Inhale…..hold it…..exhale. Inhale…….hold it a little longer…..exhale. I repeated this several times as I stood with my back against the side of the hotel pool. I was trying to oxygenate my blood as much as possible without drawing attention to myself. There were 7 or 8 of us and we were all seeing who could swim the farthest underwater in a single breath. It’s an annual event dubbed the “hotel olympics” that happens when the Building Trades team attends the State Carpentry Competition in Des Moines. The rules are simple, as far as you can go on a single breath, you have to start in the pool (no diving) and you can swim anyway you want so long as your face is underwater. We go in order of youngest to oldest and we do so for two reasons. (1) I’m the oldest, by far, so I have the advantage of knowing the mark to beat (2) the distance swim is always the last event and it gives me the most time to recover from the previous events. It’s not much of an edge but when the rest of the field is 16-18 years old and I’m much closer to 50 than I am 40, I’ll take any advantage I can get.
One last deep breath in and I push off the wall. With the light in the far wall of the pool to guide me (yes I open my eyes) I set off like a rocket, a very uncoordinated non aerodynamic middle aged rocket. The moment I submerge my mind starts overthinking everything. I could have gotten a better breath, my push off the wall could have been more powerful. Am I swimming in a straight line? I wonder what my form looks like to everyone watching me. Those are a lot of useless thoughts to have in half the length of a hotel pool but I manage to quiet that voice in my head and replace it with another that just says GO!. I make the far end of the pool and make my first turn feeling good. Now that I’ve got the mechanics figured out the next leg is fast and smooth, I’m in the zone and feeling good.
The second turn back at the shallow end has a greater sense of urgency. This is where I had my first real thought about how and where this is going to end. I knew when I started it was going to end but there was too much distance to cover to give it any real thought. I can go down and back,right? Maybe a lap and a half. But wouldn’t it be cool if I made it two laps!?
When I hit the far wall again I start to question the decisions that have led up to this moment but I push off the wall and send it for home. At this moment I know it’s terminal. The only question is what can I do before I run out of air. That light seems so far away. Half way down I’ve lost all point of reference, I have no idea where anyone else is or what the mark to beat is, it’s me and the light at the far end of the pool. I only care about giving it everything I have. Panic starts to take over, PULL UP!!! 10 more feet…. 1 more stroke…… exhale, let some air out to take some pressure off my lungs as I head for the surface.. GASP!!!!!! Well that was totally worth it…until it wasn’t.
I can draw a lot of parallels between the hotel olympics and my 8 years as an educator. But let's start with the Olympics themselves. Have you ever listened to the commutators of an Olympic event? The way they pick apart an athlete’s performance is, to me, comical. When a middle aged overweight balding announcer points out the flaw of a world class athlete I find myself wondering if they could even stand on a balance beam let alone execute a back handspring double round off dismount. But they are quick to point out how it could have been done better.
I’m certain there are people sitting poolside who could offer me advice on my form but offering such a critique when I break the surface with my lungs on fire and I’m gasping for air isn’t the time.In fact it’s the worst time. That’s how it feels in education right now.
In the beginning I was standing with my back against the side of the pool, preparing for the challenges ahead. Breath……..hold it…….exhale. I was doing what I thought best at the time to ready myself and perhaps gain some slight edge in order to be successful.
At some point, ready or not, I pushed off the wall with high hopes, some anxiety, a lot of adrenaline and no real idea how it was going to go.
The guiding light was a comfort but once I reached it. All it really meant was it was time to turn and push again, struggling through the constant resistance of my surroundings while trying to not lose sight of the dim, distorted light in the distance that was the next goal. Along the way I lost sight of, or stopped caring about where the other swimmers were. I just wanted to do my very best. I want to know that every fiber of my being had been depleted of every trace of oxygen. I will have nothing left to give when I break the surface. Lightheaded and gasping for air I will stand on trembling legs and smile. That was totally worth it…..till it wasn’t.
I’ll leave the world of education in a very similar fashion I suppose. The parameters were explained. I agreed to them. I had no idea that it would get progressively harder and that in the end, I would be in it seemingly alone and fighting for every inch of difference I could make in my students life, until that inevitable moment when I choose not to do this anymore. Regardless of our chosen profession, we will all make that choice, some reach that point in a year or two, some don’t come up for air for 30 years. I’ll be somewhere in the middle I suppose. I’ve seen some succumb to the temptation to explain away their inability to continue the swim. “ The water is too cold” or “the chlorine hurts my eyes”. Don’t do that. Don’t be a victim, don’t play the role of the marter and please don’t be the guy that figures out that he can stay on the surface and backstroke forever,oblivious, or worse indifferent to the example he is setting or the impact he isn’t having. Dive deep! Swim with all that you are, until you can’t and when that moment comes, head for the surface, smile a smile of satisfaction and then get out of the pool.