Swim Trials and Trials in Swimming

Self-portrait taken as proof that I had begun my swimming regime

It is timely that the swim trials are in town. Although not part of my training plan, the feats of these swimmers in Omaha go hand in hand with my taking the competitive plunge as well. Yes, I am aware of the gap in level of competition between my goals and those of these potential Olympians; but a challenge for all of us no less. I've started my adulthood voyage into swimming and have quickly learned this to be a challenge.

As a seasoned runner and newly minted cyclist, I caught the triathlon bug and wanted to give it a try. Swimming is the only leg in the race that I lacked experience. I took lessons as a child and watched my own children endure years of swimming lessons. How hard could it be? As a child I was able to swim across the pool and back to gain access to play in the deep water (for the "real" story behind my past swimming refer to my blog, Swimming Pool Blues). After convincing myself that with some practice I could be amply ready for the Omaha Triathlon in August, I registered for this race. The next step was a trip to Scheel's to purchase the appropriate gear. Proper gear (and a cute suit) definitely boosts confidence.  I was now mentally set and ready to take on the water.

Triathlon Swim Training Step 1:  buy gear (check)

After staring at my new gear for a week, I finally rallied enough courage to take on my gym's pool. Going at 9:00 on a Saturday night was my strategy for avoiding the "real swimmers" in the lap pool. Certainly they all had lives that included more exciting things than swimming at Prairie Life on a Saturday night. With only one other adult in the second lane, I breathed a sigh of relief as I climbed in the water. Figuring out how to put on my gear, on the other hand, was not so easy. It took me a good five minutes to get the swim cap on and adjust my new goggles (a tip: wet hair = ease of cap placement, but dry hair = pulls every hair from deep at the root). Then I attempted my first lap. Not only did it feel unnatural and a struggle, I was gasping for air after two laps. Seriously? How can I run ten miles or bike fifty with ease, but can't make it across the pool and back without feeling like I need a breathing machine?

Convinced that I was doing something wrong, I got out of the water and reviewed the informational poster on the wall demonstrating the freestyle. With some new found knowledge, I decided to give it another try.  The guy in second lane looked on and was trying to figure out my story (fear of the water? out of shape? woman at the pool on Saturday night = has issues?). My second lap swim ended with the same result as my first. I was exhausted and felt like my lungs were full of a mix of water and pure chlorine. So after resigning myself to the paddle board for ten minutes to maintain my honor, I went home knowing I needed to come up with a Plan B for my training regime.

A revelation came to me on my drive home: my friend, Dan. Yes, he was exactly who I needed to connect with. Dan was a part of the Prairie Life swimming elites. I saw them consistently at the crack of dawn doing countless laps with ease. If someone could point me in the right direction it would be Dan. I needed a lesson and no doubt he would have the perfect recommendation. After some text exchanges, Dan pulled through with a great lead; a college swimmer home for the summer. Dan e-mailed her dad to facilitate our connecting, but the response wasn't as expected. "She went back to college to train, but I can sure help Sandy out," was the response. Very nice, very unexpected, and very much caused me a brief panic attack. Scott, this benevolent father, was one of the Prairie Life elites. In fact he was basically "the elite". No doubt this man who swam like an Olympian and helped train his talented daughters had no clue what he was signing up for. After responding with heartfelt thanks, but an explanation of my skill level (or lack thereof); Scott still volunteered to take a look at my stroke and help me assess next steps. With a bit of hesitation, Plan B was in the works.

Not only was our lesson a bit intimidating with Scott as my instructor, but it was also to occur at peak swim time at the gym. I prepared myself by watching countless YouTube videos on correct swim stroke and practiced in the pool a couple nights prior to our scheduled lesson. Game on...I was ready to take on Plan B (and at least not flail in front of the elites). So off I went under Scott's careful eye demonstrating my stroke and trying not to appear as out of breath as I felt. I am very thankful that a video camera was not used to record my swimming technique. By the look on Scott's face and those of the other swimmers, it was obvious that I needed some serious modifications. After Scott pointed out that I was putting on my swim cap sideways, I was beginning to wonder if this swimming gig was really for me. Then Scott said something that resonated like a breath of fresh air. "Sandy," he said, "everyone has to start somewhere."  He went on to explain that every good swimmer had their first time in the water, their first lesson, their first stroke.

