This week’s blog hop topic from The Waiting and Zebra Garden is “Remember the time…we went to the pool?” And boy, howdy, did I ever log some hours at my neighborhood pool. Some might say that my summer outfit consisted of my speedo and bike shorts, an attractive combo, for sure. I was always ready to get doused by a hose or grab a towel and bike down to the nearest body of water. I needed that blue chlorinated swimming hole to baptize me in summer goodness daily, or else I died of heatstroke. See last week’s RTT blog hop about the Texas heat HERE.
I have written about my swim team days before and getting the ever-so-awesome trophy Most Improved Runner Up. I even wrote about imagining being on the olympic swim team going for gold while enormously pregnant. These posts should give you the indication that, while I love swimming, I’m mostly terrible at it. I’d say I’m somewhere in the range of better than your non-swimmer, but far worse than anyone else in competitive swimming (i.e. anyone else on my team). Regardless, by the time I almost aged out of The Whales (!!!), they needed me. Because you need four people on a relay. The Whales literally couldn’t compete in the IM without me.
Let’s say that if my team won against any of the other neighborhood’s swim teams, it had nothing to do with me. If anything, the winning was in spite of my aquatic contributions. I didn’t care. Possibly, I didn’t know. My trophy didn’t really make me laugh until I looked at the engraving in my 20′s. As a tween, I was just excited about getting a trophy, which my poor, little bullied self-esteem sorely needed. The kids on The Whales knew nothing of my school-year weirdness. I had summer friendships that would pick up as soon as that school bell rang to bring on the summer, and go on hold for the 9 months that we attended separate schools. As we met again, one year pimplier, it didn’t matter that I accidentally packed a pair of underwear in my backpack that fell in the hallways. We all wanted the same thing during the meets, sitting out under the tarps in our Speedos in our lawn chairs and snacks between events. To chat and play Uno. To share whatever goodies our moms packed in our coolers. And if someone were cool enough to have a portable TV (I brought my cousin’s one day for a meet), a group of dripping 11 year-olds huddled ’round to catch some snippet of paid programming that came through amongst the static before the batteries died. Can you imagine if we had iPhones then? To watch whatever we wanted, whenever we wanted? I wonder if I would’ve had my summer friends.
I’m still very drawn to water – surfing, splash-padding, kiddie pooling – and I hope that my daughters can either carry my swim team torch or appreciate team sports, regardless of physical aptitude. Because, while I was without fail the weakest link, I still had my place holding everything together.
Hopefully Hubs’ genes of being awesome at sports sneaks in there for their sake, though.