Splash 'n' Go-Go-Go

For over a month, production crews worked

at the IU Natatorium to prepare the pool for telecast of

the 2015 Mutual of Omaha "Duel in the Pool."

People who come to swim at the Nat on a regular

basis were impressed by the "makeover."

Used to the somewhat stark functionality of the pool and

it's fluorescent and LED lighting, it was wonderful

to see it transformed by blue and sparkly lights.

The main competition pool, actually 50 meters

in length, is transformed during the winter

months by bulkheads to create two 25-meter pools. 

What I found intriguing was that crew members

had constructed stadium seating on/over 

the north end pool using portable dock elements

for the base. I wondered how the water displacement 

had been calculated: the section shown in the top picture

from the first railing on back is essentially an island

with seats for, I believe, 560 spectators.

The place was sold out. 

The pictures above and below were taken of 

the first event of the Thursday evening session, 

the Women's 400M Individual Medley.

Each young woman swam 100 meters each 

of four different strokes, opening with butterfly,

then backstroke and breaststroke, ending with freestyle. 

Points were awarded based on each competitor's 

result, with the winning team determined 

by which had the most points.

Swimming meets are loud, boisterous events.

Encouraged and abetted by booming, energetic music,

this one was no exception. People cheered 

on their favorites and were even more heartened

by close competition, such as that in the

Women's 400 Meter Medley Relay.

I always leave meets excited and determined

to improve my own swimming. I'm certain 

that the many children who attended

with their parents and coaches felt the same way.

They watched and hoped, knowing that with hard work

they may one day be able to swim in similar

water, to bring home medals of their own.

I'm affected, too, wanting to take

my own swimming to a better level.

However, no matter how hard I may work,

my own best efforts will always take about twice

the time these athletes achieve.

It must be the purple suits. I want one.

What's a "Lido"?

We've entered the last few weeks of summer. 

The light is changing and the days are getting shorter.

The water in the pool at the Riviera Club is 

getting cooler; we swim in and out of shaded 

and sunlit patches, the temperatures 

markedly different in each one.

I like the cooler water, prefer it even, to the

warmer temperatures that are really tiring to swim

in for a length of time. Yeh, I bitch and moan,

but it's really pleasant overall.

The Riviera Club is old, opening in 1933, 

and has that gangly spread out feeling of having

been enlarged and expanded into spaces

wherever they can be found. It has a homey, 

comfortable atmosphere. The pool is the size

of two (American) football fields with areas 

for lap swimming, water exercises/calisthenics, as

well as slides for children in a large baby pool.  

I've often seen pools called "lidos" on an English

website called Outdoor Swimming Society.

The term, I think, came from the Italian word for beach

and refers to outdoor public swimming areas

and their surrounding facilities. 

I've often wondered whether the Rivi 

may be regarded as a lido. Even though use of

the facilities usually requires membership, 

non-members may participate for an additional fee.

No matter, this is *my* little bit of Venice.

My own lido.

A Journey

I was asked by the newsletter editor for my swimming club 

to respond to a short questionnaire about myself 

and "why I swim." In response, I told her that, in addition 

to using the sport to help me combat obesity, 

I've found that swimming has given me more confidence 

in other aspects of my life. It is also helping me 

to become more disciplined in working towards 

achieving my goals away from the pool.

For the past year, I've been working to develop,

to revitalize, really, my drawing and painting skills.

Not surprisingly, these drawings have had swimmers

as my subject matter. The drawings aren't so much 

about the swimmers as they are about the water,

the colors and patterns that element takes on as the

athletes glide, kick, and move in the beautiful,

blue stuff. I'm working to make my marks on the canvas

and paper more personal, reflecting more how

I feel about what I see. I don't want them to be 

mere illustrations; that is too easy.

I love David Hockney's swimming pool paintings, 

but I don't care for his swimmers. While they are, 

purportedly, homoerotic, I find the male

figures all to have undefined bodies with flat butts,

completely unappetizing to this womanly eye.

