Based on the semi-true adventures of Molly George
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| Photo: Los Angeles Times |
Whenever I watch these swimming greats, I can't help but to
reminisce on my own swimming experience. High school was a long time ago now,
but not even the over chlorinated water of my high school pool was strong
enough to wash away those memories.
What's that? You didn't know I was on a high school swim
team?
Well that's because I wasn't.
My memories were formed in a freshman level P.E. class that
everyone in the school was required to take, and every time I think of swimming,
the terrible memories of that class flood my mind, just like the water that
would flood my lungs every time I accidentally wandered too far into the deep
end.
I don't know what soulless monster first conceived of the
idea of a required swim class, but I know that one's inability to swim was no
way out of it. Nor was a highly sensitive skin condition. The only way to get out of it was if you had religious objections, but despite my
pleas, my mom refused to call the school and tell a slightly fabricated story
about how my religious convictions did not permit me to wear a bathing suit in
public.
And so it was, I, Molly Cinderblock George, was forced to
take swimming along with everyone else.
I remember the first day in the pool, our teacher told us to
swim across the shallow end to the best of our abilities. I knew that when my
turn came I would have two options: swim to the best of my ability, or walk
across the shallow end of the pool. I could feel the dread mounting as student
after student, like the most elegant Angelfish,
swam effortlessly and gracefully across the clear, glassy water.
I'd be more like a Clownfish. Except without the fish part,
because fish could swim.
Finally, it was my turn. The moment of truth. I could feel
the blood rushing to my face as I took one step after another across that tiled
pool floor, eyes staring at my feet, careful not to glance up at my on looking
classmates.
As embarrassing as it was to simply walk, I knew that it was
still less embarrassing than the alternative -thrashing around like a drunk bat
with no legs. Finally, when I reached the half-way point, I looked up to my
teacher, threw up my hands, and gave him the most imploring
"are-you-for-real-going-to-make-me-go-on-can't-you-just-end-this-please???"
look any human has ever given to another. To his credit, he complied and called
the next person in line.
Well, I was informed that I didn't pass the preliminary
check and would only be permitted to swim half-laps, as I may not be able to
traverse the deep end.
Thank goodness!
I wouldn't have to go in the deep end! Embarrassing? Yes.
But better to be embarrassed than to be drowned.
And so it was, I survived the first day of swim class. A
wave of relief swept over me as I scurried toward the locker room, past my
classmates, their eyes cast down in silent judgment.
I quickly jumped into the locker room shower, whose water
alternated between scorching hot and freezing cold, with no in between:
Scalding coffee,
bucket of ice. Scalding coffee, bucket of ice. Scalding coffee....
I couldn't take it any longer. I turned off the water before
my skin began to boil off and, in the limited amount of time I had, changed
into regular clothes for my next class.
But unfortunately for fourteen-year-old me, the horror of
high school swim class didn't end when the second period bell rang.
The nauseating smell of chlorine had penetrated so deeply
into my skin that even as I sat in my freshman level math class on the second
floor in the wing opposite the first floor pool, I felt as though someone had
hidden an open bottle of Clorox directly under my desk. I reached into my backpack
with my bright red, scale covered hand, searching for a writing utensil. That
Chlorine water wasn't exactly the miracle cure for my eczema. I shifted in
discomfort, trying to keep warm as the pool water from my un-dried hair
drenched the back of my T-shirt. I was already a dork, and my post-swimming
appearance wasn't making things any better. I could feel the individual hairs
on my head curl up and then shoot away in every direction, as if even they
wanted to get away from me. I tried to mat down the resulting cobweb of frizz,
running my reptilian fingers through it over and over, but to no avail.
The initial sense of
relief I had felt when I had gotten out of that wretched P.E. class quickly
subsided as I realized that I would have to do it again the day after tomorrow.
And alternating every other day after that until the end of the semester. A
sick feeling welled in the middle of my chest, and as I walked out of Algebra
I, I felt as though I was going to burst into tears.
By the time my second swim class rolled around, the eczema
on my face had reached its full beauty, my hands looked like they were made out
of cornflakes, and my legs were beginning to feel itchy as well. If you are not
fortunate enough to have experienced eczema yourself, just imagine someone took
a cheese grater, grated off all the skin on your hands, legs and face, rolled
you in an overgrown cactus patch, then threw you into a giant bucket of
hydrogen peroxide. Every time I entered the water, I felt like my entire body
was a giant eyeball and someone was squeezing lemon juice into it.
But that was not the worst part...it was not the worst part
by far.
