Back in the Pool

My last official swim meet was likely sometime in 2003, the year I graduated from high school. I didn't swim competitively in college and only did laps for fitness periodically. The story I always told myself is I want to keep swimming the rest of my life. Casual down-and-back or racing, it didn't matter.

Two years ago I started practicing with the US Masters team that trains at the pool where I coach. The swimmers were generally gung-ho about going to meets and competing, and asked me a few times if I wanted to join them. And I generally answered them, a la Seinfeld's "I choose not to run!" excuse for why he never agreed to re-race his former classmate Duncan.

I hope you enjoyed the Scandinavian subtitles as much as I did.

It's not that I didn't feel the swimmer's/racer's competitive itch any more -- I don't think that ever leaves you. But I just didn't feel a desire to race at that point.

But after continuing to coach high school and club swimmers, feeling and feeding off the energy at meets, and feeling myself improve at practice, I decided to give a meet a try again. For the first time in 12 years.

It didn't hurt that the open-invitation Colonies Zone Short Course Championships took place at George Mason University, about 15 minutes away from my house.

I registered, finally, with US Masters swimming and signed up for a pretty tame slate of events. No need to go out of control the first time out.

As for entry times, I made them up entirely, based on what I've either done or think could be done in my present condition in practice. Turns out I set the bar a little low.

Swimming between 5 and 20 seconds faster than my seed time was, admittedly, a little ego boost: It felt good to win decisively. Then again, I was typically the youngest in my heats by at least a few years. There was a 70-year-old a few lanes down in the 200 free.

No, I didn't only race senior citizens. But honestly I wasn't paying too much attention to either side. This was about going out and racing for me, myself and I -- seeing what was there, what happened when I pushed on the accelerator.

I had simple goals, starting with the 100 freestyle. I just wanted to go under a minute. The first time I was 12. Once in college I managed to push a :59. Since then, nowhere close. In the last few months in practice, I've pushed as fast as a 1:05. At this meet, I went 55.73, good for 10th out of 16 in my 30-34 age group. Goal achieved.

The rest of the events, by the numbers:

200 IM:                                   2:26.04
50 Breast (200 medley relay)    :35.64
200 Free:                                 2:05.63
100 IM (YES!)                        1:05.44
50 Free:                                     :25.1

Contest this!

We can all agree that everyone loves contests, yes? Yes, yes we can. 

So, in a shameless effort to drive more traffic to my humble corner of the vast ether, here is the first of many contests:

See that poll over there on the right-hand side of this here blog? I want you to vote in it. Like, get out the vote and rock the vote, simultaneously.

My high school team's team spaghetti dinner is every Thursday night after practice. And I have a flair for the dramatic, so this week, I will bow to the dominance of the poll winner and add the crowned alternative topping to my spaghetti. And eat it. And have a swimmer photograph the whole thing for this blog.

Don't you want to be as happy as this stud?

He's so avant-mouth-garde

If you vote, and your topping wins, you will be.

Oh, and you can follow me on Twitter @fakecoachtim.

Out of the Blue

I hate to lose. No one aspires to not win, but still, I hate it. And I'm talking about achieving victory in a competition not decided by chance: First place by virtue of defeating the other contenders with a combination of skill, talent and will, within the rules set out for that particular event. 

When my skill, talent and will aren't enough to win, I feel wholly defeated. It's a painful experience. Losing threatens your personhood. You want to have confirmation that your best effort is enough to achieve your goals; however winning never forced anyone to question whether that was in fact their best effort...

Winning or losing in swimming is simple. First place is awarded for finishing with the fastest time. Period dot. There are no style points, no judges' scores, no foul lines to debate - numbers are black and white. Each race has many parts that can go well or poorly - fast, streamlined start but a foot slipped on the turn - but all you have at the end is a number, your time.

The question then is always the same: Was your number higher or lower than everyone else? And I hate when my number's higher; I hate to lose, but I also know it is OK to lose. Someone always has to lose for there to be a winner. And when we lose, we're more driven to improve than when we win. We should always be striving to improve, ergo losing is OK.

At this point, it might sound like I'm contradicting myself, saying I hate to lose but also think losing is alright, helpful even. Well, I'm not particularly fond of paying taxes either, but I know at least at some level I benefit from them. Perhaps the term 'necessary evil' is appropriate. It tempers the hate.

How, then, do you teach the positive side of losing to 5- to 18-year-olds in an American culture that's more competitive than ever. I have swimmers training in multiple sports, simultaneously, and if you're not making the top squad, participating in the best camps, making it to the highest level of competition (forget just focusing on one sport or extra-curricular activity!), then you've simply been left behind by the Joneses. These kids don't take losing lightly. They fear getting left behind.

Fortunately, there are other victories in swimming besides your race place, namely, the 'best time'. Finish the race second but finish with a personal-best time, and you're presented with cold, hard evidence of exerting your overall best effort. I don't necessarily believe in 'moral victory', but a best time at least provides positive fuel to the motivation fire that losing sparks. At least you're a black-and-white step closer to achieving that goal of winning.

My team lost its dual meet yesterday. And not by just a few points. Perhaps harder than losing yourself is watching people you care about lose. You can't flush the loss for them. But on the day, we had over 70 personal-best times. That's a lot of peak effort, and a lot of motivation to go back to work with on Monday.