natural progression

Eventually I did a triathlon.

A few of them.  A long time ago now it seems.  Some people have a fear of the swim.  Which is the good part for me - a boost in the beginning, a little self-talk, supporting the thought that I know I can actually do this.  I jumped off a ferry into the great San Francisco bay last year and swam like a  fishing minnow - you know, like those crowded tight in a minnow bucket.  One of those yellow ones on the bottom and white on top, with the air holes.  My dad and I used to fish, a long time ago now it seems. Swam like a minnow destined for a bicycle in San Francisco.  What a trip.  I'd like to do that one again someday.

It all started at Northampton Village.  I lived there with my mom and my sisters.  They lived there for a while I think anyway.  Off Harcourt Road in Indianapolis.  We moved all over that apartment complex for some reason.  Still all the doors were hollow I remember with cheap shiny brass hardware regardless of which unit we landed in.  Fairly generic kitchens.  Apartment living sucks.  The only thing I really found appealing about apartment decor was the large sliding glass door with access to the small patio area.

 It was from this door that I would exit in the morning with my Incredible Hulk towel around my neck.  Saddle-up on  my Free Spirit 10-speed and ride to the pool.  I spent all day at the pool.  Every day, all day. 

Occasionally the group would disperse for a round of Cops and Robbers, a game played while pedalling and shooting plastic Kmart guns at one another.  I remember once I annihilated an entire group of the older kids because my position in the trees was so good (oh yeah - occasionally we'd hop off the bikes and set-up an ambush!). The game was fairly subjective.  Usually the person that could make a machine gun sound with their mouth the fastest and the loudest was the victor. I kicked some ass in those days. 

The pool was an apartment pool. Oval.  Not a kidney shape thank God.  My stroke would probably list one way or the other if that had been the case.  It had good depth in the deep end.  I rarely used the diving board.  Once at the end of the summer the life guards coordinated a series of events.  Things like: who can hold their breathe the longest.  Who can swim the farthest under water.  Who can host the best tea party in the deep end. And - who has the biggest splash off the board.  I don't remember participating in the tea party?  Foreshadowing perhaps.  But I do remember losing at the big splash off the board contest.  I cried like a frustrated little 6-year old that usually did pretty well in the water.  Just like the Finn Brooks of today (he comes by it naturally).  In hindsight - I did have to channel future losses in the pool to a more Zen like understanding of competition.  Swimming became more of a meditation, a self induced test, searching for the nirvana of a rhythm of water, pain, breathing, and efficiency.  Eventually, what place I got didn't matter much to me.

How do you become 'good' at something?  Practice.  Time. You have to want to be good at it.  No - you don't have to really want it.  You may not even realize your becoming good.   I became a good swimmer trying to show off, even as a little boy, for the high school female life guards.  They pushed me more than anyone.  Woman can do that to you, you know.  I was going to win the 'Who can swim the farthest under water' contest or pass out in the deep end trying.