The worst part was that, unlike the other students, when I
stared into the water from above, I did not see my own reflection. Instead, I
saw the hazy outline of the Angel of Death, his empty shadow of a face staring
back at me from just beneath the water, lurking there waiting, always waiting...
I splashed away his face with my hand, the image breaking into
a thousand drops of water and vanishing in the ensuing ripples. It would be OK.
I didn't even have to go into the deep end. I would just have to go near it.
And that was fine. I was fine with that. I could do it. I wasn't worried about
it....
...I swallowed hard.
I planted my feet against the pool wall, bent my legs, and
launched myself away from it taking one stroke after another, as our teacher
had shown...until...oh no! I think I went too far. I was in the deep end! I
was going to drown! I thrashed and kicked until my feet hit the bottom of the
pool and...oh, never mind. I was still very much in the shallow end of the
pool. I guess three strokes only got me a quarter of the way across. I stood there
in the shallow end and did some quick calculations. I could probably take
another ten strokes before the water got to a point where it would be above my
head...
Mmmmm.... Not worth the risk. It would be best to turn back
now. I swam the three strokes back to the wall. Phew. I had done it. I had
survived the first lap. I went to the back of the line in my lane.
The next time I went four strokes. Actually, this really
wasn't so bad. I worked my way up to five strokes, then six, until... Oh crud!
This time I really had gone slightly too far!
I felt the man I had seen in my reflection reach up from the
depths of the pool and grab my foot with his icy cold hand. I kicked to get
free as he pulled me deeper and deeper, closer to his realm. I stomped at his
hollow hood over and over again, kicking and thrashing as his black robes
slowly engulfed me. This was it. The water poured into my mouth. I tried desperately
to break free, but his specter was at my throat, my arms and legs were tangled
in his robes, and... LIGHT! My head burst above the water as I gasped for air
and was quickly pulled under again.
I tore the dark robes from around my arms, put my hands
together in front of me, then pulled them apart with all my strength, parting
the water before me, lurching forward. Another stroke and a hard kick of my
feet and I managed to break free of his grip. It wasn't the most beautiful
stroke, but I think it would be enough, just barely enough... My feet landed
safely on the tiles below, my head above water. I gasped in the precious air,
sputtering out water as I wondered how long the battle had lasted...hours
surely, possibly even days. I looked around ready to explain to the concerned
crowd that I was OK...But, what the...? I almost drowned and no one even
noticed???
I guess it wasn't that long after all, maybe only like 2-3
seconds. I swam back to the end of the line. With a new sense of generosity, I
let a few people cut me in line. And then a few more.
"Oh you can go ahead of me. So can you, really, it's no
big deal, go ahead...Oh I think you were ahead of me. I
need to use the restroom, no need to save my spot in line!"
Finally, our teacher released us to go shower.
Scalding coffee,
bucket of ice. Scalding coffee, bucket of ice.
I had survived day two of swim class. A wave of relief.
Closely followed by dread. I'd have to do it again the day after tomorrow.
And so it was, I lived the rest of the semester in a
constant state of anxiety, smelling like chlorine and trying to control my
hair, my face turning into a gross giant rash, until finally, the last day of
swim class came.
The day that I would have to swim four laps, four different
strokes...And go into the deep end four different times.
If I didn't pass, I'd have to take the class again.
As I walked to the edge of the pool for our test, my nerves
began to short circuit. My legs turned to mush, stomach acid began to creep up
my throat into my mouth. I could feel it burn the back of my throat, the same
way the pool water burned my sensitive skin. I tried to swallow, but my esophagus
was quickly constricting. My heart was racing faster than Usain Bolt and my
hands were shaking like a maraca. The pressure was weighing down on my chest,
my shoulders, everything until my jelly legs could barely support it. I all but
collapsed into the water.
After my all too graceful entry, I pulled myself together. I was going to do this. I was going to pass
this test!
And, I don't know if the prospect of enduring another
quarter of high school swim class gave me super human powers, or if it was
God's grace alone, but somehow, someway, I did. I passed! I, in real actual
life, swam four laps in a real pool with real actual water!
I would not have to take swim class again! I was done!
I was on cloud nine. My heart sang and my soul shone
brighter than every star in the sky! It was the happiest moment of my
14-year-old life.
A few weeks later, a close friend of mine was telling me
about how they were trying to get more girls to go out for the swim team. She
suggested that I try out.
Well, I mean I did pass
swim class and I could do four different strokes....
....But some things are better left to people like Katie
Ledecky.
I know I have, which is why I have carefully studied the
needs of each of the first five draft teams along with the histories, strengths,
and weaknesses of a variety of non-football playing athletes and celebrities to
determine which of them would go first in an uNFL draft. Here are my findings:
