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swimming
Episode 11: The Swimming Scheme
Once upon a time I was a swimmer for Cyprus' High's junior swim team. And by junior I don't mean 11th graders, I mean kids.
As early as 8 years old I was up on the blocks taking my mark, nervously awaiting the obnoxious buzz of the machine that told us we could dive in. (I remember slipping off the blocks and being disqualified before - and I was always worried that I'd race ahead too fast to hear the call of false start making us all restart the race, except my energy would be spent). So climbing up onto the stand was always an unnerving experience.
I participated in this sport for several years. And probably should have kept with it. (But eventually quit because 3 hours of practice every day, with meets on Saturdays, was a high price for a young kid - and I missed out on many, many trips to Classic Skating with my friends.)
I was at the top of my game when I was 10 years old. (And to this day I can't beat my times for my events. I remember my best ever freestyle 50 meters was 28 seconds--starting from the blocks in a 25 meter pool. Saldy I don't remember the others as precisely) But my best event was breaststroke. Every half year a special meet was held called "Junior Olympics" where you had to beat a certain time in an official meet in order to qualify. Teams came from all over the state, and sometimes ever farther.
I always qualified. That was easy. What was hard was beating out the competition once you got there. Because you'd swim your race, and if you did well you'd qualify for "seconds" where you'd race again with the few others in your event that did as well. And that race would determine the actual winner. And our dream, aside form winning, was to qualify for a national/international meet. (Which I never achieved, missing the qualifying time by 0.02 seconds while swimming 50m breast at J.O.'s at the University of Utah.)
But here in our state I got a bit of a reputation for my age group. And would consistently win and place at state level for the 50 meter breaststroke. I'd usually qualify for "J.O.'s" in the other strokes (except for butterfly, because it's the devil) but I would generally not place above maybe 10th in those, and usually even lower.
But breaststroke... that I could handle. And I developed an open rivalry with some other kid from ... Cottonwood Heights I think. I want to say his name was Ryan something and that his last name had an O in it. (But I might just be confusing him with someone else.) And to this day I still have a picture of me standing in the first place position with my rival right next to me looking disappointed.
I remember many races standing in either lane three or four with he in whichever other lane I wasn'tt in. (3 and 4 meant you were the fastest kid in your heat and expected to win) and while swimming I remember glancing under my lane-line to see if I was keeping up with his splashes. As long as I beat him, I was happy. We would even joke about this rivalry when I finally met him. (I remember being disappointed that I couldn't hate the guy). Though I didn't get to talk to him on more than maybe three occassions.
I think overall, if you looked at the complete series of our races (which was extensive, dozens and dozens of races) he probably edged me out just barely. I think he was the better swimmer, but not by much. And that doesn't change the fact that in the one picture I have of us, I'm the one standing at the number one spot after winning whatever race we'd just completed. And the look of disappointment on his face--standing in the number two position--is priceless. I'll have to find that picture and post it.
So with that background in mind, I'll let you in on a little deal my parents had. To help motivate us to improve our times and qualify for harder and harder meets, like J.O.'s, my parents would bribe my brother and I (who was also an excellent swimmer) by offering us $1 for every second we shaved off our best time in any event.
Which was generous, and I'm glad they did this. But since I was a sprinter and Rob did more long-distance events this was a raw deal for me. When I shaved off 2 seconds on my 32 second time, that was epic! It was like jumping from the 80th percentile to the 95th. But it was still only worth $2.
While Rob would swim a long race, like the 200 meter free (which felt long to me at the time - and still does, 8 laps) and say his time was 2:20 and he cut it down to 2:15, he'd get $5 but proportionally his improvement wasn't as large as mine. (When compare how he stacks up against the other racers.)
It didn't advance him as much as my two second drop did in the shorter race. But he walked away with more cash.
So - being the little deviant that I was - I knew I had to game the system. I was going to ask my coach Mark (who was an excellent coach) to let me swim the 500 meter freestyle (20 laps). That request would be unprecedented because I was a dedicated sprinter and my usual races were only 2 laps. Aside from a few that were four, and once in a blue moon I'd attempt the 8 lap race. But my performace weakened logrithmically with each additional lap. At 50 meters I was winning medals, at 100 meters I was winning plaques and ribbons, and at 200 I was winning condolances.
So everyone knew I would not do well at the 500. But I was counting on that. I planned to do the race and suck as bad as possible. Making my time be like a minute and a half per lap. I would come in last, so much so that people would probably clap when I finished--out of pity. And I'd walk away with wounded pride, collecting my 30 minute time. Which would embarass me, my coach, and our team. But I hoped people would feel bad for me instead of be mad at me.
Then I was going to ask Mark to let me try it again, you know so I could be like Rocky and prove I could do it. "Just one more time, I know I can do this. I need to prove it to myself." And then I would work and work and work for the next meet, so I'd be ready. And then I would actually try. And I'd keep my average time at about 40 seconds per lap. Which was felt totally doable. That would give me a time of just over 13 minutes, a colossol improvement. Shaved off almost 17 minutes off my time, which translates to many, many seconds. And I expected to walk away with a cool $1,000 from my folks.
Of course they never would have honored the deal had I gone through with it. When you cheat you get cheated. And I think part of me knew that, and another part knew it was wrong, and an even deeper part wasn't able to swallow my pride for that first race. When I would have to give an epically bad performance. "Yeah that's the kid who took home the gold medal in breaststroke ... why is he sucking so bad?" I just couldn't stomach the thought.