I soon learned that a panic attack was unnecessary. Scott kindly and patiently gave me great pointers and worked on some skill training with me. The elites in the other lanes started chiming in their observations as well.  I was feeling like one of them and appreciative of their encouragement. The swim lesson was a blessing. I am certainly nowhere near ready for the triathlon, but I now know what to work on.  And I buy into the motto "we all have to start somewhere". There had to be a first time in the pool for Michael Phelps where someone told him to breathe, relax, and try not to flounder...right? Although I am sure this was at an earlier age for Michael as opposed to my maiden venture into competitive swimming at age 44, it doesn't matter. We all really do have to start somewhere.

I can now report that I can swim for a half a mile without being completely out of breath or showing visible signs of drowning. I am enjoying this new challenge and have been humbled by the skill and athleticism necessary for the sport. Watching the Swim Trials and the swimmers is nothing short of amazing. They fly through the water with ease and make the difficult and virtually impossible look effortless while inspiring all of us at the same time. I remind myself that they all had steps in their swimming advancement and probably employed many Plan B's in their training plans as well. With these reminders and some needed pool practice time; instead of fearing the challenge of the water, I now look forward to it. The timing of the Olympic Swim Trials and the Omaha venue was divine intervention in motivating me and pushing me to the pool. I will keep plugging away until my August race day.  Oh, and I now have a new motto since I feel that I have progressed a bit in my training..."you can teach an old dog new tricks!"

Girls among Boys

Me and my brother, Matt

My son fell through the garage attic onto the concrete floor last night.  Although simply searching for a fishing pole, he quickly found out that this structure made for storage couldn't handle the weight of his body.  As he showed me the resulting bumps and bruises, he was a bit shocked that my response wasn't one of sympathy and dismay.  Instead I answered, "Yea, I had that happen to me once".  Flashbacks of a personal experience from my distant past came back into short term memory.  My best friend, Bev Van Dam, and I had taken a similar plunge.  Our demise was also a direct result of a miscalculation of board strength (fortunately neither of us pursued careers as engineers).  The crime scene was Bev's dad's detached garage.  Living just a short walk from each other, childhood was an adventure and Bev and I were willing participants. 

My 8th birthday ~ Bev in the back and my brothers to the right

We met through the friendship of our brothers at the ripe age of three.   I met Bev through her older brother, Rich.  He and my brother, Matt, (a VERY likely pair) became instant friends in kindergarten.  One day Rich brought over his little sister to play with me.  On that day, I remember seeing a chair fly down the stairs and then Bev and I looking at each other in dismay as my mom couldn't figure out who was the culprit, Matt or Rich.  Let's just say that there are boys who think about doing naughty things and then there are those who do them.  Matt and Rich preferred to do them.  Music boxes were taken apart, doll hair shaved to the stub, and lots toys filled with water and dirt.  Life was an experiment in their eyes.  And Bev and I were guilty of watching them perform their dastardly deeds on many occasions. We were nothing short of accomplices watching Rich and Matt try different methods of derailing a train; a penny, a spoon, sun tan lotion.  Fortunately none of them worked.  On one ill-fated occasion, the boys took turns covering themselves in an empty appliance box while the other threw rocks at it.  What they didn't take into consideration was the small opening where the flaps came together.  Rich quickly learned of this err in judgment as he emerged from the box with a bloody head that required stitches.

Although the commonality of being the only girls running with a neighborhood stocked full of boys was the link that bonded Bev and I from the beginning, I do have to own the fact that we involved ourselves in typical girl drama on occasion.  For a couple of short periods during our childhood, we were not friends.  The episodes were very brief, but fiercely fought.  I rack this up as yet another influence of our brothers.  A particular instance that I have to confess to is 5th grade recess when I pushed Bev into a puddle.  We were fighting.  My recollection is that she made a derogatory comment about my brother, Matt, and I was in turn being bucky.  She got me with a good verbal jab and I retaliated by pushing her into a puddle.  This unfortunately happened just as her dad was walking by the school yard on his lunch break.  Infuriated, he grabbed Bev and marched her directly to the principal's office.  I was called in and with John Van Dam glaring at me and Bev at his side, Sr. Nila insisted that I apologize.  I refused (over, and over, and over) until Sr. Nila finally turned to John and said "I don't think she is going to apologize".  Rightfully so, John stomped off and Sr. Nila scolded both of us and sent us back to class.  Bev and I made up the minute we walked out her door.  Bev forgave me quickly, but that wasn't the case with her dad.  And I certainly didn't score more points with him with our future garage episode.

