Once a swimmer, always a swimmer

It's hard to believe today is the 31st of May.

Do you remember the excitement of coming to the end of May when you were in grade school? Though I'm 32, sometimes it seems that it hasn't been that long since I would giddily anticipate the end of the school year. The freedom of the summer laid out before me and my friends, the long days spent at the public pool barely out of reach.

I spent most of my summers at the local public pool in small town Illinois. We weren't a wealthy family and I didn't live in a "wealthy" town, so the idea of having a private pool seemed sort-of antisocial and elitist. Part of the fun of going to the public pool was seeing your friends (and, later in adolescence, seeing teenage girls in small swim suits). But there was always more to my love affair than friends and hormones.

I always loved pools, ever since I was old enough to drown. The smell of the chlorine, the feeling of the cool clear water on my skin...even the burn of the chemicals in my eyes was appealing. My hair would become bleached by the sun and made brittle by the chlorine. There was nothing better.

It seemed natural to me that I joined the summer swim team after 8th grade, though my parents were surprised. I was never an athletic child, so that (I'm sure) was part of the surprise. And I guess the fact that I was a really fat 8th grader also added to the shock. My mom was very concerned about me being seen in a speedo.

But I joined. Joined and, that first summer on the team, found out what consistently placing last in the heats felt like. It was discouraging...I'm not sure why I stuck with it. But I did, and I made it through that first season. Belly hanging over the tiny swim-team speedos and collecting purple 6th-place ribbons.

Then my growth spurt kicked in. The tubby kid in the purple speedos was no more.

I was a different me the next summer. Getting up at 6 am to do two hours of laps was no struggle, and often I would do a third hour of laps at 5 pm. I would sleep in my swim trunks so I could roll out of bed and onto my bike. My heart rate got to be so low (about 40 beats per minute) that my parents become concerned. I could swim 50 meters (down and back) underwater without breathing. I started having dreams that I could actually breath underwater, which rocked my world. The sixth place ribbons were replaced by first and second place ribbons, and I qualified for our divisional finals. I didn't get very far...those were some fast fuckers I was placed against. But that day at the divisional finals was one I'll never forget.

Nor could I ever forget the feeling of the ice-cold water at 6 am after a cool summer night. The dew would still be on the fields of corn and beans as I rode my bike to the pool. My skin would tingle those first couple of morning laps, and then my muscles would warm up. And soon I would find myself in the zone. I'd be swimming and swimming and lose track of time and distance. I'd just hear the sound of the water in my ears, the feeling of the water as it glided over my skin.

My last summer on the team I was 16. I was in the 16 - 18 age group now, and suddenly I was the slowest of the bunch again. I still enjoyed it...sometimes success or failure isn't measured by ribbons but by how much fun something is. But I won't lie; being unable to finish first took some of the fun out of the sport.

I can no longer swim 50 meters holding my breath. Young women with wet hair and a swim suit on still do it for me, but now I'm the creepy guy in the next lane instead of the handsome young swimmer.

But I'll always be a swimmer. I'll always love the feel of the cool water against my skin and the smell of the chlorine. And when I get in that pool, I'll always feel 15.