Clearly, I was a swimmer. I suppose I still am a swimmer - it's not an identity that one parts with easily. This could be due to a multitude of reasons, but eccentricity seems to be a common theme, as does a lack of desire to shave one's legs regularly. Because of my injury, my position has switched. No longer do I swim. Rather, I coach.
The oft heard mantra is true here: Those who can do. Those who can't, coach. I've also heard muttered around the world of academia this little phrase: "Those who can teach. Those who can't teach teachers." I must be an extreme "can't" because I don't just coach...I coach Masters.
There are plenty of stories I could tell about this endeavor, and I'll save those for a later date. I've discovered, though, that coaching adults is not that different from coaching children, much to my chagrin. There are some perks, namely post-practice drinks and weekend hang-outs.
Many masters swimmers come to the sport late in the game: after an injury, looking for something new, or wanting to boost their triathlon performance. Others are former college, club, or high school swimmers who want to stay in shape. It's quite the range of speeds and abilities, but it makes the job* fun.
The other day, an older lady who was never a swimmer complained to me about her goggles being foggy. "I just bought them," she said. "I can barely see out of them, and it's giving me a really hard time." I explained to her that foggy goggles were just part of the territory and you learn how to tolerate them and how to prevent them. Some masters swimmers buy anti-fog spray. A waste, if you ask me. All swimmers know that nothing works as well as a little saliva. Goggle licking? Just part of the game. This tried and true secret solved all of her problems, and she was thankful that I passed along this little nugget of practice survival gold.
So the mystery about the name still remains. I swam briefly about 2 weeks ago. I pulled goggles out of my locker and 2 pairs were infested with dry rot. The third was wearable, though foggy and scratched. That didn't stop me from swimming because I knew how to solve the problem. I'm hoping to do the same to my hip: take it from a roadblock that's been stopping me for years to a manageable hurdle that I can step over and move forward from.
Instead of saying "Like sands through an hourglass...", "like spit in a goggle" is a phrase more applicable to this journey I'm beginning.
The "scores" from this morning's golf workout.
*"job" is a term I use loosely. Technically, I volunteer to coach a master's swim club that the members pay to belong to. The situation is confusing, I make the best of it.
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