A day at the farm ~ Sandy, Mark and Matt

This adventure was simply a byproduct of how we spent our idle time being children of the 70's which did not include video games or television.  Nor did we rely on our mothers to entertain us by planning out every moment of our days.  Our daily adventures were created directly from our own imaginations.  And we didn't dare tell our mothers we were bored.  The resulting event would have been chores around the house.

While enjoying the freedom of our tenth summer, either Bev or I (don't remember which) came up an idea of creating a secret hideaway.  I am sure the idea came from a book.  We once formed our own militia and marched around town after reading the book, "The Girl Who Owned the City".  So guided by the inspiration of the moment, we cased the back yard and park and ultimately deemed the enticing space at the top of the garage as perfect.  An added variable that influenced our decision was the loss of benefit of the boys' heavy lifting and building skills as we purposely chose to exclude them.  We had enough of them by that point of the summer and were excited about a spot that we could call our own with none of the collective five Wagner and Van Dam boys in our business.  This pre-built structure fit our needs perfectly; better than any traditional tree house that would require building from scratch and help from our brothers.

A bit giddy with our secret, Bev and I carefully decorated our new found space with a little table and lounging pillows. We snuck books and select toys out of Bev's house to complete our secret space.  In our estimation, it was better than any tree house built by the boys or previous forts made out of discarded refrigerator boxes.  We really felt a bit ingenious and imaginative with our refuge.  And the best part was that no one knew about it.  We would sneak in and play imaginary games that occupy the minds of children at play.  On the particular day of our misadventure, we were pretending to be the Wonder Twins, Zan and Jayna.  In this Super-friends cartoon, the twins would be able to access their super powers by touching each other with their fingers.  Bev and I were these Superheroes; plotting to save the world in the sanctuary of our Superheroes Headquarters.  As we touched our imaginary rings together and recited "Wonder Twins powers...activate", in perfect timing, the boards supporting our headquarters gave way.  It happened so fast as we both crashed onto the concrete with table and our decorative accessories spilling on top of us.  We stared at each other disbelief.  And then we laughed.  We giggled and laughed and then laughed some more.  Yep, no Wonder Twins with this duo.  Our brothers would have busted a gut knowing the series of events that had just occurred.  Of course, we never told them.  We did have to tell Bev's dad as we couldn't fix the damaged dangling boards on our own.  He was not pleased with our brilliant idea and scolded us for a misadventure that could have led to serious injury.

What John Van Dam didn't know was all the other things we did that could have led to serious injury.  And I do blame our brothers for that too.  If I could write a literal resume reflecting the life skill that has been of most value to me, it would be growing up the only girl amongst brothers.  Bev's resume is even more impressive than mine; she had three brothers to my two.  Once someone told me that I was the most resilient person they had ever met.  I took that as a compliment.  And that is a direct correlation to having brothers.  My mom added to this with her frequent recited response of "You kids need to work it out on your own".  Even with evidence of a bruised arm from knuckle punching (for serious violations like crossing the imaginary line in the back seat of the car), crying and whining only made it worse.  So I either bucked it up or fought back (or locked myself in the bathroom as a last ditch alternative).

