The World Master's Games

Last week I swam in my first competition since 1997 at the World Master's Games in Edmonton, Alberta. I must tell you that the entire experience was incredibly fun, but the competition was definitely a rude awakening. Most of us have heard about the concept of being in "race shape." Well, that was clearly where I was not.
Each year it gets a little bit harder to fool your body into believing it can still race, and this nearly 54 year old body was not about to be fooled. Having worked out only three times per week for the past year and a half, I certainly was in no position to have delusions of grandeur. Nonetheless, almost as if someone upstairs is teasing me a bit, every so often, I actually feel pretty good in practice; good enough to think that I might still be able to get up and race. Racing has a way of quickly bringing one back to reality.
The good news is that no one really cares...well, except maybe the swimmer himself. The truth is everyone just seemed to be having fun and when asked how I did, I just gave my times and the person always said "that's great!!" even though I had no clue (nor did he) what was great, mediocre or really bad. It didn't matter. As long as someone else thought I did great, then so did I.
I suppose the whole meet was put into perspective when _______, a 96 year old swimmer from ___________, completed the 100 freestyle to a standing ovation. I was so impressed that I walked up to him and asked to take his picture after the race. I was having a hard time getting him to smile and I wasn't sure if it was because he was having a hard time just breathing, or what. Finally, I had to ask him why he wasn't smiling.
"I missed the world record by a second," he responded dejectedly.
"I guess these Masters really do take it seriously," I thought. At that point, I realized I needed to get ready for my 100 freestyle. Fortunately, I had enough sense to remember that 100 meters of anything is not a sprint.
I jumped in and pretended I had Ian Thorpe's legs, but that didn't work too well. On the back half, I actually was told I looked pretty good. No, they really said I looked just like G jr, except a lot slower. Truth be told, even though I was trying to save whatever was there to save for the second 50, I was still dying. But I was dying less than everyone else was dying, so that made me look somewhat better. Anyway, I didn't crack the minute barrier, but I came pretty close.
The 50 fly which I did the day before was really more my cup of tea. It was on the first day and I hadn't even arrived at the hotel until 2 am, after a 3 hr delay in Phoenix because it was 115 degrees outside that day. I got to the pool after a few hours sleep and realized I had to go somewhere else to register before I could swim. So that took the better part of the morning. By the time I got back to the pool, heat one of the 50 fly was on the blocks. I looked at the program and couldn't find my name anywhere. Just as I was feeling pretty good about being off the hook, the swimmer next to me, whom I never met before, calmly leaned over and said "Here you are: heat 11, lane 10." Panic set in.
For the first time in my life, I began to imagine what my kid felt like at the Pan American Games in the finals of the men's 100 m. freestyle, when he took off his warm-ups at the start of the race and realized he still had his warm-up training suit on. Panic. Well, it wasn't quite that bad. But since it took me about 5 minutes just to get into my tight Arena full body racing suit, that left me just enough time for 4 warm up laps and a minute to find my way to lane 10.
The good news about the 50 fly, at least for me, is that I can still can do it by motor memory and fool my body somewhat into believing it can still swim fast. Anyway, I didn't breathe most of the way down and managed to muscle in with a terrible finish and a sub 29 result. The announcer called me the outside smoker. I was just glad it was over.
By the way, I've been to more swim meets than I ever care to admit, and I know how hard it is for an announcer to make any race seem exciting. I have to tell you, this Canadian announcer in Edmonton could get your goose bumps up in the first heat of the 200 breaststroke, when the winning time was just under 5 minutes. He was incredible, walking up and and down the side of the pool with his wireless, just like he was announcing the finals of the Olympic 50 m. freestyle. Kudos to him!
The 100 fly was quite another story. I didn't have a clue how to swim this one. The last 100 fly I had done in competition was about 3 Provinces over in Montreal, just short of 30 years earlier, in the finals of the 76 Olympics. Muscle memory doesn't last that long. So I breathed every stroke, went out easy, still died coming home, never blacked out (though I had thoughts about doing that the last 15 meters) and lived to talk about it.
The most fun I had all weekend was going out with the Team from St Alberts, a small town north of Edmonton on Saturday night. They were mostly women and a lot younger than me, but they dragged me to their favorite Irish pub and sang karaoke til the wee hours of the morning. And you know what? I didn't really care if I was going to be tired for the next day or not. I was having too much fun! "That," I thought, "is the beauty of Master's swimming."
Kudos to Edomonton and the crazy Canucks for hosting a great World Master's Games!!