Guess That's Why it's Called Practice

Mornings like this in summer, where a steamy fog rises off the surface of the ground, remind me of swimming practice. There would be dull days when no one would choose to come to the pool except if they had to. We were expected to turn up for practice every morning by our energetic coach. (His credentials were impressive, including an Olympic girls' swim team and the Yale team as well.)

Pete would warm us up by giving us laps-- we in our skimpy tank suits and him on the diving board above us, all dry and cozy in his cable sweater and button down shirt and gray slacks and white tennis shoes. And his megaphone. ( "Pull! Pull!")

Our kneecaps would twitch and our lips turn blue and we would shiver on the pool edge and hope to get back into the warmer water soon for our turn.

I retired from competitive swimming at 18. By then the huge, muscular German girls were winning everything in the Nationals and Olympics with phenomenal times and their swimming performances. Their careers peaked at about 14 years of age, and they looked and swam like men. (!)

I miss swimming. When I get a chance to get into a body of water I take it. It's a physical joy to feel the water's resistance against my limbs and the current flowing past my body. I don't race, but glide-- like a frog or a swan-- yoga-like -- feeling all the muscles, stretching, regulating my breathing. I can swim for a long time like this, flipping to my back for a while, sometimes floating and watching the sky, and sometimes churning the water hard for a short stretch just until I get a tinge of muscle fatigue. It feels so good. And I feel so exhilarated and relaxed afterward.

Days like today the pool down the street looks quiet and inviting. We thought about membership, but it costs a big chunk of money. Most of the swimming that happens there is by joyful, noisy kids blasting their boisterous music, jostling about being teen-agers-- not a place for a quiet swim, and not worth the price tag just for a few mornings like this per summer.

It's good to be reminded of early morning swimming practice. I hated it. I loved it. Guess that's why it's called "practice."

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