So I never did it. But I remember considering it.
Once upon a time I was a swimmer for Cyprus' High's junior swim team. And by junior I don't mean 11th graders, I mean kids.
As early as 8 years old I was up on the blocks taking my mark, nervously awaiting the obnoxious buzz of the machine that told us we could dive in. (I remember slipping off the blocks and being disqualified before - and I was always worried that I'd race ahead too fast to hear the call of false start making us all restart the race, except my energy would be spent). So climbing up onto the stand was always an unnerving experience.
I participated in this sport for several years. And probably should have kept with it. (But eventually quit because 3 hours of practice every day, with meets on Saturdays, was a high price for a young kid - and I missed out on many, many trips to Classic Skating with my friends.)
I was at the top of my game when I was 10 years old. (And to this day I can't beat my times for my events. I remember my best ever freestyle 50 meters was 28 seconds--starting from the blocks in a 25 meter pool. Saldy I don't remember the others as precisely) But my best event was breaststroke. Every half year a special meet was held called "Junior Olympics" where you had to beat a certain time in an official meet in order to qualify. Teams came from all over the state, and sometimes ever farther.
I always qualified. That was easy. What was hard was beating out the competition once you got there. Because you'd swim your race, and if you did well you'd qualify for "seconds" where you'd race again with the few others in your event that did as well. And that race would determine the actual winner. And our dream, aside form winning, was to qualify for a national/international meet. (Which I never achieved, missing the qualifying time by 0.02 seconds while swimming 50m breast at J.O.'s at the University of Utah.)
But here in our state I got a bit of a reputation for my age group. And would consistently win and place at state level for the 50 meter breaststroke. I'd usually qualify for "J.O.'s" in the other strokes (except for butterfly, because it's the devil) but I would generally not place above maybe 10th in those, and usually even lower.
But breaststroke... that I could handle. And I developed an open rivalry with some other kid from ... Cottonwood Heights I think. I want to say his name was Ryan something and that his last name had an O in it. (But I might just be confusing him with someone else.) And to this day I still have a picture of me standing in the first place position with my rival right next to me looking disappointed.
I remember many races standing in either lane three or four with he in whichever other lane I wasn'tt in. (3 and 4 meant you were the fastest kid in your heat and expected to win) and while swimming I remember glancing under my lane-line to see if I was keeping up with his splashes. As long as I beat him, I was happy. We would even joke about this rivalry when I finally met him. (I remember being disappointed that I couldn't hate the guy). Though I didn't get to talk to him on more than maybe three occassions.
I think overall, if you looked at the complete series of our races (which was extensive, dozens and dozens of races) he probably edged me out just barely. I think he was the better swimmer, but not by much. And that doesn't change the fact that in the one picture I have of us, I'm the one standing at the number one spot after winning whatever race we'd just completed. And the look of disappointment on his face--standing in the number two position--is priceless. I'll have to find that picture and post it.
So with that background in mind, I'll let you in on a little deal my parents had. To help motivate us to improve our times and qualify for harder and harder meets, like J.O.'s, my parents would bribe my brother and I (who was also an excellent swimmer) by offering us $1 for every second we shaved off our best time in any event.
Which was generous, and I'm glad they did this. But since I was a sprinter and Rob did more long-distance events this was a raw deal for me. When I shaved off 2 seconds on my 32 second time, that was epic! It was like jumping from the 80th percentile to the 95th. But it was still only worth $2.
While Rob would swim a long race, like the 200 meter free (which felt long to me at the time - and still does, 8 laps) and say his time was 2:20 and he cut it down to 2:15, he'd get $5 but proportionally his improvement wasn't as large as mine. (When compare how he stacks up against the other racers.)
It didn't advance him as much as my two second drop did in the shorter race. But he walked away with more cash.
So - being the little deviant that I was - I knew I had to game the system. I was going to ask my coach Mark (who was an excellent coach) to let me swim the 500 meter freestyle (20 laps). That request would be unprecedented because I was a dedicated sprinter and my usual races were only 2 laps. Aside from a few that were four, and once in a blue moon I'd attempt the 8 lap race. But my performace weakened logrithmically with each additional lap. At 50 meters I was winning medals, at 100 meters I was winning plaques and ribbons, and at 200 I was winning condolances.
So everyone knew I would not do well at the 500. But I was counting on that. I planned to do the race and suck as bad as possible. Making my time be like a minute and a half per lap. I would come in last, so much so that people would probably clap when I finished--out of pity. And I'd walk away with wounded pride, collecting my 30 minute time. Which would embarass me, my coach, and our team. But I hoped people would feel bad for me instead of be mad at me.
Then I was going to ask Mark to let me try it again, you know so I could be like Rocky and prove I could do it. "Just one more time, I know I can do this. I need to prove it to myself." And then I would work and work and work for the next meet, so I'd be ready. And then I would actually try. And I'd keep my average time at about 40 seconds per lap. Which was felt totally doable. That would give me a time of just over 13 minutes, a colossol improvement. Shaved off almost 17 minutes off my time, which translates to many, many seconds. And I expected to walk away with a cool $1,000 from my folks.
Of course they never would have honored the deal had I gone through with it. When you cheat you get cheated. And I think part of me knew that, and another part knew it was wrong, and an even deeper part wasn't able to swallow my pride for that first race. When I would have to give an epically bad performance. "Yeah that's the kid who took home the gold medal in breaststroke ... why is he sucking so bad?" I just couldn't stomach the thought.
So I never did it. But I remember considering it.
