marooned // movita beaucoup

In the 1980s, the Red Cross ran a water safety program which aimed to make Canadians safer in, on, and around the water. Certified instructors led countless children through a program of swimming lessons which consisted of eight levels, each marked by a coloured badge. Lessons started at the yellow level and progressed to orange, red, maroon, blue, green, grey and white. Maroon was a pivotal level. The skills required to earn that crimson badge reduced many a child to tears. Maroon was the assassin of aquatic dreams.

Thanks to its proximity to an air force base, people living in my village could take advantage of a number of government-funded facilities. Civilians were allowed access to a movie theatre, skating rink, squash and tennis courts, and an outdoor aquatic centre. When my parents learned we could take swimming lessons at the base, our summers were officially planned. They felt strongly that my siblings and I would benefit from learning some basic skills and water survival tactics. Yachting and poolside cocktail parties were to be no trouble for their offspring.

Every June as the school year drew to a close, a familiar feeling of dread washed over me. Other children were excited about summer vacation, but not me. July meant swimming lessons and forced socialization. Summer brought an influx of military families transferring between school years, and according to my mother the aquatic centre was the perfect place to meet those families and make new friends. But I didn’t want to make new friends in my bathing suit; I wanted to be invisible.

My brother and sister had natural abilities in the pool. They mastered breathing techniques and strokes with relative ease and went on to swim competitively. I, on the other hand, sputtered and flailed through the preliminary badge levels. Pint-sized and short on muscle, I did not fare well in the frigid waters of the unheated pools. I hated putting my face in the water and was unable to stop my body from shaking violently in the cold. Self-conscious and prone to tears, swimming lessons were my personal hell.

marooned // movita beaucoup

Despite the odds, I finally made it to the maroon level class and found myself standing half-naked poolside with a group of mostly military kids. The only familiar face in the group was Wes Campbell. Wes had arrived just two weeks before the end of the school year. His mother introduced him at the door to our 5th-grade classroom.

“This is Wesley,” she said. “We’ve just transferred from CFB Comox.”

“Come on in, Wes,” said Mr. Tupper cheerfully, as if getting a new student during locker clean-out season was totally normal.

“No, it’s Wesley,” his mother corrected, “Wes-LEY. He’s allergic to bees and milk.”

I guess she wanted to be absolutely sure Wes got started off on the wrong foot.

As I readied myself for yet another cruel summer of swimming lessons, it became clear that Wes was as uncomfortable in his skin as I was. Gripping his towel tightly, he looked like an inmate about to take his first prison shower. Our instructor, Kurt, seemed excited to guide a new batch of swimmers to their coveted maroon badges. He stood on the pool deck holding a clipboard and whistle.

“I know everyone thinks maroon is a tough level,” he said, “but I’ve got a great feeling about this group!”

Kurt’s confidence was completely misplaced.

One of the skills required to earn a maroon badge was mastery of the HELP position: Heat Escape Lessening Posture. It’s a life-saving technique which involves drawing the limbs toward the body to prevent the loss of heat from your armpits and groin. So, should you fall off your yacht during a summer cocktail party, you won’t freeze to death while waiting for the coast guard to rescue you. Badge hopefuls were required to maintain this position (with the aid of a personal floatation device) in the deep end for 60 seconds.

Wes’s body had an uncontrollable tendency to roll forward when curled, making it difficult to stay in HELP position without ingesting 10 litres of water. A kid named Scott suggested it was happening because Wes was front heavy, and called him Tubbs for the rest of the course. The day a seagull dropped a poop missile on Scott’s head was the first time I ever saw Wes smile.

I struggled with the survival skill as well. That summer my mother had suggested that wearing a sweatshirt in the pool might keep me warmer. The wet fabric made me about eight times heavier, so moving my arms and staying afloat was a bona fide challenge.

The two names I heard most often in class were Wes’s and mine. Kurt would call to me enthusiastically as I struggled to stay conscious in the pool. “Move your arms,” he’d holler. “BOTH OF THEM!” Or, “Wes! WES! Hang on to the flutter board. HANG ON TO THE BOARD!”

Though we had never spoken a word to one another (or anyone else for that matter), I found Wes’s presence reassuring.

One day I heard Scott yell, “Coach! Wes is threatening to kill me!”

This seemed unlikely given Wes’s knack for mutism. “Wes!” Kurt yelled. “Don’t threaten! Just do it!”

