Those who can't do, teach...

Sometime in the summer of 1994, as a somewhat chubby and totally shy 13 year old, I joined the swim team, only to appease my Mom. I went to my first practice and just about hyperventilated in the pool. One lap seemed like an eternity and I was supposed to complete how many? I was simply not cut out for this sport (or any sport for that matter) - in any way. I hung on the wall, panted and held back the tears that, along with the chlorine, stung my eyes. Maybe I did even shed one of those tears (0r 17 of them), as no one could tell the difference in the water anyway...

Saturday mornings were the most dreaded of days. Humiliated every week by my unimaginable lack of speed, poor stroke form, and general discomfort, I drug myself to each and every meet - only to finish last in every race. Yes, I was the kid in lane 6 (every time) who you cheered for as they made their way to the end of the race. Most likely, my competitors were out and drying off by the time I touched the wall. My biggest challenges were getting the rubber cap on my head and keeping my goggles on as I dove off of the block. Amateur was an understatement.

Don't worry, this isn't a pity story - I promise you will stop feeling bad for me any minute now. Somewhere along the lane ropes, I started to take to swimming as an activity and before I knew it, I was actually enjoying it. I had become a borderline mediocre breast stroker - sometimes even coming in a cool third place. How exciting it was for me to finish third (OK sometimes it was when there were only 3 girls swimming - any minute now...). Third place was equivalent to one point, and if I came in third place that meant that I had, in the tiniest of ways, contributed to the team. Now, it should be mentioned that we almost never won so my one point rarely mattered; still, I found a great sense of accomplishment in third place, always.

In addition to slowly but surely improving as a swimmer, I (along with my best friend at the time, Nichole) had also taken a place on the team as the coach's helper. Assisting with copying line ups, rounding up the 8 & under girls and leading most of the team in cheers before meets - I had found my niche. It was no longer a summer activity that I dreaded, but a part of my life that I truly loved, looked forward to, and was good at.

Somewhat predictably, when I was too old to swim on the team anymore (19), I became a coach. Assistant at first, I helped with the younger kids' practices and did a lot of the grunt work. When I took my place as head coach - I dove right in, so to speak. I bought books, using them and the Internet to create practices that, I thought, would help the kids learn the proper way to swim, thus making them faster and the team better. Every Saturday at the meets, I screamed so loud for the kids that I lost my voice and was hoarse all summer. I really loved every minute of it.

It wasn't until this past Monday night at dinner when Jackie helped me to realize that being a poor swimmer probably made me a better coach. My lack of ability in the pool forced me to concentrate on the strokes. Because it didn't come natural to me (another understatement) and it was imperative for me to swim well from a technique perspective; I could easily transfer that knowledge to the kids. I adopted the notion that swimming well didn't mean swimming fast, it meant true to form. If I could teach them the proper way to swim, I thought that the speed would eventually come. Whether I was right or not can be easily seen in our Win/Loss columns for those few summers.

It was certainly a learning experience for all of us, and what is life without them? I learned quickly that I'd never make it to Championships at the end of the summer and that MVP wasn't a trophy you'd find on my shelf. You will, however, find two Coaches Awards, pictures of and gifts from the kids on my team and many (many) third place ribbons.