing.  And swimming.