I first encountered John Jerome’s book decades ago, when I was training to compete as a “master” in the Empire State Games. My events were the 200 breast stroke and the 1500 freestyle. The time trials were my first experience as a competitive swimmer; I hadn’t competed in high-school or college and while my swimming stroke was OK, no one would mistake me for “real” competitor, with long fluid strokes and sharp flip-turns. I did it for fun. My team trained at the College of St. Rose (RIP) in Albany, NY. My good friend Linda, who learned that I was a fitness swimmer, invited me to join. My first outing in the pool with other masters swimmers was humbling. Everyone else was so fast and had such stamina. At the end of each lap, I clung to gutter as if for my life. On several occasions I shared a lane with a former professional football player who was training for a triathlon. He was so big that he nearly filled the width of the lane and swimming behind him was like swimming in the churning wake of a high-speed motor boat.
I picked up Jerome’s book having read a favorable review. Jerome had decided, at the age of 50, to become an athlete and swimming was his sport of choice. At the time, I was most interested in his training regimen and the physics of swimming and I found that the book motivated me to push harder to improve my times.
After a long hiatus, I am swimming once again. This time I’m looking for motivation because I have volunteered to take part in a fundraiser on August 10 for Hospicare in Ithaca. I’m part of a team “Diana’s Divas” that is swimming in honor of my friend Diana, who died earlier this year. Barring bad weather or an algae bloom, we’re going to swim 1.2 miles across Cayuga Lake. It’s not a race but I don’t want to humiliate myself by being unable to cover the distance. I’ve begun to work out with a coach and other swimmers at the local YMCA. Tackling the drills is hard and by the time the hour is up, I’m spent. Fortunately, I had kept “Staying With It” and have been reading it, hoping for encouragement.
The first time around, I was nowhere near what seemed to me to be the author’s advanced age of 50. Anything about aging seemed abstract and not something that would happen to me. Now that that age is in my rear view, I am struck by different passages than the ones that resonated the first time around. Like this one, for instance:
The physiological downslope of one’s life does command a level of attention that isn’t quite possible during the upslope, or growth, part of the process. I expected that. Still, I received regular, recurring, shocks. Aging is very rude, making no attempt at diplomacy, at softening its message. No small talk: it just starts slamming doors in your face, yanking things out of reach (of your arms, your eyes, your deeper longings).
Ain’t it the truth!
You can find out more about about Women Swimmin for Hospicare here. And if you’re inclined to make a small donation, Diana’s Divas and hospicare would be most grateful.
— sdl
Go to Source
Author: The Best American Poetry