But never mind that - the way Hockney renders water

is interesting, and his marks are unique to him.

And so, I work towards making my own marks to

describe how I feel about this activity and the people 

with whom I share the pool. 

The top picture is a detail of a small painting 

I am currently working on. The second is a ballpoint drawing 

I made to use as reference. The third is the underdrawing

for the little painting. It was done over another 

painting I'd started and set aside. 

Hell, I liked the brush strokes set against 

their predecessors grid marks and washy blue blotches. 

I painted over it anyway.

The Joys (or Not) of Commuting

The above picture was taken Wednesday, 

Christmas Eve, at about 7:30 a.m.

I was half way to a morning swim practice 

on the far east side of Indy, a trip that spanned 

nearly the entire metro area, west to east.

I've commuted by bus to work and to just about

everything I want to do, every event I want

to attend, for virtually my entire working life.

Of those, only the first job involved just

one bus ride from home to work and back.

Everything else has involved two rides, taking about

two hours one way. In that amount of time, 

I could drive to just about any one of the state borders.

"Get a car," you say?

Well, when I was more naive, I believed that success,

like that of folks who worked in Manhattan,

involved having your own apartment and taking

the subways to work. I got that part of my dream.

However, here in Indiana, having an apartment 

and taking the bus relegates you to the category 

of "poor life decisions."  While I knew early on

I didn't want an over-priced mini-McMansion

or a gas-guzzling SUV, I didn't realize just how much

I was denying myself opportunities to enjoy this city 

by not having a car.  However, earning enough money 

to support said car also seemed a thankless task, 

one eternally beyond my means.

When I joined Indy Masters about eighteen 

months ago, I did so with trepidation, just wanting

to improve my swimming skills to help me lose weight.

I had no idea that it would become such a part

of my identity, not only helping with weight loss,

but with issues of confidence and self-esteem that

have plagued me my entire life. Participation

in the practice sessions has led me to 

the thresholds of other places I want to enter;

at a point in my life where most would think 

I should be kicking back to enjoy my "idle time," 

I am trying to to achieve my biggest, 

most illusive dream, to become a "working artist," 

with gallery exhibitions added to my resume 

with embarrassing regularity. 

I would also like to become a really

good swimmer, one who can look at a span of water 

and know she can swim across it successfully.

And I want a car.

I missed the IAM Holiday Party last weekend, 

only to find the Head Coach, Dean Hawks,

had inaugurated a new award, the Wyoming Award, 

which I found I'd earned because of my near-daily

commutes to practice. Coach Dean migrated

to Indy from Wyoming a couple years ago.

I guess he thought my bus rides were nearly

the equivalent of driving across Wyoming to get,

well, anywhere. I joked it should become a 

"traveling trophy," but I think I will put it

on the front bumper of my first car, and I will take

both trophies to practice with pride.

Thank you, Dean. Thank you, George. Thank you, Mel.

Thank you, Brian, the only person who knew

the details of "two buses and a half-mile walk."

Working Towards the Channel. Maybe.

Start here.

Pushing off the wall,

straightening

myself,

already reaching

for the other end,

150 feet away.

I turn to breathe,

looking over my shoulder

to see my arm emerge

from the water,

dripping,

to begin again,

sort of like

the instructions

on a shampoo bottle --

"Rinse. Repeat."

The water is cool,

but feels warmer 

the more I move in it,

enveloping me,

surrounding me,

embracing me,

supporting me,

holding me away from

its own dangers.

It began innocently enough,

about a year ago;

Can I make one length 

of this pool?

This place where Olympic 

champions have churned

records into the waters?

Now, I ask my coach for more.

A hundred meters,

then two hundred, then four,

lately two thousand meters, 

hoping to get strong,

feeling my assurance grow.

Now, along with the miles,

I want to do more, 

to become

ME!

One more lap. 

Bummer: Swimmers ...

 ... Beached.

It doesn't look it, but the water in this section 

of the Riviera Club pool is three feet deep.

