The Agony of Swimming with Trichophobia - and how I didn't get over it!

No!  It is supposed to say:
"Protect your Pool from your Hair!"

At my last milestone birthday, I decided it was time to set some new goals. First on the list was to be able to swim laps without looking like a dork.  This activity may be so easy for some of you that your eyes are rolling up when you read this, but for me, it was harder than training for a half-marathon.  And I had no idea that my challenge of swimming laps would also expose me to an unaddressed phobia.

For me to be able to swim laps, correctly, posed a tremendous challenge.  I never truly learned how to swim properly.  I got by after all these years by avoiding any activity which would highlight this gap in my childhood education.  However, if you were to toss me in the ocean or a pool or a lake I will not drown.  At least, I won’t drown where you threw me in.  I may not make it to the beach or the shore if they are far away, but I will make it to the edge of the pool- and probably look okay doing it, though my head will be up like a dog’s, while my arms will be doing their thing.  My style was much like an old lady who didn’t want to get her “do” wet.  I have tried to teach myself to swim over the years by watching good swimmers, and trying to copy them.  The Teenager swam competitively for five years, and was a tremendous inspiration. Listening poolside to her coaches, I picked up a lot of information on form.  Putting it into action proved more difficult.

My first day of lap swimming I went to our local pool, which is a small one, but the only public pool in our coastal area.  It is regularly packed every summer day, with lap swimming starting once public swim is over.  Donning a swim cap over my wet and conditioned hair (a tip from a swimmer friend), wearing an old bathing suit (another tip), I gathered up a towel, my new swim goggles and was off to the pool. Before leaving the house, Himself let me know that I would most likely have to share a lane if it was crowded. When I arrived, every lane was occupied - with people who knew how to swim. 

Now, faced with the no open lane scenario, how does one choose who to join?  Is there a protocol to follow only known amongst swimmers?  Is it a “your choice” rule, or does everyone start joining in at one side and just move to the next lane as they fill up?  Himself had suggested I figure out which lane was the slow lane and start there. The slow lane?  There are speed limits in a pool?  Apparently, if you are a pokey swimmer, aka me, you aren’t supposed to share a fast lane.  Discourteous and all that.  Okay, I accept this “rule”, however, how does a “newbie” figure out which is the slow lane?

While sitting there, trying to see who was "slowest", and most likely looking a bit timid (yes, sometimes I can be timid), a wet friendly face popped up and said, “You can share this lane with me, I’m almost done.”  Oh, how kind and maternal of her.  Adjusting my goggles, I slipped into the water. I took some big breaths, visualized what I thought I should do, and plunged forward.

I made it one lap, stopped, held on to the side and gasped for breath.  My form was obviously inefficient, but I had tried side breathing and I hadn’t hit the lane line, the side of the pool, or the other swimmer.  However, hanging onto the edge of the lane messes up the other swimmer, but she continued to be very patient with me.  Damn, this lap swimming was harder than I thought it would be.  But it wasn’t my poor use of air control that was hampering me.  Rather, it was my in-the-face panic moment when I became so totally aware of how gross pool water is after several hours of a hundred kids swimming in it.  My new goggles were crystal clear and I could see all the hair floating by me.  Looking down at the bottom near the drain I saw hair ties, a metal barrette, an old bandaid and a broken strap from a pair of goggles.  

I am not a fan of loose, no longer connected to the scalp, hair mixed in water that makes contact with my face or body.  It doesn't matter that it might be mine, it gives me the creeps.  Viewing a Floating Hair Clump severely affects me both physically and mentally.  It became increasingly difficult to get into my Zen breathing while I looked underwater.  Solving my problem my swimming with my eyes squeezed shut proved to be very disorienting and potentially hazardous to my lane mate.  Was I going to let my hair issues keep me from reaching my goal?  No-but it definitely added a challenge that I had not foreseen.

In spite of seeing the horror of my underwater environment, I did succeed in swimming six laps.  My form wasn’t pretty, but I was kind of getting the every-three-stroke-side-breath rhythm down.  Not once did I resemble a water spaniel, so I felt that Day One was a success.  But one day, or rather twenty minutes, does not a lap swimmer make.  I would have to do it several days a week to reach my new, improved goal of 36 laps of glorious “I look like I know what I’m doing” swimming.

Over the next few weeks, I swam religiously, though my disgust of what lies below the waterline in public pools never wavered.  A memorable moment of panic was had while swimming in my newly-acquired Zen state and I felt something move over my hand.  Screaming underwater is difficult.  Screaming underwater in a public pool can also be dangerous.  I came up sputtering, water had made it into my mouth and probably... haaaaiiirrr!  


Bobbing up and trying to drain out any remnants of pool water from my mouth I spied a tiny tan frog swimming vigorously away from me towards the center of the pool.  Funny, I am more than grossed out touching floating hair in pools, but not afraid of touching frogs and gladly scooped the little critter out. (I did worry how his skin would take the chlorine he had just soaked up.)  Apparently, he was not the only frog taking a dip as another disturbed swimmer came up splashing her frog away.  I swam over and rescued her frog as well.  

Returning to finish up my laps, I shuddered as I watched a clump of floating hair drift by my hand towards the side filter.  It is difficult to swim and shudder simultaneously.  The shudder came with the realization that just a minute or so ago, pool water had entered my mouth during my underwater scream. A quick round of the tongue through the mouth came up hairless.  But the fact remained that pool water had already entered.

Because my brain continually carries on internal conversations when my body is physically occupied, several questions came up.  Why don’t the lifeguards strain the pool before lap swimming starts?  They have those long mesh things.  The answer: Because they don’t go in the water, so they don’t know how gross it is, that’s why. I prefer to believe our youth are negligently uninformed, not intentionally avoiding doing something that could benefit others.  What was the chance of me getting diarrhea later from any ingested water as I had heard can happen from pools?  And if I actually thought this could happen, then why in the hell was I in here swimming in the first place?  Can chlorine really kill everything?  And if there was a chance of me getting diarrhea later, did some kid, perhaps a kid that comes every day to the pool, already have diarrhea and... you know...

The internal voices calmed down and I did achieve my goal of swimming laps that summer.  My form was okay, thanks to encouragement from the pool deck, and yes floating hair actually streamed across my face during a few sessions which ruined my form for that lap as I freaked out a bit.  I got past my disgust of looking underwater by allowing my goggles to fog up.  I was able to barely make out large objects like lane mates and lane lines, but was oblivious to all the other stuff floating around.  This method worked well and I only hit my head on the edge a few times.  My hair got trashed from the chlorine, and my bathing suit had to be thrown away at the end of the summer.  I still have extreme  issues with loose hair and am close to gagging if I have to pull any out of my food, my coffee, or my mouth.  In fact, damn the etiquette, I’ll work at finding and pulling out that little hair in my mouth however long it takes. 

Back to the accomplishment of my goal: to be able to swim laps.  If you were to throw me off a boat into the ocean or into a lake, I now have a very good chance of making it to shore - as long as the distance is no more than 36 pool lengths (though why you would ever feel the need to throw me in escapes me).  Water clarity in either body of water would probably not disclose any floating hair masses. What I can't see won't hurt me, right?  

But, you just try and throw me into a pool that has been previously occupied for several hours by a lot of people, and I will put up a mighty struggle, a fight for my well being, and it has nothing to do with me not wanting to get wet!