Rhapsody Posted June 19, 2003 Report Posted June 19, 2003 "You never forget how to swim," my dad told me once. It was one of those random spouts of parental wisdom that I've learned to suspect. It was also devious rationalization to goad me into joining our local swim team. One more reason not to trust fathers. Technically, his adage was correct. Muscle memory takes over once I splash into the pool, but the actual muscles fail. I arms and legs go through the motions, without the cooperation of my heart or lungs. Where had all that hard-won endurance gone? Down the drain, along with my finite allotment of patience. You see, I'm a former swimmer. Yes, an aquatic freak who has witnessed the horrific events that comprise competitive swimming. It starts pretty tamely. Head bobs. That's right. Remember those atrocious swimming lessons in which an obese, gum-chomping instructor ordered you to dip you head under and blow pretty bubbles to the top? And novices sputter to the surface, rubbing their burning eyes? Oh, it gets worse. Later, enthusiastic speedoed coaches, complete with repitilian-eyed goggles, urge innocent eight-year-olds to play games of Marco Polo, Dive for the Ring, Sharks and Minnows, and Run-Over-that-Slowpoke-Ahead-of-You. Oh, the latter was the greatest. You're swimming along, minding your own business when out of the blue, that new kid--aka "Lane-Hog"--decides to find out whether or not you're ticklish. He starts jabbing at your feet. You repress the urge to kick him in the face. Emboldened, he grabs at your legs to stop your forward-propelling flutter kick, and then scrambles over you, the damn speedball! Oh, don't get me wrong. It can be quite sensuous. Girls sliding over guys. Flesh on flesh. Until you get that foot in your face. And the coaches laugh. "Swim it off," they chortle. And that's all before you've hit the age of ten. When you get to be a senior, 13 or older, it gets better. Five o' clock AM workouts, long course pools, dryland training, VO2 (velocity oxygen) sets (aka "vomit" sets), anal coaches. Anal pregnant coaches. 3-hour workouts before and after school. Meets every week. Carb-based diets. Listening to coach's choice of music blaring through the pool. Girls dealing with guys' shameless peeing in the pool. Chlorinated everything. Yeah, the car smells continually of chlorine. I use a swimmers' shampoo, bodywash, ear drops. It's wonderful. As horrible as it is, this is nothing compared to actually quitting the team. You think you're out for good. You never have to see another pool, stop watch, or lane line in your life. Your hair will grow straight and soft, your skin revert from amphibious to humanoid, your nails grow at a normal rate, your goggle eyes and bizarre tan lines fade. Your shoulders and knees will escape pain and endless icepacks. "Pull buoy" and "aqua fin" will become antiquated terms. The word "taper" will simply come to mean a candle, its pronunciation unaccompanied by cheers of joy.You'll never again be forced to wear that horrid polo shirt emblazoned with the team's logo.Your flip-flops will last more than two months.You'll stop ruining watches. Right? Right? Haha. Wrong. Dead wrong. There's something addictive about the pool. Maybe its the chlorine already seeping into your brain. You see families flopping about in the pool on public-swimming days and pity them. You revel in the ease with which you glide through the water, cutting through it like a hot knife throught butter. You despise floatation devices and deem lifeguards unecessary. You find yourself chanting along with the PA system those cheers the team used to shout. So this, my friends (despite what the title says), is a eulogy. Hurrah for Christmas Day workouts! Hail the bearers of lettered Varsity jackets! Despite my two-year layoff from club swimming,I find myself back at the pool weekly. And yes, I'm regaining parts of the lost experience. The shoulder pains, the mileage, the massive water consumption, but there is also that primal glory of movement, that bulkiness of regrowing muscles, that surplus energy blazing through my veins...and the hot new lifeguard. Dad was right, this once. You never forget how to swim. Or to love swimming. Thank the gods for that.
Zadown Posted June 19, 2003 Report Posted June 19, 2003 A well written window to a world I do not know .. and never will.
Peredhil Posted June 19, 2003 Report Posted June 19, 2003 Life is worth that which you pay for it... Swim team, drill team, marching band, football - The greater the effort and price, the better the payoff, the more the mindset of the elite seeps in... Which is a key to Special Forces mentality, when I think about it...
Aardvark Posted June 19, 2003 Report Posted June 19, 2003 C'mon man, just take an icepick to a patch of frozen ground and get yourself a nazi mate to "coach" you and you'll be set Just 'cause you'll be sterilised from the cold, doesn't mean it's a bad idea
WrenWind Posted June 19, 2003 Report Posted June 19, 2003 Was very intresting to read for me as I am (you will hate this) a pool Mom My son has just finished his second year of club swimming and so far loves every minute of it and it shows he is doing well in his age group . But like you if he decides he doesn't want to anymore it is his choice to make and i hope it leaves him with a lifelong love for swimming and exersise that will keep him healthy
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