When I got off the bus at the club's entrance, I felt

light raindrops on my face. I looked west,

towards the Speedway area and the clouds were

dark, filled with rain. I remembered "Indy 500"

telecasts from years ago, when the announcers would

have occasion to say, "It's raining in Terre Haute,"

about 70 miles away, and know we had about 

an hour before the front reached us.

Saturday morning, as I walked up the drive,

the clouds were in Speedway, only about 

five minutes from the pool. The shower 

turned into a nice thunderstorm, 

trapping about a dozen people,

who're not ordinarily averse to being wet,

under the veranda, away from flashes of lightning

and thunder. For about an hour folks chatted, then went 

their separate ways, some to find an indoor pool, 

others to wait until Monday afternoon.

Summer Days with IAM

With the Natatorium closed for the next two weeks

 due to meets held there, I swim at the Riviera Club. 

The sounds of running water and children's 

chatter in the background make the sessions more 

relaxing - for me, anyway. There are wooden lounge

chairs pool-side, occupied by middle-aged 

matrons, gossiping among themselves

as they basked in the late afternoon sun,

while a couple IAM members put in some

additional laps. Their fins and kickboard contrast 

with the pool toys left on a nearby bench.

Mermaid and Mermen

Early Saturday morning, I went to join other members 

of IAM for a swim practice at the Riviera Club 

on the near north side of Indy. I've been doing this 

for just over a year now. When I first went to Rivi, I could

not swim a full length of the pool (fifty yards)

without stopping about half way to catch my breath 

gather my nerve. On this day, I did most  of

the workout and was slightly chagrined

that the coach on deck did not ask me for more.

We began at eight in the morning and,

ninety minutes later, as I dried off in the spring-like

morning air, I looked over to see the little mermaid

floating in one of the kiddie pools. 

While a cartoonist's version of a female figure,

she nevertheless reflected the same version

of the body I still dream of attaining;

even in late middle age, I find myself affected

by years of social conditioning that

I need to look a certain way in order to

be attractive to men. What the hell?

This time a year ago, I could not swim 

seventy-five feet. I've since lost weight amounting 

to five dress sizes, I can swim over a mile 

without stopping, and I'm looking for more distance;

I want to swim three miles in the near future,

over six miles as the next goal, with longer-distance

open water swims as a main goal. 

 But, really, I still just want to be pretty. 

Memoriam for a Man I Did Not Know

Chris Clarke's friend, Ben Cristoffel, wore the number that
Chris had been assigned for the Indy Aquatic Challenge

A week ago Sunday, I participated in my first ever 

open water swim competition. It was a race sponsored 

by my club, Indy Aquatic Masters.

The day was beautiful, the water warmer than

expected, and the people were cordial and happy.

I was slow and did not finish anywhere near

my expected time, mostly because I am slow, even

on a good day; I learned I need to swim with

my head up to navigate my way around the course.

The "usual suspects" won, of course,

the men and women who are always fast and strong.

But one of them was missing.

Chris Clarke, one of IAM's best, most competitive

swimmers died during the race. At this point,

no one knows what happened except that it was

totally unexpected. Personnel had reached him quickly,

but it was too late. A day that had started with

so much sunshine was suddenly dulled 
by dismay and sorrow.

Yesterday, a memorial practice was held

at Five Seasons health club.

Eighty-two people showed up to swim a practice

routine designed by Chris. While I had been at sessions

with him, I hadn't been a member long enough 

to know him personally, so I had some concerns 

about taking part in the session.

But, as I read about Chris in tributes written by his

friends and teammates, and in the news media,

I found that I did know Chris.

Words like "enthusiastic," "humorous," "passionate," 

and "compassionate" were common themes.

As I looked around yesterday at my fellow members,

I found those same characteristics are reflected 

in the people who are members of IAM. 

 To effectively remember Chris Clarke, all those 

folks need to do is to continue to be the same

enthusiastic, humorous, passionate, and

compassionate people I have come to respect and love.

