I’m in third year and I can’t swim

After begging my best friend for weeks on end, she finally gave in. We were going swimming.

We put on our costumes, locked up our lockers and after a quick dance in some cold showers, we were ready to go. Meg got in first and began swimming with ease. I got in and, well, floated about.

She shouted me over to the deep end of the pool and with my many years of ledge holding experience, I pulled myself towards her.

“What are you doing? I thought you wanted to come swimming?!”

“I can’t swim” I told her.

It was at this point she drowned me.

The struggle is real

Me and water don’t mix. While some people can glide from one end of the pool to another like a fish in its natural habitat, I look like a haddock having an epileptic fit. Seeing me in the water not only makes me feel uneasy, but it’s sure to make everyone else feel uneasy too. I was the only one in primary school that failed my 25m – no little certificate for me.

I could swim that 24 metres though, I really really could. Now, through sheer lack of practice and ability, I can’t even tread water. I can’t make myself move places in the water and frankly it baffles me that anyone else can.

Imagine me on holiday. All my friends looking sexy and suave in the pool, gliding about wherever they want. If I need to go to one side of the pool to the other I have to get out and walk looking like a right twat.

Or even worse, at the ripe old age of 21, I still have to resort to arm bands and inflatables. Much to the delight of those who have to be seen with the over grown toddler who’s scared to let her feet touch the bottom.

Staying strictly at the edges

The last time I decided to try my luck I was 19. The sheer horror of not even being in the child’s pool when the lifeguard asked me if I could swim is enough to put me off for the rest of my life.

The only times I ever really used to go swimming was when my dad visited, and during those times I was more concerned about keeping my head above water/breathing/not dying than I ever was about covering any ground.

Going swimming with my dad meant one thing: drowning. And lots of it.

One episode of drowning was that extensive I actually gave up and accepted death. (But I’m sure it was all in good fun, thanks dad).

Arms bands don’t cater to adults

Whilst I didn’t learn how to swim, I know how to survive. Let’s just hope my life never depends on it.