My childhood dream came true at the pool—as a 37-year-old mother of two

I’m smiling at my one-year-old daughter as she kicks the water when I hear an impressive splash behind me. I turn toward the deep end and I see a man swimming to the side while his two friends cheer. One of them steps onto the diving board and runs forward without hesitation, leaps off the end and tucks his arms into his body like a figure skater. He hangs suspended in the air before spinning around like a corkscrew and falling into the water. 

As I slowly spin my daughter around, I keep looking back to see what other tricks they have in store. Then, my five-year-old son stops playing to observe their antics in awe. He sits on the pool’s edge with his jaw dropped as his legs swing in the water—probably imagining his body in their place. As my eyes linger on their tan and tattooed forms, I realize they aren’t spry teenagers who haven’t yet discovered they are not invincible. They are closer to my age, but they emanate a youthful spirit. When one of them does a front flip, a forgotten childhood dream is reawakened inside me.

As a young girl, I had always wanted to do flips off the diving board. To command my body into pushing past the fear of the water’s slap. I remember watching the diving teams compete during the 1996 Summer Olympics while on vacation in Mexico. My aunt had the Olympics on in the background throughout the day and I would stop whatever I was doing, riveted by the lean, graceful bodies twisting and turning before barely breaking the water’s surface. 

I took diving classes the summer before starting high school, hoping I might learn how to do at least one flip. I remember my one-piece swimsuit sticking to my body, the jiggle of my thighs as I walked to the end of the board, the feeling of the rough surface beneath the soles of my feet. The deep breaths I took before jumping from the 3-meter board, all the more intimidating because of the increased intensity of the water’s impact. I caught on to the basics fairly quickly, but a wall sprang up between my brain and my body when we started learning the flips.

I would start the forward motion but never manage to complete the rotation, my back stinging after each jump. I remember my eyes filling with tears as I watched everyone else move through the motions with relative ease. The instructor was patient with me and at one point, had me practice off the pool’s edge so it wouldn’t hurt. Luckily, the beginning of my freshman year saved me from further embarrassment and I shifted my focus to other activities I naturally excelled at. But that didn’t erase the disappointment, or the fear that kept my body practically paralyzed.

Fast forward to June 2022: It has been over 20 years since those classes and my body understandably looks different. After years of aging, being a foodie and birthing two children, my whole body jiggles, but I own it. It has shown me sacred strength, earning my unparalleled respect. I revere the elasticity of my belly, twice a home to life growing within it. I praise my breasts, generous mounds of flesh that have earned their right to give in to gravity after years of pleasure and more recently, nourishment. I hail my hips, never afraid to throw their heft around with the support of my thighs, solid thickness through and through. 

And I suddenly consider, if my body is strong enough to do all that, why can’t it flip too? My son’s face lights up again at another acrobatic trick when I realize I’m never too old to try something new. And I want to prove this to myself, and to him.

And so it is with curiosity and newfound courage that I walk over to the group of men. I awkwardly introduce myself, but they put me at ease with their friendliness. I ask the leader to explain how he does the front flip and I don’t remember exactly what he says, but something clicks inside me. I decide to go for it. What’s the worst that could happen? My back might be as bruised as my ego, but at least I could say I tried.

I hold onto the railings and pull myself up onto the diving board. I sense the nerves coming alive in my stomach, an unsettled feeling of the unknown. Similar to, yet different from, the quickening I felt during pregnancy and the excitement I felt when my husband and I first started dating. I take a few seconds to feel the water sliding down my legs, the sun warming my face, the light breeze blowing the tiny hairs on my arms into goosebumps. I see my son as his gaze fixes on my body, once his home and now his home base—a place of softness, comfort and warmth. I see my mom beaming at me like I’m still her little girl.

I run forward before my body can convince me this is a bad idea. I plant my feet on the edge of the board, pushing hard as my head tucks in and my knees come up to meet my chest. I lose all sense of orientation and I breathe out as I hit the water, surprised at not feeling the familiar sting on my back.

I lift my head to enthusiastic cheers from my mom and these men I’ll never see again, as my son cries because now he wants to do it too. I float to the side in disbelief before the euphoria of success hits me and I emerge from the water, glowing. I begin to thank the leader for his tips, but the line between ecstasy and gratitude is blurry and I collapse into tears, overwhelmed by the freedom from fear and joy of a dream I made come true.