A Boy Named Sue

 

Straight Cash, no chaser.

Growing up I had the good fortune of swimming for tough coaches.  They recognized my abilities, challenged my mental toughness, and kept their approval just outside my reach.  Their approach paralleled John Broz's teaching that "a minnow can never become a shark."

 

But growing up this way was hard.  My innate talent lent me to swimming with high school kids when I was just 12 years old, but I was not ready physically or mentally to handle the training environment.  Exacerbating the situation were my training partners – the high school boys, in particular – who picked on me mercilessly, both in and out of the pool.  Their idea of fun after practice was pushing me in the handicapped shower, and throwing my clothes under the running water (Thank god Facebook had not been invented yet, for I may not have survived.).   Nowadays people frown on "hazing," but all of it, much to my chagrin, helped in my preparation.  To quote Johnny Cash, ". . . I grew up quick and I grew up mean, My fist got hard and my wits got keen."  I never forgot those guys, especially the ones who were mean to me, and I made sure to kick the crap out of them later in life.

 

Another dark side of my coaches’ philosophy was my feeling like an underachiever.  The best race of my high school career came at the national meet my senior year, but the most disappointing race came the following morning.  Of course my coaches harped on how I bungled my best event, never mind I swam lights out in my second best event.  This was a bitter pill for me to swallow, and it took me the better part of two years to recover from that disappointment.  My situation did not improve in college where I felt the weight of lofty expectations starting on Day One.  I went on to win 13 NCAA All-American honors, but my worst championship meet came my senior year when I swam terribly.  This was a difficult way for me to end my career, and I still suffer from swimming-related nightmares from time to time.

 

It was this disappointment that I think fueled my pursuit of weightlifting.  I did not want to end my athletic career "a loser."  I wanted a chance at redemption, and I saw weightlifting as my ticket.  Maybe that's why I have never felt a desire to compete in the sport.  Knowing that I did not end my athletic career on a low-point has been enough for me.  I've conquered my demons . . . or locked them in a closet . . .  at least for the time-being.