What You’ve Done For Me Lately
written by ianprichard
If you’re a swimmer, every once in a while you see these Buzzfeedy lists going around, “Ten things only a swimmer will understand” or “Five things I learned from swimming,” and they’re about your hair turning silver or your skin smelling like bleach or how many gallons of frozen yogurt you can eat or whatever, and your swimmer friends repost and retweet them with exclamations of identification and joy.
Probably anyone who’s ever been a ___________ has seen at least one Buzzfeedy “Ten things only a ___________ will understand” list, with similar reactions from their ___________ friends.
If you’re anything like me, these lists strike you as fatuous and hokey, like maybe Garrison Keillor wrote them about the Lake Woebegone Racing Walleye, and entirely beside the point.
For some reason, I got on a kick about this on a recent drive home. Et voilà, Prichard’s contribution to the What-I-Learned-From-Swimming meme.
Some people learned different lessons from these, from some of the same teachers. Some were good lessons, some were bad, some are complicated still.
- Swimming taught me to get out of bed early and do work no matter what. Things like “want to” and “feel like” are N/A.
- Swimming is not a sport you play. Swimming is what you do. Swimming is what you are. You either become it or you quit (or you might as well).
- I never loved swimming. I rarely “had fun,” at practice or at meets. It was rewarding, but it wasn’t fun. I liked competing okay. I fucking loved winning.
- Swimming taught me that you can do whatever you want the night before, but (see #1) there’s always a coach waiting, with a watch around his neck, a kickboard to throw, a water bottle to kick, invective to spew—a workout to rewrite. In life, we call this, “You can do whatever you want as long as you’re willing to pay the man at the door.” I understand this intrinsically.
- Swimming teaches you that some sets are designed for you to fail. It teaches you to do them anyway. You do them and you fail. You do them again and you fail again. Do, fail, do, fail, do, fail, do, ad nauseum. Literally, nauseum. Eventually, some years down the road, swimming will tell you, in kind of an offhand way, when you’re discussing something else, that the lesson was as long as you do another do, you don’t really fail. (Some of us take longer to learn this than others.)
- Swimming teaches you, “That’s only good until the next time you do it” and, “That’s only fast until the next time you swim it.” Swimming trains you to believe these things.
- Swimming is mostly workouts, mostly the long, hard, incessant grind of thirty to forty hours at the pool. Except, the only thing that matters is how you do twice a year in meets.
- I was better in workouts than I was in meets. All that meant then was that I wasn’t good enough in meets. I don’t know what it means now. Now that I don’t have meets.
- For a time, I was in the second tier of American distance swimming. I didn’t love that feeling. I wanted to be in the top tier.
- For a brief moment, it looked like maybe I was in the top tier. I liked that better, but I wanted to be the best.
- Swimming was what I did best, and it was all I did. Everything else was marginal, and I was marginal at it. To this day, I don’t mind being marginal at most things, but what I do best, I want to be best at.
- Swimming taught me to believe that there weren’t many people who were doing what I was doing, that there were fewer people capable of doing what I was doing at the level I was doing it, and even fewer still that actually were.
- Swimming tried to teach me how to shrink that “even fewer”—down to zero. For a long time, I couldn’t figure out what I did wrong. Then I stopped thinking about it. Then it came to me: it’s called “getting in your own way.”
- If I substitute writing for swimming—which I have—it’s difficult to determine what “level” I’m doing it at, and how few or how many are above or below me. Some would say it’s impossible to gauge things like few, better, best in writing. Or at least silly. (I don’t believe them.) Either way, that attitude has seen me through two years of rejection letters and five years of a project I’ve wanted to quit more often than not.
- I wanted to quit swimming more often than not.
- For a while, after I stopped* swimming, I did quit—eve-ry-thing. I thought about swimming every day and how I shouldn’t be quitting, and in the next breath I’d curse swimming and its anti-quittingness as a burden, as an inflictor of guilt. (Society, man! Society!) But when I decided to come back to the land of the living, I remembered swimming, and thanked it.
- I still thank swimming. I rarely talk about it and I hardly ever bring it up, but I think about it and I thank it every day.
