Without a running partner this week, I spent my early morning workouts in a pool rather than carving a path on the surrounding streets where I live.  Most of the time, the pool was a quiet escape from the stress of the unknown pressing on our family with my husband trying to find another job—since most people don’t want to take a dip at four o’clock in the morning.  However, on one of those days, I walked in to find a man barking orders to a small group of adults who were learning to swim. 

From my view in the neighboring lane, I watched the chaotic struggle of those poor folks splashing their way across the pool.  My heart went out to them listening to the man on the deck beller out commands on body rolls, glides, and cycle breathing—technical terms they clearly didn’t understand so they couldn’t execute. 

At one point, in his growing frustration, the man on the deck pushed his arms out in front of him.  He shook them back and forth, pretending they were legs, but talked about contracting and releasing muscle groups rather than the simple mechanics of kicking in a language his swimmers could grasp.  I ducked under the water, concealing my groan.  I couldn’t correct this man, even though I had coached a junior swim team for several years, it wasn’t my place.  A perfect, laughable, blaring example of how communication, a key component in all relationships, can lead to frustration and misunderstandings.   

Another one of those pesky side notes, but I’ve involved you this far I might as well keep going.  The phone interview has turned into a physical one.  My husband and I are flying to meet with the company this week.  I wonder how much longer my fingers and toes can stay crossed before they stay that way?