Timing and reading

I spent Thursday through Saturday last week at this venue: the Georgia Tech pool. Georgia Tech was hosting the Atlantic Coast Conference (ACC) men's swimming championships and youngest son, aka swimmer boy, was competing. At Saturday's finals, the ACC recognized all the graduating seniors. I took this picture with my not-at-all-fancy camera, but if you look closely, you can see the line of sweatsuit clad folks standing along the end of the pool--those are the seniors. And if you look even more closely, maybe you'll be able to make out the timers standing behind them--the people in navy t-shirts and khaki pants/shorts.

I spent part of Thursday, Friday, and Saturday dressed in my navy ACC timer shirt and khaki shorts, armed with a stopwatch, watching...well, I think of them as boys, but I suppose most people would call them men swim up and down the pool. Timers start their watches when the starting machine flashes and then we have to get to the edge of the pool and stop our watches and the "plunger" that backs up the touch pad when the swimmer hits at the end of the race. You have to be prepared to get a little wet.

I like being down on the deck. I get to see my son, but I also get to see his college friends and even some of his high school friends who swim for other ACC colleges. And I got to time with another mom whom I've timed with for years beginning when our college seniors were little boys.

So how does reading fit into this post? While I was in the volunteer room waiting for the timer briefing session to start, I struck up a conversation with a young woman, the older sister of one of the college swimmers, who was reading a book on her Kindle. Of course I asked how she liked the device and what she was reading. And she was embarrassed to admit she was reading a "silly" romance.

Now I majored in English in college, so I understand literary snobbery. Genre fiction, and especially romance, isn't quite what an intelligent woman might want to admit liking. I think many of us have a sense of what we "should" be reading. I can even remember when I was young, maybe middle school, not allowing myself to go back and read books in the children's section, even though I wanted to, because I thought they were too babyish.

I wonder where this comes from? One genre is no better than another. If I want to read children's books or if I enjoy romance more than literary fiction, why not read what I want? We all have only a limited time on this earth, so it seems silly to force ourselves to read stories we don't care for, at least once we've graduated from class assignments.

You can be sure I admitted that I not only read romance, I write it--and I'm working on saying that proudly without letting the English major in me turn up her nose even one iota.

We survived!

Last Friday, these two buses pulled up in front of our house and disgorged 80 or so hungry swimmers and coaches. They were supposed to arrive at 5 pm, but plans changed and instead they came at 4:15. Fortunately, the caterer arrived early, too, so all we had to do was remove the covers from the food and stand back.

We had a few nervous moments. According to the caterer's menu, we'd ordered enough food for 120, but the trays started to run low alarmingly fast. The seniors went first, and I'm not sure any of the chicken parmigiana was left for the juniors let alone the sophomores or freshman. But there was other food--lasagna and two other pasta dishes--so everyone got something (and we gave the freshmen first crack at the desserts). We even had a little pasta and salad left over.

The locusts--I mean swimmers--crammed into all the available space: chairs, sofas, stairs, floor--but they did all fit into the house. (Another big sigh of relief.) They seemed to have fun, were very polite, and left about 6 pm. Then husband and I cleaned up and collapsed around 8:30.

Saturday we drove up to Baltimore to watch the swim meet and hand off some of the leftover waters and Gatorades for the swimmers to have on deck. Third son and his fiancee showed up to watch for a while, and we gave them the leftover brownies and cookies. After the meet, swimmer boy went off to the next hosting house--this one in New Jersey--and we went off to check into our hotel before meeting third son, fiancee, and second son (who'd just gotten back to Baltimore from New Orleans after a week of pro bono work) for dinner.

Now we're back home. I admire people who can entertain with grace and poise. I don't know if it's a skill I didn't master in my youth or a talent that doesn't mesh well with my basically introverted personality, but...Let's just say hubby and I are very glad we did it, but also very glad it's over. Now I have to get back to my "real" world and get to work on the next book.

