by rossanahead | Apr 9, 2011 | Education, Mari-an Santos, woman
By Mari-An Santos
After my last post, my parents asked why I did not mention “the swimming classes.” In our house, this is one of the most enduring stories. I cringe every time my parents recount it with such gusto and glee.
The summer when I was 8 or 9 years old, my parents enrolled me in swimming lessons at the YWCA in Manila. My parents, like most, wanted to keep me busy with extracurricular activities during summer vacation. Succeeding summers saw me taking ballet, piano, and jazz dance classes.
On this particular vacation, my parents decided that I had to learn how to swim. If you read my previous post, you know that I was not a confident child. Putting on a swimsuit was enough to freak me out, and going out in public where people would actually see me?! That was out of the question. I’m sure I cried and wailed over this–hemming and hawing cannot even begin to describe it. Wailing and pleading and begging were probably involved.
Sure, my parents didn’t know how to swim, but they made this an argument “for,” whereas I was satisfied that if it was good enough for my parents to go this long without learning, then it was good enough for me. No dice. As a child in this debate, the “government” side won.
A few weeks in, as we were learning to breathe underwater, I swallowed a large amount of water and started wailing: “Mamamatay na ‘ko! Mamamatay na ‘ko!” (I am going to die! I am going to die!) I wanted to quit. I never wanted to get into the water again. The next day, I pleaded with my parents, but they told me I should not give up and had to finish the lessons. And so, I obediently went.
Obviously, I’m still alive. When we were in senior year of high school, I was reunited with the YWCA pool as we took our diving P. E. class there. I aced that class.
Today I swim every chance I get. And not just in the swimming pool either. I’ve done Boracay, Panglao, El Nido, Siargao, Bauang, Pagudpud, Currimao, Mactan, Dumaguete, Puerto Galera, to name a few. Of course, I have swallowed my fair share of water and I’ve smashed against some rocks. But I’m still swimming with my own two feet.
by rossanahead | Mar 30, 2011 | Education, Mari-an Santos, woman
By Mari-An Santos
A child so anti-social that she didn’t want anyone’s skin to touch hers in a crowded jeepney. A girl so timid that she couldn’t be coaxed into joining parlor games even after all the other parents had stopped thinking it was adorable. A pre-teen so shy that she would read a book in the middle of a party that her mother had forced her to attend. That was me.
All I had ever wanted to do was write. That is, after my fourth grade teacher “discovered” that I could put words to paper and sent me, along with a select few, to a tete-a-tete with NVM Gonzalez. But as it turned out, it was not such a simple choice.
I had heard that college should be a time to build a network. But this quintessential nerd simply clutched her books and went to class early. I studied hard alright but did not make more than a few friends.
It was after college when I slowly came out of my shell. I learned how to approach complete strangers and talk to them without breaking into a sweat or walking away. I have even managed to make friends from different parts of the world. While I’m still a long way from being the poster girl for confidence, I can hold my own in polite company.
My mother no longer wonders, “What will happen to this shy little girl?” Though maybe sometimes she wonders what has become of her.
Can you keep a secret? She’s still here.
by rossanahead | Mar 15, 2011 | Education, Mari-an Santos, woman
By Mari-An C. Santos
A year ago, when anyone asked me what my sport was, I had to stop and think, then say quite sheepishly: “I know how to swim and bike. I sometimes trek up mountains but nothing regular. Yoga isn’t a sport, is it?”
Nine months ago, three friends and I dared to enter the world of kickboxing. We thought that we were just going to bob up and down to upbeat music while simulating kicks and punches like a montage from a movie. And so we readily agreed.
At the gym, we punched, kicked, and hit the air with our elbows and knees. The result was a lot of huffing and puffing and begging, neigh pleading, for water breaks. But we were determined not to throw in the towel. An hour and a half later, we were actually filling out membership forms. Was it peer pressure? Overdose of happy hormones? Who knows? We were actually signing up for more torture, I mean, lessons.
The four of us made up the “girls class.” We moaned and groaned and complained but we always finished the class anyway. We invited more friends and our little band increased.
When I went to Thailand last year, Ricky, the gym owner, referred me to a friend who he had met when he competed in Muay Thai there. Believe it or not, I underwent Muay Thai training in the land of its birth—twice.
A lot has changed since then. Some classmates have become too busy to attend, one moved to Los Baños where she joined another Muay Thai gym, we have new trainers. I have stuck to it. It’s not just because of the noticeable weight loss or my improved strength and endurance. I’m in the best shape I’ve been since, maybe grade school when we did a lot of outdoor activities. But more importantly, kickboxing has helped me discover a part of myself that I never knew existed.
Photo by bruce mars on Unsplash