My brothers and I enjoying a trip to the county fair

Yet although I complain (and embellish) on my abuse as the sister, I also enjoyed the benefits as well.  I am well aware that little boys turn into big boys.  Their toys get bigger, but their sense of humor and boyish weaknesses and pleasures stay the same.  It is all just packaged a bit differently.  I have had the benefit (?) of working primarily with men through adulthood.  My brothers trained me well for all the sports talk, bantering, politically inappropriate jokes, and competitiveness.  I am proud to say that I am pretty quick on my feet and can take in about any sidebar testosterone conversation without the blink of an eye or expression of reaction.  Yes, Matt and Mark, thank-you for schooling me on this.  And thanks, Bev, for being my fearless friend.  I forgive you for telling me at age five that the blue deodorizer toilet water in your bathroom would explode (I had never seen such a thing).  At least I was wearing my swimsuit when I subsequently wet my pants outside your house in fear of your toilet.  And lastly, thank-you, Rich, for still seeing me as one the boys.  It was great hanging like old times with you and my brothers at the hotel after my grandma's recent funeral.  And although I really didn't enjoy the colorful jokes you were sharing on your phone, it warmed my heart to hear "It's just, Sandy.  You can show her.  She's just one of us."  Bev and I will hang out with you guys any time.  You are actually all a lot of fun :)

Bev and I reunited in the 80's

Mark, Rich and Matt - Reunited last year
(They are reenacting the opening song to the old TV series "My Three Sons", but are missing Oka who would have typically had the role of the cat lying on the ground.  They did this funny charade as kids and would have all of us rolling in laughter)

CWS Bliss

2001 College World Series photo with Kevin Costner ~ kids are thrilled ;)

The College World Series is back and Omahan's are loving life. Anyone who lives here or travels to enjoy the games knows what I'm talking about. There is a feeling of excitement as we wait for the eight teams to win their way to the final playing field of CWS Omaha. Watching these young men play from their heart, for their team, and for the love of the game is pure bliss. Definitely a favorite time of the year as we soak up the spirit of this annual Omaha summer tradition.

Like us Omahans, others from outside the confines of our Midwestern world are also enamored with the games.  They pour into our airport and flock our city by car to support their favorite team and watch the "best show on dirt".  Among these masses, we are also blessed each year with those of celebrity status.  Everyone from US Presidents to dignitaries, professional athletes, and actors come to our city to either throw the first pitch or quietly slip in to catch a game or two.  A common celebrity visitor of years past was Kevin Costner.  Scott was his assigned bodyguard for a couple of these years and through this constant interaction with Kevin and his then girlfriend (now wife), Christine, to golf outings, dinners and drives to and from the game; Scott was able to get an introduction and picture snapped with his family.  The noted picture is above.

As you take a close look at the picture, the keen eye can see that my boys aren't too interested in Kevin Costner.  We had come from the zoo prior to this picture and little Benny is holding a plastic penguin we had just purchased from there.  He had no idea that 1) a picture is being taken or 2) that someone else, and a celebrity no less, was even in the picture.  And although Zach is smiling (as he had been so well trained by his mother...sight of any lens in his face meant SMILE or suffer the consequences), the first question he asked when we walked away from this picture-taking excursion was "Who is Kevin Costner?"  Baby Grant is just waiting to get into the stadium for some cotton candy.  You get the picture.  So although Zach does truly appreciate the Rawlings wood baseball bat inscribed "Enjoy your own field of dreams, Zach" by Kevin, these aren't the CWS memories that my boys cherish.  Signed bats, caught foul balls, celebrity encounters...all great, but not what brings them back each year.  What brings them back are the great memories; those same stories they will be sharing with their kids when they take them to the CWS in years to come.

My boys could share with you their favorite plays over the years, favorite college players that went on to do great things in the majors, and the nail biter games that they enjoyed with their buddies in General Admission (best seats in the house according to them).  But the story that I will share is one that warmed this mom's heart as it encompassed the feeling of all that CWS is all about; love of the game, a win of a lifetime, and the experience of the fans being a part of this moment.

The year of my story was 2002, which was the summer following the Kevin Costner picture above.  Zach was nine and Ben was six.  Texas played South Carolina in the championship that year in the historic Rosenblatt Stadium.  For those familiar with the series, this was the last year of a single game championship, as the next year went to a best of three series.  Scott took our two oldest boys to the game with ball caps on and gloves in tow.  Both Texas fans, they were excited to say the least.  Grant and I watched via ESPN at home that day.  Following an exciting ending to a game that led to a championship win by Texas, I was anxious to hear from the boys their seeing and experiencing all the glory of this great CWS moment from the stands.  Little did I know of the unexpected, but incredible experience that they were a part of that afternoon.

Scott had the benefit of knowing the wife of the Texas coach.  Augie Garrido had coached Kevin Costner back in Kevin's Cal State Fullerton days and they were friends.  When Scott escorted Kevin and clan, Augie and Jeannie Garrido were always a part of the entourage.  Scott had gotten to know Jeannie over the years and would many times help her out as he was a staple within the CWS security staff.  On that championship day, Jeannie had run into Scott and the boys prior to the game as they exchanged small talk and pleasantries.  Later as Scott and boys watched the last out and joined in the cheers of the crowd in a great Texas win, Scott saw an incoming call on his phone.  It was Jeannie Garrido.  She told Scott to hurry down and bring the boys unto the field to celebrate with the team.  So with smiles from ear to ear and burnt orange "hook em horns" attire displayed proudly, they were swept through security to meet Jeannie and the team.  The boys were on the field as the team dog-piled in mass celebration.  The hugs, yells, cameras, and euphoria of the win swirled around their little tow heads.  They were smack dab in the middle of the media and team celebration frenzy and were loving every second of feeling a part of the winning team.

As the mayhem died down, the players signed baseballs for the boys with many pats to their heads and high fives on a hard fought win (as a point of reference...the bracket was 64 teams deep when Texas started their road to the championship).  While the team posed for media pictures, Zach quietly went out to home plate and filled his pocket with brown dirt from the now empty field.  Ben immediately saw what Zach was doing and did the same.  As they later told me their wide-eyed tale of the CWS win and celebration from the field, Zach showed me his signed ball and pulled out the treasure of field dirt from his pocket.  With the smile of a father who just shared a moment in time with his sons, Scott dug out some square plastic baseball covers and helped the boys display their signed balls with the saved dirt poured out of their pockets to cover the bottom of the encased displays.

It is now ten years later and although I had to dig in the basement for the picture of Kevin Costner, the ball and dirt are still displayed on a shelf in Zach's room. There is no doubt that CWS is where many great memories are made.  And yes, that is what we call bliss.

Equal Rights Revolt of the 70’s: Remsen, Iowa

Isn’t it funny how old memories find their way back into our consciousness of today?  As I recently hiked the Grand Canyon, visions of Boy Scouts earning their badges flooded my mind.  With these visions and thoughts of pride on my Boy Scout skills of today, I remembered my own Scout story of youth.  In all actuality I would probably need to call it my non-story; since that was part of the problem leading up to the ultimate events and the story that I am sharing.  Unbeknownst to me at the time, I was participating in a couple of mini-revolts in my small town by pushing the envelope on equal activities available to the girls of Remsen.  And the irony of both situations was that I had no idea of what equal rights, Title IX, or even what a mini-revolt was.  In my mind, I was only asking the obvious.

My Boy Scout story hinges on the popularity of membership into this organization in Remsen.  The enthusiastic Scouts wore their brown vests proudly around town decorated with various patches; boasting their notable outdoor achievements.  Jeannie Sanow was unwavering as the main Cub Leader.  I watched as a spectator as the many Scouts followed their leader single file through my little town.  I was never too sure what they were planning at their many meetings at the city gym or what they were studying so intently at the park behind in my house.  I was curious to say the least.  It looked like fun, but with neither of my brothers Scouts; I lacked insider information.  So I continued to watch contently as an observer, until my world was widened with outside news on the Scouting world.  This news came from my beloved Aunt Kathy.  Kathy made the move from Remsen to Omaha as a Creighton University college student.  With Kathy’s big leap to the the big city, she came back with this news from a world outside of my universe of Remsen.  It was a shock to say the least.

Aunt Kathy and my mom on a visit home 

As a college student, Kathy began doing volunteer work in Omaha.  Her main passion was as a volunteer Scout Leader to the “Girl” Scouts of America.  “GIRL” Scouts?  Really??  I had never heard of such a thing.  Scouts could be girls?  We had girls in Remsen.  Why did we not have Girl Scouts?  I asked Aunt Kathy this very question on her first visit post-Scout leader back to Omaha.  She didn’t have an answer for me, but thought it was a great question.  After a bit of research, she wrote me a letter from Omaha with information and addresses on the corporate leaders to the Girl Scouts of America.  My ever-resourceful aunt encouraged me to write a letter to the Girl Scouts leadership and pose my very valid question directly to them.  So that is what I did.

In the 70’s this entailed a handwritten note with no benefit of the speed of e-mail or the posting capabilities to websites and Social Media outlets.  So I used the best communication means available to me by sending a letter expressing my interest in their great organization.  I noted the leadership role of my Aunt Kathy and the great stories she shared on this obviously wonderful organization.  I then asked the question as to why the boys had a Scouting group in Remsen, but there was no Girl Scout option available.  After attaching the stamp to my letter and mailing it from our corner post office, I had no serious visions of a response.  Instead I reveled in a feeling of satisfaction for being “heard”.

About a month later, I received a phone call from a neighbor.  “Sandy, that was a very nice letter you wrote in the paper.  I hope you get your Girl Scout Troop.”  I was confused as I continued to receive calls and comments as I meandered around town that day.  Finally a trip to my Grandma Gib’s led to her pointing out my published letter to the Girl Scouts of America in my town newspaper.  They had forwarded my letter to the editor with a plea for a leader volunteer to organize a much needed Girls Scout Troop in Remsen.  I would love to tell you that someone stepped up and took on the role and that we did get Girl Scouts in Remsen.  But I really don’t know the answer to that question.  I enjoyed my short-lived notoriety and the ensuing conversations on the need for the girls to be attended to, but my attention was soon caught on the next cause.  And as opposed to the Boy Scouts revolution, this one really got the boys attention.

In Remsen baseball was a big deal.  In fact, it was a really big deal and rightfully so.  Our little town produced State Championship baseball teams and Professional League baseball players.  As a feeder to our top notch high school baseball programs, we had a very competitive and highly popular boys’ little league summer baseball program.  The boys played each other at a baseball diamond strategically placed next to our public swimming pool.  There was no girls’ softball program.  The girls’ role was ogling over and cheering on the baseball boys while juggling time laying out at the pool with taking mandatory ten minute water breaks from swimming.

The girls’ laid back days of summer activities took a dramatic change one summer when a coach decided to recruit Kim Schorg to play in the boys’ little league program.  The ever athletic and talented Kim was a welcome addition from the boys’ perspective.  She was as good, if not better, than her male counterparts.  Her coach was feeling brilliant in adding her as the crown recruit of his team.  What he didn’t anticipate was the reaction of the other girls of Remsen.  Previous to Kim’s enlistment, I don’t think it had ever crossed our minds that we were being slighted in any way by not having the opportunity to play a summer sport and we certainly never thought of joining the boys’ league as an option.  I can honestly tell you that I have no recollection who “rallied the troops” or who was the first to push the envelope on equal rights for all Remsen Girls.  What I can tell you is my clear recollection of masses of us going to City Hall to sign up for the boys’ league.  If Kim could play, why couldn’t we?

 The baseball commissioner conceded to our requests to participate.  How could he rebut with the pathway of adding Kim?  That summer all the girls who signed up were sprinkled on the various boys’ teams.  And note the small detail that not only were we girls <gasp>, but we were also girls who never played summer ball of any kind before.  I have to admit it was a disaster to say the least.  As the girls were many times getting out of the way of fast balls and tossing arrant throws, the boys were wondering how they got dealt this hand of cards in what should have been their glory days of competitive summer ball.  So the moral of the story is that as Kim continued on with the boys’ league to complete her successful run in baseball which prepared her for a spectacular high school softball career, the rest of us were given the honor of participating in the first ever Remsen Girls' Softball League the next summer.

Dads and moms volunteered as coaches and a program was organized similar to the boys.  We signed up at City Hall and were given a team and a name.  I was a “Live Wire” and now had to balance my precious summer time between the pool and my team’s softball practice and game schedule.  And although one may have visions of Madonna playing in a Remsen version of "A League of Her Own", this was not the case.  I didn’t follow in the footsteps of Kim Schorg and there was no glimmer of talent for me on either the baseball or softball front (at all), but it sure was a fun way to spend the summer.