Wednesday, October 14, 1998
Strenuous swim piques hunger for life
FEATURE: Writer dives into new views, empathy with morning
workouts
By Steve Kim
Daily Bruin Senior Staff
The alarm clock buzzes at 5:10 in the morning with a jolt. How
annoying. It’s pitch dark – it can’t be time to wake up. No, the
alarm is wrong, and with that justification, I can go back to
sleep.
Just as my head falls back into my pillow, a corner of my
dwindling consciousness reminds me of a task. More like a suicide
mission.
When the women’s swim team head coach Cyndi Gallagher said I
could experience firsthand what it’s like to swim with Division I
athletes, I jumped at the opportunity. How new and exciting, I
thought, to do something like that.
Moods somehow change as I struggle to get out of my warm
comforter in the sleepy darkness. And walking alone before sunrise
in nearly empty streets doesn’t help with my early morning
enthusiasm either.
Damn it, it’s 5:30 in the morning!
Even the swimmers, who are usually cheerful and talkative,
quietly put on their goggles and caps by the pool. They jump in,
and off they go, or at least as far as the pool allows them.
The brightly lit, gently shimmering pool emits a warm, glowing
welcome from below – quite a contrast to the lightless sky. But
it’s only a facade, a trick played by that cruel, cruel swimming
well.
You jump in only to get stung by the overwhelming chill pulsing
through your nerves, head to toe, toe to head. I hate that. The
water is temperature controlled to about 80 degrees. Ha, not warm
enough.
Really, my complaining should stop. I haven’t even started
swimming yet. Besides, I don’t hear any of the swimmers complaining
about any of these details. But – no buts, just shut up and start
swimming.
Swim, swim, swim. OK, I have to confess to some more discomfort.
There’s a lot of swimming going on. Almost nonstop, total aerobics.
I think I misheard Brad’s instructions. Did you say 2,500 meters or
25?
Coach Brad Burnham’s Monday morning distance-oriented swimming
session is not the right workout to just jump into, especially if
you’re only used to swimming one hour at a time.
Arms are tired, legs are tired, toes are tired – they’re all
screaming for relief.
I start to feel melodramatic. There’s a self-induced pressure to
swim faster and farther while my heart’s throbbing like it’s going
to burst out of my chest. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t. Not another
lap, please.
"Nice warmup," Brad says.
"Nice workout – see you all later," I think.
Really, it’s so tempting to just stop. Stop, get out of the pool
and the struggling will cease. I can enjoy the rest of my day at
ease, I think to myself.
Then I’m reminded that this is not something anyone is making me
do. I chose – not was forced – to do this as a self-responsible
adult. As so, I intend to commit to my plans. I want to do
this.
So cut the crap. Don’t give up. Stick around and see what it’s
like to stay in the water a full hour and half. But notice I tell
myself "Stay in the water," not "Do everything the other swimmers
do while I’m in the pool."
I’m surrounded by mermaids. These swimmers are so good. They
swim with straight form and a lot of endurance, especially
considering the intensity they put out. They make it look easy.
I, on the other hand, literally make it easy.
The first day, I end up doing only half of what the swimming
team does. I express no shame about it, and Brad understands my
limitation and disorientation. I’d die if I do everything they do,
especially at their speedy pace. With logical reasoning, I’m simply
opting to spare myself. I figure I’d be more useful alive than
not.
Emmanuelle, a senior swimmer, says I’ll get used to the workouts
by the end of the week. How nice. How unbelievable.
The second morning, Cyndi coaches. She stresses discipline to
all her swimmers, so I’m more hesitant to skimp out on the workout.
That there are more, shorter distance repetitions helps a
little.
This time, the workout’s a little more fun. There are still some
struggling moments, but I’m less confused and actually have time to
think about what we’re all doing. Emmanuelle is starting to sound
right after all.
Wednesday mornings are off, thank goodness.
Before the Thursday morning practice, Brad lectures the team on
responsibility. I pray he isn’t upset, and that he won’t assign
extra laps to swim. But it’s not like some extra laps would bring
me any more struggle than I’m already having. He ends up being good
to us anyway.
The good thing about coming in last every set is … well, there
is no good thing about coming in last, but I’m trying to stay
optimistic. The swimmers and coaches are really supportive and
encouraging throughout. They’re so nice. Maybe it’s only because
they’re sympathetic for me, an inexperienced, small fish who
literally threw himself into a big pond. Nevertheless, they’re
nice.
On Friday, Cyndi gives us a kickin’ kicking workout. We kick for
an hour or so. My legs feel like bricks by the end, but I don’t
care.
I’m more glad than tired to have participated in a week’s worth
of morning practice with the swimmers.
In all honesty, the whole experience wasn’t bad at all. I have
no remorse. In retrospect, the experience was numbing, though.
Physical discomfort aside, it’s a great way to start the day.
Getting up is hard, but once you jump in and start to move, you’re
wide awake – how can you not be? And the endorphin high afterwards
keeps you cheery.
Although I went in there halfheartedly, I feel some sense of
accomplishment. It’s like you’ve done something before half the
school even reaches the snooze button. And I’m almost sure that’s
how the swimmers feel. You not only get physical workouts, you also
feel good about improving and being around supportive teammates,
and coaches who really care and want their athletes to have
fun.
But somehow upon Cyndi and Brad and the team’s jocular
invitation to swim two and a half hours in the afternoons, do 30
minutes of weightlifting and 30 more minutes of running, I laugh
and politely cop out.
"Umm, geez, my lecture starts at two and so does the afternoon
swim, and I’d rather not get in the pool in the middle of practice
…"
Maybe some other time.
Anyway, back to post-practice. I’m feeling an incredible
appetite for food, any food. Exercise really makes you hungry and
what’s more, it fiddles with your tongue and makes everything taste
better.
Yum, yum, I’m going to have me some cake, and eat it too. I
earned it.
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