Maybe one day those qualities will rub off on me,

just a bit, making me not just a better swimmer,

but a better person, as well.

May Theme: Squares

When I go to North Central High School to swim 

on Saturday mornings, I am usually among 

the first to arrive. I often use the extra few minutes 

to sit down and look at the pool and its environs, 

a series of squares and rectangles just piled 

and piled on each other.

The squares are found, of course, everywhere: 

in the small tiles in the pool itself, then in the deck. 

The checkered pattern is found in the surrounding walls 

and red squares are included in the acoustic panels.

White squares line the pool in the form

of starting blocks. Then, of course, the whole thing 

is reflected back from the pool's surface, 

adding to the silent visual cacophony

before the storm, when fifty or so swimmers

churn the water into crystal mayhem.

Oddly, I find this scene calming and enjoy trying

to sort the patterns out, to find some kind of

visual rhythm to what may first seem

like a sensory mess.

To see how other members of the world-wide 

City Daily Photo community have interpreted today's 

theme, click on the above CDP link, 

or on the badge to be found near the upper 

right column of this blog page. Enjoy.

  

Giving Back

Friday evening, I did a stint as an usher at the 

2014 ISHAA Boys' Swimming and Diving Championships 

being held this weekend at the IUPUI Natatorium.

Indy Aquatic Masters sometimes asks its members to give

their time for events like these in order to help

offset the organization's costs, as well as to help support

and promote swimming activities in the community.

I would much preferred to have been swimming. 

Not that I could have in any way kept up with the boys,

but the competition excited me, making standing

around in the aisles a real bore. Even though the finals

will be held Saturday evening, several state records were

broken, both individually and by teams. The best of the night

was also the last event. Chesterton High School boys

set a new state and national record in the 400 meter

freestyle relay, lowering the time from 3 minutes,

1.05 seconds to 2 minutes, 59.36 seconds. 

A Pool Full of Tears

Thursday night I swam just under a mile in one hour 

without the aid of fins. It surprised me. I didn't think my legs 

were strong enough to last that long. I'd started

using the fins last summer to help improve my stroke

and became dependent on them to help me keep up

the other, stronger swimmers. I know that to achieve my

goals, I need to be shed of them; I lose about

5-7 seconds per length without them and the only

solution is to, well, start over.

I did that Thursday night when I took part in the

2014 Speedo USMS One-Hour National Championship.

Entrants swim for one hour in a pool at least

25 yards or longer, then submit their recorded times

via e-mail or snail mail to determine the winner.

The event was organized locally by IAM as a fund raiser

to benefit local clubs. They wanted as close to

one hundred percent participation as possible,

otherwise I would not have entered, nor would I have

found out that, yes, I could swim without the damn fins.

Also, I came within a time range that I think will 
allow me to reach my goal for the first open water

swim I want to do later this summer.

But it was all meaningless to me because I was rude

to someone I love. I'd allowed myself to be manipulated

by a younger woman and took my hurt feelings out on him.

He did not deserve it. He's a good man who has been

nothing but kind to me. He makes me want to do well,

to work hard, and to be better than I am.

He is my muse, inspiring artwork and writing.

I was rude to him and only hurt myself in the process.

While I was swimming, I did it with a heavy heart;

even as I tried to do well, each time I breathed

I felt like crying. Walking into the cold,

cutting air afterwards was as if I'd cut out 

a piece of my own heart, with no way to heal it.

Damn.

Tiny Bubbles

I'd rather be swimming ... or out taking pictures, 

but however clear and blue the sky, the temperatures 

have dropped into the 'teens, and the flag across the street is 

held out nearly straight by the wind.

So here are a couple SPD photos of sketches

I've been working on, impressions of what

I see when I am swimming. I've thought of borrowing

an underwater camera, but I think I would lose

the feeling of what I see when I'm in the pool.

One morning, a coach was working with me

on my stroke, asking me to turn to the side when I breathed,

making certain I kept my head down.