But first I think I'll just sit here and stare out the window for a while.

Out of the pool

The stitches came out today--yay! So I asked the doc if I could go back to swimming. He said sure--yay! But then I thought to ask him if I could wear swim goggles. Oh, no. Nothing that would put pressure on the wound for a month--the cut is near my right eyebrow.

I know there's a crazy water polo-playing Californian on swimmer boys' college swim team who swims without goggles, but even the thought makes me cringe. Swimming 3,000 meters in an indoor, chlorinated pool with no goggles? I think my eyes would explode.

So it looks like no swimming for me till almost Christmas. I am not happy.

Swimming and mourning

If you don't follow competitive swimming, you might have missed the news about Fran Crippen, the 26-year-old elite swimmer who died in the 10K World Cup open-water race near Dubai a few weeks ago.

I never met Fran, but I know people who knew him. He's the same age as one of my sons. And my boys were competitive swimmers, though never at Fran's level.

I was talking yesterday about mourning my father, but Dad lived a long life. He was 95 when he died, and, frankly, by the end all the systems weren't working that well. He couldn't see much or hear much, getting around was a bit of a challenge, and he was becoming forgetful. He didn't look his age, but he probably looked 85.

Fran was so young; he was just at the beginning of his life. (And while I mourn my father, I can't really imagine the pain I'd feel if I lost one of my children.)

Here's the thing about serious athletes--they are used to pushing themselves to failure and beyond. I don't think you get to be an Olympic quality athlete unless you have an incredible work ethic and a high tolerance for pain.

I haven't heard if they figured out what went wrong that day in Dubai, but I hope if there are more safety measures they can take to prevent this from happening again, they take them. I don't think it is realistic to expect the athletes to stop themselves when they are in trouble.

Here's a link a couple of my friends with sons connected to the University of Virginia's swim team posted about Fran: http://www.virginiasports.com/ViewArticle.dbml?&DB_OEM_ID=17800&ATCLID=205022430

Off to Boston

I'm flying up to Boston for my fourth and last "swim parents' weekend." Swimmer boy is a college senior. (Happy dance--the end of tuition payments is in sight!) Mr. M can't get away from work, so I'll be flying solo.

I have to confess I never know quite what to expect when I arrive. Freshman year we found swimmer boy in the infirmary, freshly diagnosed with mono. Junior year he just had some dread respiratory infection. Sophomore year was relatively uneventful--Mr. M had to stay home that time, too, and it was also at Halloween, so maybe the planetary forces have aligned and I won't encounter any exotic germs this time. (Of course, bed bugs are now on my mind whenever I travel...always something.)

I'm hoping to catch up with my writer pal Caroline Linden while swimmer boy is at the football game. (I went to the University of Notre Dame--I've had my fill of college football, thank you, shivering on those backless bleacher seats.) I'm also hoping to have some time with swimmer boy--at least he's promised to let me take him to dinner Sunday. (Offering food usually is a pretty good way to catch a college son's company.) But I've learned to go with the flow and adjust at the last minute...well, at least to try to.

I'm bringing my computer--maybe I'll get some writing done.

Back in the pool

For the last few years, I've been swimming with a Masters group twice a week on a fairly regular basis. But with one thing and another--session break, my trip to Europe, getting sick--I've been out of the pool for about two months. Tonight (I writing this Tuesday night) was my first night back, and--lucky me!--it was a distance night. We did some warm up--I felt fine. Actually good. And then came the main set--three 500s and two 250s for a total of 2,000 meters. Groan. I did it, but it was not a pretty sight. I was very happy there were only three of us in my lane and no one was in a huge hurry.

When the coach brought out the kickboards, I decided it was time to warm down and call it a night. I'm not much of a kicker in the best of circumstances--and tonight was definitely not the best of circumstances.

I lasted most of the practice--about an hour and 15 minutes out of an hour and a half practice. And tomorrow (today when this posts) I have my first session with the personal trainer.

More about that...if I survive.