State Masters Meet

Two years after swimming my first Masters State meet in decades, I donned the team cap and tightened my goggles to do it again. As the starting blocks have gotten taller and my balance has receded, the racing starts were my biggest concern. I also worried that my shoulders would stay together and my heart rate would hover below 200.

The first dive I took from a block was Saturday in the warm-up, right before my 50 free, my "baby."  Shoulders squeezed, biceps close to the head, I tightened my streamline and held on for dear life. Though I saw stars from the impact of the water, I felt no tearing and safely navigated a half-length of a sprint. That one warm-up start was enough - I couldn't risk any more before the real thing.

 When it came time for my event, I reminded myself to breathe, and at the whistle I cautiously stepped on the block, toes feeling for the edge and hands reaching down to hold on. I couldn't risk standing up, so held my crouch until that feared beep sent me off into the cold, deep water. Between the beep and surfacing I always close my eyes, and have to open them to remind myself where I am and what I need to do: "kick like crazy, pull like mad, look for the wall, hit the wall, breathe."  I've done it hundreds of times, thousands if you count the visualizations. And yet there's a moment of panic when I hit the water, of trying to wrestle the mind back to the present moment. As I get older, it's more a shock to find myself in that situation, more difficult to remember what comes next.

Somehow I got my hand on the wall, .13 of a second faster than I did it two years ago, though second in my age group this time, to a 45-year-young speedster who just aged up. It was some consolation that I wasn't even close to her. My team was supportive and complimentary, and asked why I wasn't doing more of the freestyle events.  I fumbled for excuses, tried out a number of different lines, and finally admitted the truth, that I was scared to push my body too hard.  The longer events mean a longer stretch of elevated heart rate, a greater risk for migraines and semi-conscious post-race slump.  It's telling that my friends were confused by this, though respectful, while my family was hyper-aware, making sure to warn me not to "push too hard."

Because, when I get in the water, knowing that a time will be posted after my name, I want to bust through walls. Leave no cell untapped, no iota of energy unspent. It hurts, no matter what. At least the short events hurt for a short time.  I empathized with my kids, who train and race year-round, and who are astonishingly faster than me in the strokes. William is 4.5 seconds faster in a 50 backstroke and Aden faster by the same amount in her 50 breast. That is a lot of separation for a fifty-yard race, both humbling and gratifying. At least I don't embarrass them in the fly or the free, the fly being a pleasant surprise because I couldn't do it until my shoulder finished healing a few months ago.

But it was entertaining to share my experience with Rob and the kids, terrific to share stories and swap remedies with my teammates, amazing to see the larger swimming community and the 400 adults who participated in the state meet. I'll be diving off those blocks when I'm in my 70's, I promise.