- In that last sentence, when I say “swimming,” I mean a very specific set of things. I mean eight particular people, two groups of people, three concepts, and one feeling inside my chest.
- I mean Mark Warkentin, Dan DeMarco, Bo Greenwood, and Luke Wagner; I mean Rob Mirande and Bill Smyth; I mean Mark Bernardino; I mean Fran Crippen.
- I mean all my various teammates, and the men whose feet I chased.
- I mean that thing about doing and failing, that “it’s always zero-zero,” and that nothing worth doing ever gets done without copious amounts of physical and emotional pain.
- I mean all that stuff combined and shoved inside your ribcage with what little air you pulled in just before the final turn and the knowledge, as the lanes on either side come into view, that there’s not space enough in all the pools in all the world for anyone to catch you.
And you?
What does your “swimming” mean to you?
*Some hands may shoot up here: “Objection! Semantics!” But it was a planned retirement, and a clean break. The timing was natural. It was at the end of a cycle. I still argue with myself about it.
Header: London pool, addfunny
Ian – you nailed it – well done!
Hey Kate Slonaker! Thanks for stopping by.
Well written Ian. Everyone who has had chlorine in their blood can relate.
Thanks Linda. I do think it alters us permanently. Maybe even our DNA…
This really hit home with me. While I have never been the best-of-the-best at swimming, I would say fairly I was at least “decent”; after graduating college (and therefore competitive swimming) I’ve discovered that life truly attempts (all ways) to sever my link to being in the water. Working full time happened then getting older happened and here I am at 30 years old with the unfortunate awareness that life has won. I have not been in the water in over a year since I began a very time consuming career and I will be honest: The ONLY thing missing in my life is the water. It’s difficult knowing the same pool I trained in 24/7 in college is two blocks away yet I haven’t gone. The guilt and (now) fear of going back after never having gone more than 2 weeks without the water is a very bizarre feeling; I like to think all true “water babies” have felt this when they decide to jump back in, but who knows. All I know is that I could personally relate to everything you mentioned in this post and I can only hope to suck it up and go back home; in the water, where I belong. <3
Hey Maureen. Thanks so much for reading, and for the kind words.
I’ve finally gotten to the point where I can get back in the water without feeling like I’m constantly comparing myself to what I used to be, and without thinking that that’s the only way for me to enjoy the water. There’s a Y with an outdoor pool by my work, and I go float around a few times a month on my lunch break, and you wouldn’t BELIEVE how slow I am, and I’m actually okay with that. (Well, nine days out of ten. Okay, maybe seven days out of ten…)
What I DO relate to in your comment is that guilt and fear of going back to whatever the workout is after some time off. I started running a couple years ago, and if I go more than a week without a run I think, “Oh, no” and I get that dread-knot in my stomach. I’m 32–how did this happen to us so early?! And swimming is so hard. That’s the other thing you find after you stop for a while. (Ha! Not the most inspiring thing to say to someone in your predicament, probably. Sorry.)
But you know, don’t be so hard on yourself. So you’re in a non-swimming phase–so what? The water will always be there. That pool’s not going anywhere. The LAST thing you need in so busy a life as yours seems to be, is to be carrying around any guilt. You know you’ll go back eventually. I know I will. That’s where I started, that’s where I’ll end up. We’re water babies, right? And we’ll be water octogenarians.
Thanks again for stopping by. Good luck!
Perfect. Emotional. Spot on. Thanks for writing and sharing!
Rachael! Thanks for stopping by. Hope you’re doing well.
I really appreciate this- you captured all the elusive feelings, emotions, and reactions I’ve had to swimming since I stopped and I’ve never had the words to explain it to myself and to other people until now. Thank you for helping me put words to my experience.
Thanks so much for reading and for the kind words. Glad you connected!
Amazing Ian! Definitely got choked up reading this. It’s funny how you spend so much time doing one thing, completely absorbed in it (swimming) and only are able to reflect fully years after. I identified way more with this than any of those articles that have been floating around. Thanks for this!! Congrats on the beautiful wedding also! 🙂
Andrea! Thanks! And thanks for saying hello. I was talking about Orlando just the other day and thinking what kind of weird and crazy summers those were. I can’t believe they were twelve and thirteen years ago! I didn’t go to reunions but I think it’s the ten-year anniversary of graduating that’s got me thinking about stuff. Anyway, hope you’re doing well.
