The Lanes We Share
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Whether age groupers or National Teamers, swimmers share a common bond and culture unique to the sport itself. Each week, correspondent Mike Gustafson will reflect on the different experiences that bind us together as aquatic athletes. This week he takes a look at the element of human connection inherent in our sport.
"Swimmers are often motivated to have their best times as part of relay teams, not in individual events." -NYTimes Columnist David Brooks, Monday, January 17.
When I read this quote, my immediate gut reaction was, "Since when was David Brooks an expert on swimming?" Then I realized, perhaps, that while Brooks' heart is in the right place (his point = humans need connection to realize meaning in life), Brooks fails to understand basic rules of the sport of swimming.
On paper, swimmers don't achieve personal bests simply because teammates want them to. Relay splits are faster because swimmers have the benefit of a "relay start." In other words, in a relay, a swimmer's body can launch itself with forward momentum the exact moment an incoming swimmer hits the wall. Thus, on average, swimmer’s relay times are (roughly) seven tenths-of-a-second faster than when racing individually with a dead-weighted block start.
But…
What if Brooks is actually onto something?
West Lafayette, March, 2010: Annie Chandler (now a graduated senior from the University of Arizona) was one of those "relay swimmers." For years, her individual times were 1.5-2 seconds slower than her relay splits, which means one of two things: 1) either she put too much pressure on herself in her individual races and tightened up, thus slowing down, OR 2) she swam for her teammates. Last March, at the women's NCAA Championship, Chandler put together a "relay race" within an individual performance, swam to her potential, and won the NCAA individual title that had eluded her throughout her collegiate career.
Beijing, 2008: Jason Lezak, once dubbed a "professional relay swimmer" by a USA teammate, found himself against all odds: swimming against world record holder Alain Bernard of France, down half a body length. Then, coming back home, with the eyes of the world upon him and still down with 25 meters to go, Lezak summoned some super-human power, and well, you know the story. (If you don't, just type "Lezak" into YouTube's search engines, and prepare yourself for goose bumps). Lezak swam the fastest time ever swum, nearly 1.5 seconds faster than he would later swim individually.
Ft. Lauderdale, 2001: A young, cocky and extremely attractive male – Mike Gustafson –steps up to the blocks for the 400 medley relay at YMCA Nationals. Swimming a butterfly leg, Gustafson – did I mention how stunningly awesome he is – is surrounded by screaming, jumping teammates as his team is in contention for a high placing and possibly a national championship. He swims his heart out, feels no pain and surges on the adrenaline his teammates provided him, including a split time nearly two seconds better than his personal best.
The list goes on.
The biggest trick the sport of swimming pulled on the mainstream media was convincing people it was an individual sport.
"Dude, you can't swim, you're gonna turn all weird," is what I heard a lot of people say in middle school. And they'd be right (somewhat). Swimmers are a bit weird. Bleached-hair? Check. Strange, raccoon eyes? Double check. Abnormally large shoulders and lat muscles? Uh huh.
But introverts?
You'd think swimmers, after spending years staring at a black line surrounded by concrete, would be quiet, soft-spoken, and all about themselves.
But maybe it's because we spend so much time isolated within the confines of our own thoughts, feelings and inner-monologue that we are so insistent on reaching out, on teammate interaction, on being social creatures in our world of isolation.
When Michael Phelps conquered the universe back in 2008, the image we remember most is not when he won his eighth gold, coming into the wall and raising his fist in victory. No. That's not what I remember.
When I remember “The Greatest” being “The Greatest,” two images stand out in my mind:
- The aforementioned relay victory, flexing every muscle, screaming in front of one billion TV viewers, just after his USA teammates pulled off one of the greatest comebacks in Olympic sports history.
- Walking up to his mother, and sharing an embrace, in front of hundreds of cameras.
This is what I remember. Maybe you’re like me. And, chances are, when you're flipping through the memories of your own swimming career, you don't remember the golds, the silvers, the bronzes of your athletic and professional conquests. You remember the laughs, the touches, the embraces – the human connection element of life.
And though swimming is measured in tenths and hundredths and split times, David Brooks doesn't have to be a swimming expert to know the inner workings of our sport’s greatest moments.