That was the first time I heard Wes laugh.

Somehow Kurt remained optimistic in the face of adversity — Wes and I were really testing his grit as an instructor. I couldn’t seem to use my arms and legs at the same time in the front crawl, resulting in an arrhythmical flapping as I made way up and down the length of the pool. Unable to gauge the force required for a flip turn, Wes resembled a breaching whale as his body lurched up and over the water surface during laps. And diving? Well, getting a timid child to go into anything head first is an uphill battle. Undeterred, Kurt trained us with the heart and tenacity you might expect to see in an ABC Afterschool Special.

marooned // movita beaucoup

It was during the final class before our badge evaluations that I found myself treading water alone in the centre of the pool. I could hear Kurt giving pointers to the other kids as they clung to the deck, but couldn’t motivate my body to join them. I was exhausted from a dozen unsuccessful dive attempts and an hour of freestyle thrashing. My arms and legs felt like jello, and I could hardly keep my head above water. I began to feel a little panicked and a lot sick.

I guess I had ingested a lot of air that morning because a sound came forth from my cramping belly like nothing I’d ever heard before. Time is irrelevant in the Seventh Circle of Hell but if I had to guess? I’d say my body expelled the cries of anguished souls for about 30 seconds. The gut-wrenching hellsound emitted from my mouth echoed across the entire aquatic centre, reverberating off the dank concrete and tiles. And then, only silence. Everyone was staring at me. I was mortified.

I heard a voice from behind me. “Uh, Kurt?”

“Just a second!” Kurt was fixated on the tears pooling in my eyes.

“Kurt?” It was Wes. It was the first time I’d heard his voice. Somehow he was right beside me.

“Hang on, bud!” Kurt was trying to figure out how to manage the situation. I could hear snickers from the other kids and then watched as Scott’s hand lifted to point at me. He began to shout, “Holy cra—“


“What? WHAT IS IT WES?” Kurt threw his arms up into the air.

“My scab just fell off in the pool.”

God bless that boy. Nothing diverts attention and evacuates a pool faster than a floating skin crust. Piercing shrieks filled the air. Kids scrambled out of the pool, elbowing each other as they clawed their way onto the pool deck. I spun my body around as quickly as one can when weighed down by ten pounds of wet sweatshirt, and looked at Wes. He grinned, and slowly swam toward the edge of the pool.

Two summers later, Wes and I finally earned our maroon badges; it was Kurt’s last year of teaching. We’d heard he was leaving for law school, but Kurt insisted that the success of Tubbs and Princess von Burpen were his “drowning achievement,” so it seemed like as good time as any to move on.


  1. Melissa on March 8, 2017 at 8:35 pm

    You are my awkward goddess of the Seventh Circle of Hell. Bless you, after school specials and maroon badges.

    • movita beaucoup on March 9, 2017 at 7:12 am

      Thank you, Melissa. We, the condemned souls of the dark underworld, really appreciate your support.

  2. Maureen on March 8, 2017 at 8:41 pm

    My goodness. What is apparently clear is that you earned your maroon badge so you ended up a very good swimmer in spite of being too small and unmuscular. Look at you now – all dancey and athletic and you have my undying admiration. Wonder where Wes and his allergies are now.

    • movita beaucoup on March 9, 2017 at 6:53 am

      Sadly, Maureen, I’m still not much of a swimmer! But who needs to dive anyway? And I’m very happy I moved on to ballet. Of course, I moved on to ballet because I got kicked out of skating, but that’s another story…

  3. evalalonde00 on March 8, 2017 at 8:43 pm

    Tears…I have no words.

    Brought back the horrible memory of being paired up with my sister to practice mouth to mouth which culminated in my utter humiliation as I barfed in the pool.

    • movita beaucoup on March 9, 2017 at 6:55 am

      The horrors of mouth to mouth were experienced by yours truly when trying to earn her blue badge. Which, as it turns out, was no more enjoyable than the tortures of maroon.

  4. Denise on March 8, 2017 at 8:46 pm

    I completely appreciate this story, very reminiscent for me. I spent a lot of time at the same pool although the pleasurable moments were the leisure ones. There was never a morning where the water could be described by anything other than torturous piecing frigid cold. I also remember a few morning where we must of looked pitiful or the standard makers checked the thermometer and spared us and called for pool side class…I remember having Donna Proctors sister as my instructor and I believe I still have those badges…no I’m not a hoarder!!!

