IN THE SWIM

               Eons ago—way, way back when—a fish with stumpy fins took a deep gurgle, humped himself out of the ocean and began to explore the land. He liked it and stayed, bidding some of his mates to join him. Eons more later the evolutionary cycle turned again and people emerged, no longer fishlike. Nonetheless, deep in our genes there must remain a trace of fish because I’m never happier than I am in the water. These days my four-times-a-week swim is the center of my calendar; it is, in fact, my answer to the “what do you do?” question retirees often are asked.

             I swim, therefore I am.

This is a good time to write about exercise, I think, because our semiconfinement to ward off the corona virus puts a premium on it. Sitting around indoors all day isn’t good for us; it’s boring as well as unhealthful. In the Arizona desert where I live, where summer daily high temperatures regularly top 110 degrees, just getting out can be a problem. The inviting waters of our outdoor pools make that easier.

And by all accounts swimming is about as good an exercise as one can do. It’s a low-impact, whole-body workout, and it’s cheap— a 30-swim card at the Scottsdale municipal pools, which I frequent, costs $72, which comes to $2.40 per. For equipment one needs only a suit— little Speedos are best for swimming laps even though they don’t flatter most of us, uh, mature guys—and goggles, to protect the eyes from the chlorine in the water. Total cost for both is around $40. I also use $25 fins— so-called “trainers.” They improve the quality of the workout and give me a little, much-needed speed.

Lap swimming is supposed to be good for the heart and lungs and helps control blood pressure. It’s said to reduce the chances of catching colds or the regular flu in the winter. I sleep better when I swim.  I swear I read somewhere that it makes people taller and better looking. I’ve tried to look that up, and couldn’t, but I believe it anyway. It’s especially appropriate for this virus-ducking time because lane dividers keep swimmers separated and chlorine kills germs indiscriminately. Get in and out without being social and you’re OK.    

As a kid growing up in Chicago I couldn’t get enough of the city’s Lake Michigan beaches. The lake’s water temperatures rarely top 70 degrees—too cold for many—but they felt fine to me. I first swam in a pool at a day camp at age 11 and quickly discovered I could swim. Bike-driven outings to the wonderful Whealan Pool in the county forest preserves were a highlight of my pre-teen and teen summers, as were plunges into the big lake off “the rocks”—i.e., the breakwater-- at Waveland Avenue. Pals and I would dive for balls in the scummy, muddy water hole at the Waveland public golf course, and sell the balls when we could. It was a miracle we didn’t catch typhus.

I spent a year on the swimming team at Roosevelt High School but wasn’t fast; the best I ever did in a race was a third-place finish in a four-swimmer field in a 50. Our coach was Mr. Marx, whose claim to fame was that he coached 1936 Olympic backstroke champion Adolph Kiefer, the best athlete the school ever produced. I don’t recall Mr. Marx providing any coaching; indeed, I don’t believe he spoke to me during my team tenure.  I’m guessing he didn’t say much to Kiefer, either.

While I was in college I spent a couple of summers as a day-camp counselor, among other things helping little kids learn to swim. My main discovery was that any kid who would put his face in the water and blow bubbles could be taught, while those who wouldn’t couldn’t. From this I concluded that fish DNA might not be universal in the human genome.

I’m sorry to say I neglected swimming post-college, seeking more competitive and social sporting outlets. At one time or another I played softball, golf, tennis, racquetball and handball, and hiked. Alas, they’re all on my “used to” list now. Lured by Scottsdale’s lovely municipal pools, I took up lap swimming to supplement my hiking in 2005, and when strangled nerves ended the hiking seven years later it became my sole exercise outlet.  My initial workouts as a spry 67-year-old were 60 laps of 25 meters each. They’re 44 lengths now, or about two-thirds of a mile, equally split between stroking and kicking.

  I’m in the water for about 33 minutes, and for fun I worked out that I go 50 meters in about 80 seconds. That’s about four times the 20-22 seconds of world-class swimmers. That means the difference between duffers and the pros is a chasm; they’re a whole different species. At Scottsdale’s Cactus Pool I’ve been in the water with collegiate-level swimmers and they zoom by me like torpedoes. It’s an awesome experience.

Submerged as the competitors are, swimming isn’t much of a spectator sport. (What do you call people who attend swim meets? Parents.) It surfaces (ha-ha) only every four years, during the Olympics. There, people who are built for speed prevail-- tall ones with broad shoulders, long arms and hands and feet like shovels. The Aussie Ian Thorpe was one such model, Michael Phelps is another. They also must be willing to endure long, solitary hours of practice in a foreign medium with little to distract them. Americans have long dominated the international sport. I don’t know what this says about us, but it’s not all bad.