I know! Time sneaks up on you! That was a fun summer 🙂 Those kids were nuts! Glad you’re well!!
As always, another incredibly evocative read, Ian. Although I’m not a huge fan of water (I dislike being wet for some reason), I can replace “swimming” with “running” and be right there with you on nearly every point. I’ve been running for 33 years now (gads, exactly how old AM I?) and still have a difficult time reconciling my deeply rooted love of and need for it with my typically lackluster desire to actually get out there and do it when the near-daily moment arrives. But then I do, and it’s hard and glorious and monotonous and transformative and lonely (and did I mention hard?) and, again, so friggin’ glorious. And there are all those stories and chapters and character motivations I work out in my head while running to celebrate. Sometimes I fall on my face while running (figuratively and literally); other times I soar and never want to stop. It has shaped and defined me psychologically (in terms of stamina and discipline) and certainly physically. (I’ve often wondered what I would look and feel like if I hadn’t been running all these years.) It’s my “swimming,” and I’m ever thankful for its abiding, life-changing grip. Well done.
Michelle, this was great. I love realizing commonalities across disciplines, whatever they are.
Runningwise, I’m just a toddler compared to you–I’ve been at it a mere two.5 years–but I certainly agree that it’s the same kind of thing. I wish it could be glorious and transformative every time, but if it were, it’d probably be neither of those things after a while. Which is also a good, if annoying and disappointing, life lesson–despite what our SoCal weather would have us believe, things can’t be perfect all the time. Sigh.
This is awesome, Ian. No matter how old I get, ‘swimmer’ is the still the first word that I use to define who I am.
I’m back in the water a couple days a week trying to get ready to survive a 10K this fall and it’s amazing how quickly it all comes back (well, everything besides speed, endurance and technique).
Good luck with the new job!
Ha! Yeah, those pesky things like endurance…
These days I just use the pool to float around in a few times a month. I’m lucky to have one close enough to work (and sun throughout the year) to do that on my lunch break. It’s still too daunting to think about training-training, but I feel like my return to that at some point is inevitable.
Good luck on the 10k! Thanks for stopping by.
Thank you for posting this…it is the truth!
Once a swimmer, always a swimmer. I was always a great practice swimmer and once in a blue moon would hit my taper. I still can’t believe that I swam 11 practices a week and now it’s hard to get in 5. But you know what the best part is, swimming will always be a part of me and when I feel like I’m in a rut, I get in the pool, get a good set in (or a few laps in) and feel like myself again.
Swimmers are the only people who know how good it feels to drop a second…just 1 second!
-Jen
Thanks, Jen.
Good for you to still be at it! Five workouts a week sure seems like a lot to me.
I know some runners and an ice skater who know about seconds–and tenths and hundredths, too–but you’re definitely right that there aren’t a lot of us who think that 2,500 hours a year is a good investment for a split-second’s difference…
Take care!
#5… well said.How would you feel if you hadn’t tried those sets? How would you feel if you accepted failure? Maybe pretty good for an afternoon, day, week, month… year(s)? Maybe much better than you did after you tried and failed. But after a day, week, month or years, you realize you didn’t fail. You Did. You didn’t do it as fast as you wanted, as well as you wanted, but you Did. You know you Did, and you kept Doing.
“Nothing worth doing ever gets done without copious amounts of physical and emotional pain.” No such thing as a free lunch…
Keep Doing Bro.
Thanks B, you the man. I’m definitely on the “years” end of the realization spectrum. But now that I know, I don’t even get in the Free Lunch line.
And hey, good luck with that whole new list of things to Do when that bun comes outta the oven, soon. I’d say “take it easy,” but you Don’t.
I’ve had this saved on my browser and just re-read it after a couple years. Still incredible. “I still thank swimming. I rarely talk about it and I hardly ever bring it up, but I think about it and I thank it every day.” !!! So spot on. Thank you for sharing.
Hey Clara! This is like nine months after the fact, but thanks! Appreciate you dropping by to let me know you read and enjoyed it–and saved it and read it and enjoyed it again. Super cool. Hope all goes well with you.