Swimming

Six times a week around 5:30am, we ritualistically assemble into the cold, dimly lit, locker room at the Esplanada Park Pool. One by one, we slip into our still damp drag suits and then make a mad run from the locker room through the chill of the morning air to the pool, stopping only to grab a pull-bouy and a kick board. Coastal California cools down overnight to the high 40's. The pool is artificially warmed to 79 degrees---the conflict in temperatures creates an outpouring of steam from the water's surface casting a scene more appropriate for a werewolf movie.

Thus starts another workout. 4500 yards to go, then a quick shower and five-minute drive to school. Another 5500 yards is the destiny for the afternoon. We start over again tomorrow. The objective is to find another 1/10th of second. The end goal is to have that little, unexplainable difference at the end of a race that separates success from failure, greatness from mediocrity. Somehow we accepted the pitch, otherwise we'd still be in bed now.

One mile up the road, there is a similar session at Berkeley's pool with group of the fastest swimmers in the world. They'll push even harder as what ensures their greatness is measured in 1/100th's of second and not the coarseness of 1/10th's. Somehow they have gotten beyond 'thinking about' the pursuit of greatness, having already achieved it. But from someone, who has yet to ascend to the absolute apex of the sport, questions create an extra burden.

My first swimming race was when I was 10 years old. My parents fearing eminent injury redirected my athletic direction away from ice hockey. Three weeks into the new swimming endeavor, I somehow convinced my coach to let me enter the annual age group zone meet. To his surprise and mine, I pulled out an "A" time. National "Top 16" awards through the various age groups, club records and finally National First Team All-American in the 100 fly and Second Team All-American in the 200-Medley Relay cemented an...