My parents made sure I had swimming lessons. As a child I learned many strokes and techniques, from the crawl, breaststroke, backstroke, and even the beginnings of the difficult butterfly stroke. I was pretty good. However, by the time I reached early adulthood, I'd forgotten everything except the doggy paddle.
Not easily deterred, I took my doggy paddling as far as it would go after reading about the benefits of swimming. I furiously paddled across pools in Switzerland during my stint there as an English teacher.
One day I went to a pool in a town called Pfaffikon with a friend. After doing some doggy paddle intervals (fast doggy paddle, then slow, then fast) my German-speaking friend gently broke the news to me that she'd overheard an older couple discussing my method. According to her, the man had said to his wife, "I saw that girl swimming fast so I checked out her form. Sie schwimmt wie ein Hund." Meaning, "she swims like a dog." I knew then that I needed to re-teach myself how to really swim.
Many of my lessons came in Alaska, where swimming is a year-round activity I rely on to balance out other exercises. Swimming is woven into my outdoor pursuits, building strength and endurance, while providing a reason to get up early on dark winter mornings.
Learning how to swim less like a dog
Re-learning how to swim is undoubtedly easier than learning for the first time. In many ways, swimming is an intuitive activity, but hats off to teachers who can teach adults new to swimming. There are many components to swimming that eventually add up to the fluid motions I still haven't mastered. There's the intentional pattern of breathing and exhaling underwater, which feels awkward and unnatural at first. There's the slight rolling of the body side to side, the lifted elbows, and even a subtle swaying motion of the hands drawing back through the water to use the least amount of energy possible.
Swimming for any distance is all about efficiencies, and doggy paddling is, in fact, the least efficient form of swimming, so it burns the most calories. According to Harvard Health Publications, a 155-pound person running a 10-minute-mile pace will burn about 750 calories an hour, comparable to the same person swimming the breaststroke for 60 minutes.
Once I'd gotten the hang of breathing every third stroke, rotating my neck to alternate sides, and stretching one arm forward at a time to "crawl" through the water, I realized how much easier this kind of swimming was compared to schwimmen wie ein Hund. "She swims like a dog" no longer applied, even if other swimmers might still make fun of my clunky and relatively inefficient form.
Zero impact exercise
Another huge bonus about swimming is that I will be able to do it when I'm as old as the Swiss couple who made fun of me. Unlike when I run (I thank my knees every step of the way, knowing they will tell me they've had enough), when I swim I think of how I will continue into my golden years.
It's great for my joints. It's great for strength. It's great for my lungs. There are myriad strokes and water activities. I will gladly embrace water aerobics when that time comes. I see people in the pool doing physical therapy work, water running, kickboarding and chatting with a friend, or diving. Some swimmers bring their kids, who take lessons while mom or dad swims laps.
Alaska pools are also amazing community centers. Even if you pass in and out fairly silently, as I do, you can't help but overhear and participate in the locker room banter. While people at various levels come to the pool with different goals, we are all wearing a bathing suit. In the locker room, we don't even have those. Whatever shyness I had about my body has been erased by swimming. I've witnessed, and accepted, that my body is just as ridiculous and great as the next person's.
"Watch out for that water. It's wet," warns one woman as I head toward the pool. She swims at the same time every single week -- consistently earlier than me, so she's always showering or dressing by the time I arrive. She laughs. I laugh. I am in my Costco swimsuit, grabbing my goggles and swim cap, and walking through the showers toward the pool. I expect her joke, and love it every time. If I don't make it to the pool, I miss out.
The hardest part about swimming is getting up in the morning. I'm not an evening exerciser, so I don't even entertain the idea of nighttime swim hours (which are available).
Once I'm up, though, and I've had my coffee, tugged on my swimsuit, polar fleece pants, and a cozy down jacket, the rest is easy. I enjoy driving to the pool in the dark. I love wearing only a swimsuit and getting into water in the middle of the long Alaska winter. After swimming, I feel a satisfying soreness in my arms and shoulders the rest of the day, a physical feeling of pride about what I accomplished when I could have been asleep.
Where to swim in Anchorage
The best deal for Anchorage swimmers is the municipal pools. Rates start at $5 per visit for adults and $3 for kids. Hours vary so be sure to check before you go. Anchorage YMCA has a saltwater pool, with schedule and rates available here. The Alaska Club also offers members several places to swim, as well as lessons. Don't overlook the universities: UAA has a pool, as does Alaska Pacific University (my preferred spot because of the friendly Mosely Sports Center staff and the not-too-chlorinated pool).
Lessons are widely available. Even H2Oasis offers them. Private lessons for all ages are available at Swim Like a Fish. Adults seeking pointers might try a masters' swim course like the one offered at APU.
Those who are brave will go outside to swim Jewel Lake, Goose Lake and other spots in the summer. Maybe someday I will join your ranks.
Alli Harvey lives, works and plays in Anchorage.