Swimming :: essays research papers

The sun sleeps as the desolate city streets await the dawn rush hour. Driven by an inexplicable compulsion, I enter the build along with ten other swimmers, inching my way toward the cold, dark locker elbow room of the Esplanada Park Pool. One by one, we slip into our still-damp drag suits and make a mad dash through the chill of the morning air, stopping notwithstanding to grab pull-buoys and kickboards on our way to the pool. Nighttime temperatures in coastal calcium dip into the high forties, but our pool is artificially warmed to seventy-nine degrees the temperature differential propels an eerie column of steam up from the pissings surface, producing the spooky ambience of a werewolf movie. Next comes the shock. Headfirst immersion into the tepid water sends our hearts racing, and we respond with a quick set of warm-up laps. As we finish, our coach emerges from the fog. He offers no friendly accolades, just a fixed regimen of sets, intervals, and exhortations. Thus starts another work issue. 4,500 yards to go, then a quick shower stall and a five-minute drive to school. Then its back to the pool the afternoon development schedule features an additional 5,500 yards. Tomorrow, we start over again. The objective is to cut our propagation by another tenth of a second. The end goal is to hit that tiny, unexplainable difference at the end of a race that separates success from failure, greatness from mediocrity. Somehow we accept the pitch--otherwise, wed still be deep in our mattresses, slumbering beneath our blankets. In this sport, the antagonist is time. Coaches spend hours in specialized clinics, give out the latest research on training technique, and experiment with workout schedules in an attempt to defeat time. Yet there are no shortcuts to winning, and workouts are agonizing. I took part in my first swimming race when I was ten years old. My parents, fearing injury, directed my ath permitic interests away from ice field hockey and into the pool. Three weeks into my new swimming endeavor, I somehow persuaded my coach to let me enter the annual age group meet. To his surprise (and mine), I pulled out an A time. I furthered my achievements by winning Top 16 awards for variant age groups, setting club records, and being named National First group All-American in the 100-Butterfly and Second Team All-American in the 200-Medley. I have since been promote to the Senior Championship level, which means the competition now includes world-class swimmers.