Well, I did just that and what I saw was beautiful!

There was the splash and flow of disrupted water

flowing past my goggles, with the man-made shapes

of the lane markers in the background.

And that was my left eye! In my right,

I saw calmer water, with people in adjacent

lanes swimming by, the water apparently disturbed 
only by the fan-like swarms of tiny bubbles made by their

feet as they kicked. Of course, the trick is to get

both into my drawing/painting efforts. Meh.

Watered Silk

On my way to swim at the Indianapolis Aquatic Masters 

event, 100 X 100, I noticed the gray clouds were 

relieved somewhat by brushes of blue and pink. 

The sky and sunlight pushed in from the east to make

a sunny, if cold, day seem less leaden while the tree

gave me the impression of black lace overlaying

a background of silk moire'.

Swimming: Wonder

When I swim, I look into the water

and wonder where I am.

I cannot see my shadow.

It should be there, my movements 

silhouetted below me, but the surface 

of the water reflects it back. 

Broken up by the ripples, my image

is diffused, leaving me to float

and to move in a space where I can have

 the shape I want.

I swim to transform myself into the person

I want to be. Each day I dive into the pool 

the light reflects my shadow back into the air, 

disjointed and incomplete. 

It is up to me to reassemble its form; 

my coaches guide me, but I am the one

who determines how hard I want to work 

and, when I climb out of the pool in the evening, 

the wet shards fall away, piece by piece,

back into the pool as I select the ones 

I want to recreate my whole.

Swimming: Energized

I don't recall exactly when it happened, but I do remember how --

one evening our coach had us swim sets of sprints, 

each twenty-five yards in length, eight times.

I'm neither the strongest nor the fastest swimmer in 

our group, but those sprints set a fire inside me that does

not go out. I look forward to them, and I look for them on 

our workout schedule; I've gone from dutifully showing up for

our sessions and trying to accomplish the tasks assigned

to me, to working a tiny bit harder each time.

I've joked that if our coach were to show up at my door

at 3 a.m. to tell me I was to go swim the whole thing over,

I'd do it happily because I want to do it again. And again.

It feels good, it energizes me, it's good for me.

I've set a goal of what I want to accomplish, feeling as

though it is something I can really do, if I work hard.

For the past few weeks, I've gone early to watch 

other people swim, making sketches and taking photos.

I look at the sparkle of the water as the swimmers 

churn its surface into sequins and foam, and find it stimulating.

I am trying to find a way to record the moving bodies as

they pass before me, one that shows the flow of the water

as they move through it, yet at the same time gives the viewer

some sense of the human form. I want the realism of the magic I see,

of the way the scene makes me feel, but without 

the mundane recording of a photograph. 

Is it possible that I will ever be able to convey this scene, 

to show the fire that water has set?

Swimming: Mesmerizing Sparkle

I wish I could effectively describe the beauty of the scene. 

As I waited tonight to begin a practice session at the IUPUI Natatorium 

swimming pool, I watched members of local area high schools 

conduct their own; those schools that don't have facilities of their own

come to the Natatorium to practice. The place was a hive of activity.

The water sparkled like fireworks with the movement of 

teenagers swimming length upon length of the pool.

Their progress back and forth in the lanes resembled rows

of little ducks in a carnival gallery.

The colors and shapes were mesmerizing.

My own coach seems to always be admonishing me to not 

lift my head when I breathe, to instead just turn it to the side. 

I try, I try. Just when I feel I'm doing it correctly, I sometimes hear

a reminder from the deck to keep my head down.

Watching the kids swim Tuesday night, I saw an illustration of what I was doing;

 a girl was lifting her head on every stroke - and breathing like a carp.

"Oh, so that's what he means," I thought.

I spent my own practice time actively reminding myself

to shove my face into the water, to look at the bottom as I exhaled,

and at the lane markers when I breathed.
I wished a coach had been there to help the girl,
just as mine has been helping me.