Hello Twimmers!
Tom has invited me to write about what this past year has brought to my swimming, or lack of.
What follows is not intended to be a woe-is-me story. All the important things, like relationships and health, were, and are, terrific.
So, here goes. 2020 was a challenging year for us, even before the pandemic. In December of 2019, we suffered a massive flood after a big kitchen remodel. It forced us out of our Seattle house and, for most of 2020, into hotels, Airbnb’s and our little vacation house on Lake Chelan.
The real stress came from dealing with countless insurance adjusters, subrogation experts, contractors, and of course, the bank. Today, 16 months after the event, we are just now waking up from the nightmare, with a final claim just south of $700,000.
While we were in the thick of it, and just before the shutdown, we decided to pack up the dog and our oldest daughter (who was about to graduate from college, virtually of course), pull up stakes, and move the circus to Chelan.
I spent most of my days on the phone and on email dealing with the flood fallout. It became a full time job, and I compiled hundreds of files to keep track of things. For exercise and to relieve stress, we went for long walks, but as a wise person once said, “Walkin’ ain’t swimmin’.”
I recall one day, we had to drive into Wenatchee after I had spent hours on hold dealing with the bank. We met with one of our bankers there, who politely explained at length why they couldn’t release funds to us that were already released to them by the insurance company. By this time, we owed our contractors $200K. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or curl up in a little ball right there in the middle of the bank and give up.
At the precise moment I needed our sport the most, it was not available to me. I know what you’re thinking: the lake was available! There’s just one problem with that. Cold. I hate it. Scott Lautman, I’m not.
One morning at Wapato Point, in June I think, they opened a little 15 yard outdoor pool and I slipped in the water at 7. Right away, I started feeling better. Then shortly after that, I was exhausted. But I went back the next day, and the day after that.
Then they opened up my home pool at Sand Point Country Club with strict new protocols. We could sign up for 25 minute sessions, 3 times a week, one person per lane. We moved back to Seattle, and began glamping in our half-finished re-remodel.
I had to reexamine what and how to swim. My normal 15 minute warmup was cut to 7. My warmdown happened in the shower when I got home. My Sand Point teammates, some of whom are former DI champions, began coordinating sign-ups so we could train together, and I started writing the workouts, like I used to do for our 6 am pre-Covid practices.
There was no improvement in my swimming, of course, so I had to adjust mentally. I told myself that 6000 yards a week was helping me to get slower more slowly. And swimming with teammates, even socially distanced, was so much better than swimming alone.
Then they added an extra 25 minutes to our workouts, so we could go 50 minutes a day, 3 days a week, and I started thinking about how to wring something positive out of the still less-than-ideal situation. One day, it occurred to me: Hey, I’m the only dude in this lane. How can I take advantage of this? Then it hit me: Backstroke. Backstroke! Because there was no one else to run into!
Since then, at least a third of my workout is back, and I’ve started keeping up with some of the other swimmers while they’re doing free. As my wife is fond of saying, “That’s not nothing.”
My latest focus? Walls. I’ve gotten incredibly lazy over the past year, even worse than normal (In age group, my dad always used to tell me, “Looks to me like you’ve got time to grab a sandwich and a beer on every turn.”).
Then a few weeks ago, we started up team practice on Saturday mornings, with extra protocols.
It’s obvious we all missed a coach on deck, an actual team workout and of course, the banter before and after. You see, I’m the old man in this group, and they know that my family and I have already gone through what they’re going through now. Stressed and over-committed kids. Exhausted spouses. The teenage years. College applications. Empty-Nest Syndrome. They ask me for advice, and I give it to them. And if they don’t ask me for advice, I give it to them anyway.
It turns out, after everything we’ve been through, that swimming means way more to me than I thought it did. It’s tradition. It’s therapy. It’s a daily baptism. It’s community, like TWIM. And of course, it’s competition, which I miss, unless I’m in the lane next to Carl in the 200 back.
So. What happens next? Interestingly, we’ve got a pretty consistent group going off at 9 or 10 am 3 times a week. And no one knows what happens post-Covid. If the workplace is now the Zoomplace, perhaps my 6 am workout is a thing of the past. (Our group is fond of saying “9 is the new 6!”).
All I know is this: It’s good to be back, even if it’s at 60%. But the next time I’m competing, maybe on a TWIM relay, standing on the blocks at a meet with the butterflies working overtime, I’ll dive in like I’ve been shot out of a cannon and give it everything I’ve got.
The TWIM way. Then I’ll have a beer.
— Bob Moore
