Return to the pool

Two weeks ago, I returned to the pool. I’d like to say it had nothing to do with the swimming in the Olympics, but as is hinted in my post from August 11th, watching the Olympics reminded me of my swimming days.

Granted, there were reasons I quit the swim team way back when. I didn’t enjoy the competition, but mainly I didn’t enjoy the girls I was swimming with. I got along with the entire varsity team, but as a newbie, I was on JV, with only three other freshmen girls. These three other girls had tormented me throughout middle school, so I’m proud to say I survived even one swimming season with them, considering how they pulled at my ankles when I swam laps in front of them. But high school was different than middle school. I learned to ignore them, practice with the people who were my friends when I could. And, honestly, I’m proud to say that I was the best of us four, or, at the very least, improved the most—despite the way they treated me. But there’s only so much one person can take and in that way, I understand why I quit so long ago.

But a couple weeks ago, I realized what I missed about the pool. I missed the feeling of cutting through the water, the silence when I was underwater, being able to only hear noise when I pull up to breathe. I missed doing kick turns off the wall and the feeling of accomplishment after a good long workout, every muscle being used.

So, I took to the pool again, steadily increasing how many lengths I swim every time I jump in the pool (nearly every day). This time, I practice with my boyfriend. We encourage each other to push ourselves, to swim another lap. And, sure enough, I’ve found that the reasons I used to love to swim all still hold true, and I can’t see myself ever getting out of the pool again.

Watching the Olympics

Without a job, I have lots of time to waste. Lately, I’ve been spending it watching the Olympics, especially the swimming. I saw the Men’s 4x100 freestyle relay, when Phelps won his second gold medal and got on track to win the most Olympic Golds. I watched when Natalie Coughlin set a new world record and defended the gold she won in Athens in the 100 meter backstroke. I also watched when Peirsol started out slow on the 100 meter backstroke, but ended up breaking a world record to win the Gold.

I admit, before the Olympic games I knew few other Olympic contenders other than Phelps—but lately I’ve been addicted to the swimming. I’d like to think it’s because I used to be on my high school’s swim team, but that extracurricular lasted only a year and I’m the first to admit that I wasn’t that good. I had my highpoints; at the beginning of the season I swam the 50 meter freestyle in 37 seconds (horrible!), but by the end of the season, I was down to 27 seconds. I received the “most improved” award for that but the award seems to be small kudos in the scheme of things—particularly when watching the Olympics, hearing how Phelps trains for five hours a day, not just in the pool but with weights and other aerobic activities.

Sure, with no job, I’ve been working out more than I have in years, but I doubt that counteracts how often I’m sitting on the couch and behind the computer. And, sure, the Olympics sometimes inspire me to get into the gym more than for an hour. But these are Olympians I’m watching, people who have been training for years. I’ve rarely stuck with anything, other than writing, beyond a couple years. If anything, the Olympics seem to remind me of what I have not accomplished or finished—why didn’t I stick with swimming?

I could sit and dwell on this question I suppose. Or I could focus on what I have accomplished—ahem, like grad school and writing a novel in ten months. (Where’s the award for that?)

In the meantime, instead of dwelling, perhaps I should just watch Olympic events other than swimming.