How To Sink Pride

A physical therapist recently suggested I try aqua jogging as a form of exercise. "It's better than swimming in your condition," he advised. The corner of my mouth twitched. He Googled a website, showed me gear I could purchase. Fear snaked up my spine. But I am a runner! In my heart, truly! The sheet of paper he handed me read, "The Power of Water," and "How it Works," for the "AquaJogger official website," all captioned in aqua-colored blue font. I left his office that day knowing he had a good idea, that my running days were long gone, this back of mine still fired-hot, but I wasn't ready to surrender. The idea of clamping on a flotation belt, getting my hair wet, or worse, donning a bathing cap caused sweat to pool on upper lip. Memories propelled me back to the sixties. To swim lessons at the YMCA,  and the dreaded deep end. Where I refused to dive in like the cute instructor who had a crush on my older sister encouraged, instead I crept to the back of the line, again and again and again. I liked the water. I abhorred the deep end. Now in my fifties, there is a wiser piece of me that knows exactly when to raise those palms in total acquiescence. Like when husband trims favorite bush and says he made pretty, I count missing buds for this year's bounty, but quickly fix a smile on surprised face and squeeze out a thank you. Taking baby steps, I surveyed the website he suggested, watched a You-Tube video and understood immediately that I was about to dip my toes in holy water. I am not in charge and this is my best bet for now, and isn't surrendering my pride a good idea? Samuel Rutherford wrote: "Humility is a strange flower; it grows best in winter weather and under storms of affliction." With clear water lapping around shoulders, I pumped arms and legs, running in the deeper part, and one more chunk of pride slipped from heart, landing on bottom of pool, I could see it all crumbling. And with each pump of arms, humming an old hymn, pieces of pride disintegrated, becoming invisible under weight of chlorinated water. Lifting knees toward chest, I practiced the crazy art of sinking my own pride. They will soar on wings like eagles: they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint. And they will sing in gym pools wearing lime-green float belts, humming favorite songs, leaning ever so slightly forward, each virgin breath capturing yet another phenomenal gift.