I'm Lily-livered. And Not A Water Lily, Either.

See Jen swim. Swim, Jen, swim!

Like many people, I'm the proud owner of a long-neglected gym membership. For the first two years or so, I went faithfully, treadmilling and swimming three or four times a week. I rather enjoyed it. Then I got a part-time evening job. I told myself that once I adjusted to the additional sixteen hours of work, I'd find time to get my ever-increasing ass to the gym. But I didn't. After six months passed, I was embarrassed to go. I'd picture swarms of YMCA employees stopping me and I tried to enter the building, frisking and then interrogating me with a steely demeanor that would put the Gestapo to shame.

Because, you know, the success of the entire YMCA organization hinges on whether or not I show up for a session on the Elliptical machine.

Anyway, I was motivated to show my face this Saturday because a friend of mine also joined. I met her for a 9:00 am Shallow Water Fitness class.

This is the same friend who, during dire financial straits, pined over the Y-affiliated hikes that she couldn't attend. She's much more of a hiker than I am, and, at the time, was a new Mom. It sounded like a fun reason to get out of the house, and I'll admit that many of the hikes sounded pretty interesting. I offered to pay the required fee as an early birthday present, but my friend, in addition to her other sterling qualities, is proud. Me? Not at all. I'll grovel, beg, whip up tears, whatever. Her sense of personal dignity dictated that she'd come up with the spare cash on her own or she wouldn't go.

"But it's a five dollar fee for non-members, and free for me. Maybe we could say that you're me and then I'll pay the fee, and we can both go?"

No dice. They do, apparently, check membership cards before setting out. Or at least we were sure they'd bust us somehow. And shame us for attempted hike theft.

"How about this: we decide which hike we want to attend, find out where they start, then sort of follow them. We could walk about thirty feet behind the legitimate hikers. If they seem to notice us, we'll back off a bit and pretend that we're checking out foliage of something. Or we could act like we don't speak English. I mean, what can they do, really? Run away from us so we can't follow? You can't get twenty people to run away in unison like that. We could wear camouflage!"

I thought it was a marvelous plan. She didn't agree. So we never did try it.

We did, however, get to prance about in the "warm pool" (there are two pools) with a number of experienced shallow-water-fitness folk. I really thought, as a former runner and person in generally decent shape, that I'd kick all kinds of ass. I was wrong. But it was fun, and something I'm going to do every Saturday morning.

I really do love to swim, but a pool with occupied lanes sometimes put the stoppers on me. I guess that we're supposed to share lanes in such a scenario, but I was mortified by the notion. I mean, what do you do? Just barge in on somebody's lane? Do you ask permission? How would you decide which swimmer would be your victim? I'd either meekly retreat to the locker room and sadly remove my suit, or (if I was feeling brave) I'd quietly sit around waiting for somebody to finish. I'm such a wuss.

And I am. I'm wussiness personified. I'm afraid of everything. I'm afraid to drive in snow. I'm afraid to join a book club. I'm afraid to fly. I'm afraid of disappointing people or hurting their feelings. I'm ballsy as hell if I've got accompaniment, but alone? I'm always sure that I'm strange, that I'm out of line, that I won't be able to handle things as well as everyone else does. People who know me are surprised that I feel this way because I usually hide it well, but the fact remains: I am a coward. And it's the thing about myself that I hate the most.

In light of this, I've been trying really hard to do things that are scary to me. I refused to let last week's blizzard change my plans, and I drove to a friend's house. I slid a bit, but I was fine. I opted to book some hotel rooms by phone, eschewing the safe anonymity of internet reservations. I found friendly people who were curious about the nature of my trip. I went out for dinner by myself at a fancy place, and nobody pointed and laughed. In fact, I enjoyed myself.

I know I've written before about solitude. And it's still an issue with me. But the biggest shame of all would be to go on this trip, my dream, and be too afraid to enjoy it. I see this as the ultimate test: Can I do this all alone, and comfortably? Confidently? Survey says ..... if I can handle the indignity of being the awkwardest galoot at Shallow Water Fitness, I can handle anything.

Days until trip: 135
Money saved: $350. 00