Wet Memories
My athletic glory days in high school (apologies to the Boss) were in the pool. I was a fast freestyle sprinter (crawl) and dominant 1m diver. I must have had a gift for the aerial: I never hit the board, scored 7+ averages on forward 2-1/2 tuck, inward 1-1/2 pike, and front full twisting 1-1/2 as my best dives, and placed silver 2nd in our state competition in senior year, despite being 98% self-taught (never had an actual coach). I sucked on reverse and back dives, however … and I did get suckered by two diver teammates into seeing how many somersaults I could do in tuck position before I hit the water – which resulted in a bloody blob in the pool from ramming my knee into my nose on my way into a 3-1/2. Who knows what I might’ve achieved if a serious diving coach had found me (and I hadn’t been smoking 20 red-pack Marlboros a day)?
No regrets. Those endless hours in the pool and the air above it are among the fondest memories of youth … glory days at their best. After standing solo under all eyes in silence unmatched except on putting greens, nailing dive #5132 (2.2 degree of difficulty full twisting 1-1/2 somersault) and surfacing to see nothing but 10s and 9+s from the judges to win the event and clinch the meet — that rush ranks right up there with the 10th inning grand slam, the overtime final-second mid-court nothing-but-air basket, the final play 50-yard Hail Mary diving end-zone catch to go out 6-0, and all the other moments of pure glory in sports.
I suppose I had the potential to be a dominant swimmer too. In our competition class I was also undefeated in the 50 free, until that senior-year state meet when the coach decided to punish me for all those Marlboros by pulling me from the 50 and putting me in the 100, where I burned out at 75 and humiliated myself by coming in last with a wheezing dog paddle. I still didn’t quit those death sticks for good until 20 years later. Still – even those unbroken strings of regular meet victories in the 50 and usually when anchoring the 200 medley didn’t hold a candle to the pure adrenalin of nailing those 2+ DoD dives every time it mattered and even when it didn’t.
Pushing Wake
These days, when I swim my regular 2,500yd or 2,500m crawl in 50-60 minutes alongside the aquayouth lapping me 3 or 4 to 2 in neighboring lanes, I can usually still seize my glide again for at least a few minutes and deliver a decent finishing sprint, despite ‘senior’ having a totally different meaning now and dragging 3 times my healthy BMI through the water. The glory is gone but brightly remembered … and who knows? What might I do if my 63×63 resolution is fulfilled? I can dream of Masters’ meets I suppose … even getting back on the board! But what are dreams worth if we don’t make them come true?
Stay tuned. We’ll see.