    • movita beaucoup on March 9, 2017 at 7:03 am

      How did they manage to keep that pool so damn cold during those hot valley summers? HOW?!

  5. thatskinnychickcanbake on March 8, 2017 at 9:53 pm

    LOL…you just brought back the nightmare of Red Cross swim training! Freezing water, tendency to sink vs. float…but no scabs or sweatshirts in the pool!

    • movita beaucoup on March 9, 2017 at 7:04 am

      Though underweight and undersized, I still managed to sink like a stone on a regular basis. My Olympic dream was over before it started.

  6. Cherrill on March 9, 2017 at 12:10 am

    What was UP with that maroon level? It felt like we were training to be Navy Seals or something. I failed twice and then we moved and my mom forgot my shame and stuck me in blue (I don’t recommend this approach – I almost drowned my first lesson)

    • movita beaucoup on March 9, 2017 at 7:05 am

      Don’t get me started on blue. Or the mouth to mouth resuscitation training that went with it…

  7. Karen on March 9, 2017 at 12:16 am

    While I, like your siblings, swam competitively, even before Title IX, and held the South Hills Country Club 12 year old breaststroke record for 10 years, I had a similar experience when I attempted to dance. You, my friend, can dance. Way more elegant.

    • movita beaucoup on March 9, 2017 at 7:06 am

      You are my swimming idol.

  8. Stephbo on March 9, 2017 at 1:57 am

    “Princess Von Burpen.” Totally laughed out loud on that one!

    I think we all had our less than shining moments involving swimming lessons. Mine was when, during the very first lesson, in an attempt to join in with the other kids who were showing off their already stellar swimming skills while hanging out in the shallow end waiting for the lesson to start, I promptly started sinking and drowning. Who knew that the fashionably be-dolphined squeaky foam vest my parents insisted I wear for every water-based activity was actually a flotation device designed to trick me into thinking I actually knew how to swim?!? Certainly not I, my friend. Lesson learned.

    • movita beaucoup on March 9, 2017 at 7:10 am

      We wore inflatable arm bands when in the pool. They made using your arms a little tricky, but looked pretty awesome. (Not really. They were ridiculous.)

  9. elizabeth on March 9, 2017 at 9:42 am

    Oh, this is bringing me back to the one, ill-advised time I went to Girl Scout camp and had to have a different colored swim cap because I didn’t know how to dive. (In my defense, our pool wasn’t deep enough in which to dive, so how was I to practice it?)

    Wes sounds like he was the best, though.

  10. Ted Burn on March 9, 2017 at 10:39 am

    Ever thought about writing a book? I’d buy it.

    • movita beaucoup on March 10, 2017 at 6:21 pm

      Ted, you just made my week!

  11. Beth on March 9, 2017 at 1:39 pm

    this is definitely not recommended as a bedtime story! I got kicked to the couch last night for waking my beloved with persistent uncontrollable fits of laughter after reading it. I just couldn’t stop thinking about the burp.
    Thanks a lot Movita!!!
    PS I still love you anyway❤️

  12. the incurable dreamer on March 11, 2017 at 12:05 pm

    Reading this with my first cup of coffee was the best way to kick off a Saturday! Those badges brought back so many memories and I loved every bit of this post. So glad I found you!

    • movita beaucoup on March 11, 2017 at 7:07 pm

      I’m so glad you’re here! Your blog is lovely – looking forward to your future posts (and dreams)…

      • the incurable dreamer on March 11, 2017 at 8:56 pm

        Thank you so much! I take this as a massive compliment coming from you, and appreciate it more than you know! So glad I found you! ????

  13. Nancy Grant on March 12, 2017 at 4:06 pm

    I loved your little story about the swim badge. So funny yet poignant. When are you going to put some of your stories together in a book! Nancy

  14. Marguerite on March 16, 2017 at 9:54 pm

    Dear lord, not sure whether to laugh or cry after reading that. This brought back vivid memories of the dreaded swimming lessons. Unlike you I never made it past orange, having failed it twice. I couldn’t even master treading water. my instructor refused to believe that a child couldn’t tread water and I came close to drowning one lesson. That thankfully was the end of swimming lessons for me. I don’t own a yacht so I suppose it’s all worked out in the end.

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