Weigh-Ins and Lingerie

It's been a tumultuous week with ups and owns typical of this roller-coaster life. The immense highs of my nephews' birth and the adorable photos sent by James and Molly, offset by William's injury on the home front and more disastrous language and attitudes from our president on the national front.

But I want to purposefully digress from these to talk about college swimming. Aden is enjoying a good high school season and feels cautiously optimistic about dropping more time at the end of the month (in the A League meet), to the point that we've started looking at  schools with Division 3 swimming, like Lewis and Clark College (Portland), UC Santa Cruz, and the Claremont / McKenna family of schools (southern California).

At a dual meet last week between CCHS and a rival high school, I was chatting about colleges with a mom of a senior. Her daughter is also looking at swimming in Division 2 or 3, and the mom said, "You swam in college, too, right? What was it like?"

Strangely, I couldn't part the mists of memory enough to see clearly more than two or three memories. These were: team weigh-ins in the locker room where the coach tossed us marshmallows if we had added pounds; dancing to the freshman "mix tape" that included verses from The Little Mermaid - "Bright young women, sick of swimming, ready to stand!;"  and one time trial race where I had to beat my roommate in the 100 free to secure my own 3rd-string position. (I did win the race, but the stress removed any sweetness from the victory).  That's about it - oh, except for the fancy lingerie I saw in the locker room. Those seniors kept Victoria's Secret in business and put my demure cotton wardrobe to shame. I remember only two swimming times from the whole two years I swan (one of which, the 100 time trial) and no other races.

"That's strange," said my friend. "Do you think it was the stress?"

Perhaps the stress, perhaps my sense of overwhelm. Literally and metaphysically struggling to keep my head above water, I suppose I didn't have the available brain cells to store specific swim memories.  That's not what I want for Aden. If she swims in any capacity, I want her to have fun, to build a stockpile of memories both glowing and challenging, a rich treasure that she can recall for the rest of her days, one not built on weigh-ins and lingerie.