I've decided to pump up my workout. I've set a goal to swim a mile a day in four more weeks. I'm pretty excited about this, because swimming has historically not been my favorite sport in which to participate.

I remember my mother taking me to my first swim lesson. We lived in Montbello, and the lessons were offered at the hotel pool on I-70 and Quebec. I remember my swimsuit; I loved it. It was navy with little white octopi on it and had a red belt that joined the top to the bottom with a series of white plastic rings. It was very 1968, and I remember thinking I looked just like Marlo Thomas. I was a big Flipper fan, too, and had a crush on Sandy, Flipper's 'older brother' played by Luke Halpin. My swim instructor looked exactly like him.

The sun was warm, I had a private lesson, and the outdoor pool surface was turbulent with what I'm now sure were miniscule movements caused by a gentle summer breeze, but in my childhood panic, they were swarms of fish, each out to slither against my skin. No matter how good-looking my instructor was I was not going into that fish-infested pool.

Fast-forward a few months, and my family is on one of our summer camping trips. Dad was an avid fisherman, and I loved following him, exploring the riverbank for pinecones and sticks to make into dolls back at camp. I did not fish. I distinctly remember one time he told me to just walk through the river to cross; it wasn't that deep at this point.

Childhood view: Dad is leaving me. There he goes, walking on the water like Jesus in waders, and here I am, miles away from him, terrified, in my red Keds sneakers with the reinforced toes.

Adult view: River is no more than two inches deep, trickling over large rocks. Water is crystal clear. Width of river is approximately six feet and therefore totally safe for child to cross independently.

Childhood view: Why am I lying on my side in the river - well, on the rocks, really - but my eyes, nose and mouth are completely out of the water? I am wet, surprisingly not cold, in absolutely no pain whatsoever, but fear has me glued to the rocks in the raging torrent that will surely be my death. I see my dad stepping on to the opposite bank, drop his fishing gear and bolt back into the water toward me. Why would he do that? He told me never to do that. Doesn't he know he'll scare the fish away with all that splashing? I remain motionless, wondering when I will die my destined terrible drowning death.

Adult view: Oh, no! Ann fell and is unconscious!

As Dad picked me up, I remember thinking how odd it was that not even half of me was wet, nor was I covered with fish. Dad carried me back to camp, resting a minute to gather his sanity after seeing his daughter lying motionless in the water for no apparent reason. I don't remember the act of falling at all. I suppose I could have been so afraid of the water that I fainted, but I really don't think so. I was quite a melodramatic child, and I must have sort of willed the 'near drowning' to occur.

I got to stay with Mom for the rest of that trip.

I stuck to land sports for the remainder of my life, although I did learn how to swim, and have always been able to survive summers at the pool. I will eat some sushi, but fish in general are still creepy. After panicky attempts at intramural water polo in college, I chose running as my sport. I love the solitude; just me, the rhythm of my feet and breath to cleanse my mind and charge my day. Perfection in performance followed by exhaustion. I love that.

Arthritis has taken that joy away from me, and after spending five years on an elliptical exercise machine, failing to ever reach that exercise nirvana, I decided last August it was time to get in the pool again. It took about three months to really see that I could get over my fear of the water. I no longer think the 'waves' are fish, but I do have recurring nightmares of driving off a bridge and drowning in a river, bay, ocean - you name it, water can still scare me. To get beyond this fear, I decided to hum while exhaling. It worked. My voice was my indicator of how much oxygen I had left in my lungs, and I knew I was going to be just fine. By January, I noticed I was only humming when I was tired. Now, I don't do it at all.

When I first attempted a lap swim, I made about 200 yards in 30 minutes and felt very dizzy and nauseated afterward. I'd never had that happen to me while exercising, and I decided I needed to respect my body's shouts of "Knock it off! That hurts!" I slowed down, incorporated days of rest into my workout, and within a month had cut those 30 minutes down to 15. I gradually added yardage and concentrated on technique, and today I am swimming 900 yards in 30 minutes. I'm four weeks away from building to 1650 yards, which is a swimmer's mile.

This week, our son Mike is home on Spring Break. He's a gifted swimmer and bless his heart, took time out yesterday to coach his mom. Mike swam the 900 with me, patiently waiting for me at each set end. He and I both laughed at my fly technique. We decided it's better than it was a few years ago, but I still look like a dolphin trying to free itself a la the 1973 film Day of the Dolphin. "Fa get Be now" is about all I remember from that movie, but I do remember George C. Scott and how convincing he was as Dr. Jake Terrell.

Mike and I have two more dates to swim this week. I practiced my fly and flip turns today after the swim and am anxious to show Mike my mad skilz tomorrow. You see, the last time I attempted a flip turn I was still prone to panic in the water. I remember pushing off the wall forcefully enough to earn a near concussion on the bottom of the pool. I was so confused I didn't know which way was the surface. Now, I actually am in control of my movements. My flip turn is spastic but my panic is under control.

For me, that elusive 'it' factor happened this week. I've finally transferred that athletic running nirvana of feet, breathing and me on land to kicking, pulling, breathing and me in the water.

Amazing what you can do if you put your mind to it.