Number 126

 Resolve, 25 Yards At A Time

If I told you the most important thing I learned in college was taught to me in the college's swimming pool, would you believe me? I went to a pretty good school, had a lot of great classes taught by some pretty smart people, but it's true; the pool is where I learned the most important lessons Oberlin College had to teach me. How can this be so?

Mostly Sean is to thank (or blame). He was (and remains) one of my close friends who just happened to be a really good diver. (He was the division III national champion his senior year.) So my other friends and I spent a lot of time at swim meets watching Sean dive, which was boring. (Not the diving part, that was exciting, it was the rest of the swim meet that was boring.) At the end of my sophomore year, I got it in my head that if I was going to come to all these meets to watch Sean, I should just join the swim team. I'd always been a decent swimmer so I thought "why not?"

Now when I say I'd always been a decent swimmer, I must point out that I'd never actually been on a swim team before. Nor had I ever swum competitively. I mean just what I said - I was a decent swimmer. And that's all. Oberlin was a division III school, which meant that any ill-informed neophyte (such as myself), could introduce themselves to a particular coach and say something along the lines of: "Hey, I wanna join the swim team."

Coach looked at me...

(A quick word about Coach. I love this man. Perhaps you'll understand why by the end.)

... and asked me what strokes I swam. "Uhhhh... freestyle, I guess." 

"Okay. What distances do you swim? What are your times?"

"Uhhhh... I don't really know," I stammered, suddenly feeling way out of my element. "I've never actually been on a swim team before. I decided to give this a try 'cause Sean's my good friend," 

As it turned out, there was plenty of room on the swim team that year. Coach welcomed me aboard, with a "I know something you don't know" look on his face. In retrospect the thing he knew was how fucking hard it was going to be for me to become a competitive swimmer starting from scratch  the way I was.

I still remember my first practice. I had barely learned how to do a flip turn over the summer which became an instant source of embarrassment. Also, I was hopelessly behind everyone else. They'd all get back and have a chance to catch their breathe, before starting off on the next swim. Not me. I just went back and forth, 25 yards at a time, as many times as I could for 90 minutes, gasping for breathe the entire time. In other words, I was not good.

Because I was either too stupid or stubborn to realize I was a lost cause, I kept showing up at practice. Perhaps the kindest thing would have been for Coach to congratulate me on trying something new, but tell me it just wasn't working out. He didn't do that. Perhaps the easiest thing Coach could have done was just ignore me while I swam back and forth and focused his attention on the more accomplished team members. But he didn't do that, either. Instead he encouraged me to keep at it.

In the long run, I never contributed very much to the team, point wise, but that never mattered to Coach. He celebrated my microscopic improvements just the same as he would my teammates who won races. The best thing was when he posted the stat sheet of our latest meet and I would see an "ab" ('atta boy), next to my name (even if I'd come in last). And so I kept at it. By the end of my first season, I was selected as the team's most improved swimmer. At the end of next year, too.

At my last meet, in the Spring of 1988, I crushed all my personal bests. They were still not comparatively fast, but for me, "Wow!" At my first meet, I had swum the 200 freestyle in 2'48". Glaciers move faster than that. My last competitive swim at that final meet was the 200 free. This time I managed it in 2'06" (with 1'03" splits for those in the know). I imagine you can guess the first person to congratulate me.

The gift he gave me all those years ago was the opportunity to learn that I could persevere and succeed in the face of a difficult challenge. When I joined the team, I had no idea how hard I would need to work. The amount of physical exertion necessary during a 90 minute workout is extraordinary. Once my eyes were opened to that fact, I wondered if I had it in me. By the time I hung up my speedo for the last time, I knew that I did. What a crucial and powerful life lesson to learn. Thanks, Coach.

Just now, life has just served me up an unanticipated new challenge. And despite the brutal disappointment of having my surgery delayed six days beforehand, I know without a doubt, I will succeed in preparing my body to my surgeon's specifications. I learned that lesson a long time ago, 25 yards at a time.