A Quote by Victoria Arlen

I grew up a swimmer. I didn't think I could swim without the use of my legs. — © Victoria Arlen
I grew up a swimmer. I didn't think I could swim without the use of my legs.
Born on an island, I could swim before I could walk, thrown many times into swimming pools and warm transparent Caribbean waters: sink or swim, that was my first lesson. While I'm not a natural athlete, I'm still a strong swimmer and feel a great affinity with the sea.
Once upon a time you were a fish. How do you know? Because I was also a fish. You, too? Sure. A long time ago. Anyway, being a fish, you knew how to swim. You were a great swimmer. A champion swimmer, you were. You loved the water. Why? What do you mean, why? Why did I love the water? Because it was your life! And as we talked, I would have let him go one finger at a time, until, without his realizing, he'd be floating without me. Perhaps that is what it means to be a father-to teach your child to live without you.
On our swim team, they had something called the 'developmental meet.' I didn't know it was a meet only for the worst kids so that they could get a ribbon, and I'd show up with my friend who was also a terrible swimmer, and we would be amazed that the best kids hadn't bothered to show up. I didn't get it until after college.
Whats the worst that could happen?! The worst that could happen is he could cut off your legs and use them to make stilts that look like legs!
Any window of opportunity is important. If your hands are tied, you should swim with your legs. If your legs are tied, you should try to hold on to the edge of the boat with your teeth. We have to use every option.
For my father the one calamity was that my brother and sister and I never learned to swim. My father, who was very macho, was a strong swimmer and was terribly disappointed to have children who didn't swim. Once when my mother was sitting in a beach chair - I can still see the big umbrella - she called to my father, "Throw them in! Throw them in! They'll swim!" So he did. Then he looked down, and there were the three Sendak children lying perfectly still underwater, not fighting for life!
I played lacrosse for a hot second, but I was mainly a swimmer - captain of my swim team.
I grew up without a father, and my mother grew up without a father and her mother grew up without a father. So we have this long heritage of growing up without fathers.
But if you can find that spot - I suppose it's like running - I used to be a swimmer and swim laps, and you just have to be there with what you're doing.
I was a super active kid, so I've always been aware of where my body is in space, and I think when I had my legs amputated, it makes you more aware of your body, and because I don't use my legs, I use more of my hands.
I knew that the stronger that I was, the faster I was going to swim, and thats all I had in my mind at the time, was I wanted to be the best swimmer in the world.
Our generation grew up with technology. It evolved as we grew up. This new generation has had it since they were babies. That's crazy. It fundamentally changes they way they understand and think about technology. They've never known life without it, whereas we knew life without the Internet.
All I know about 1970s New York City is that it's where I grew up, and you always have an umbilical connection to the time and place of your growing up. It was cheap, didn't have too many people in it, you could go to the movies or whatever on the spur of the moment, you could get by without working too much and especially without involving yourself in the corporate world.
I grew up a competitive swimmer. I wanted to go the Olympics. Both my parents were professional swimmers. I competed internationally quite often, right up until I moved to California to pursue music.
Growing up in the San Fernando Valley, I grew up around a lot of Jews. I grew up culturally Jewish, ethnically Jewish, but without real belief and without a strong faith.
We are shut up in school and college recitation rooms for ten to fifteen years, and come out at last with a bellyful of words and do not know a thing. We cannot use our hands, or our legs, or our eyes, or our arms. We do not know an edible root in the woods. We cannot tell our course by the stars, nor the hour of day by the sun. It is well if we can swim and skate. We are afraid of a horse or a cow, of a dog, of a cat, of a spider. Far better was the Roman rule to teach a boy nothing that he could not learn standing.
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