S
Scott Lemley
Guest
Comments recently made about investing a year in the pool only to come up short in the big
end-of-the-year meet obviously resonate with a lot of us coaches. The further one moves up the
ladder of competitive success, the more poignant the scene. We've all been there. How do you put the
agony of defeat in perspective for a 15 year old, especially if the rest of her teammates hit their
taper? If she missed a turn or forgot to warm-up adequately, at least there's something a coach can
refer to, a place to focus and improve upon, and then, of course, there's hope for the next season.
However, if the swimmer did everything right and just swam a little tight, what do you say to them:
"Too bad you're just not a big meet swimmer"?
A high school swimmer can spend a couple hours a day in the pool for 13 weeks and not make it out of
their regional championships to state and their season ends there. Not a huge investment and not a
major disappointment. An Olympic hopeful can devote themselves to a rigorous regimen for 4 years,
putting their college education on a back burner, working part-time (if at all), investing 8 hours
each day in swimming, lifting, stretching, spinning, yoga, mental prep, etc., and miss making the
Olympic Team by a tenth of a second. That's a potential BIG disppointment.
Or is it? I think it depends on the degree to which they see their quest as a journey rather than a
destination. There are those among us who might invest a couple minutes a day working towards
acheiving a goal and when we fall short we're furious. Of course that's an immature response to the
circumstances. Others may invest 12 hour days for years to accomplish a goal and fall short and yet
feel completely enriched by the whole process.
I happened to be sitting next to Mike Hastings, Summer Sanders' coach, after the 1988 Olympic Trials
in Austin. I think she was 16 at the time and had just missed making the Team by a couple tenths of
a second. I wasn't even sure I wanted to bother him with conversation but since we'd known each
other for quite a few years I asked, "How is Summer handling this?" He leaned over to me and said,
"She's not happy but I think it's the best thing in the world for her. This will keep her hungry for
the next 4 years."
I'm going to reprint here what I used as the cover page of the booklet I handed out to each swimmer
at our high school awards banquet a couple weeks ago. It's pretty much a direct quote from the book
"Gold in the Water" by P.H. Mullen. I changed a couple words.
"What you share is a bone-deep knowledge that life involves sacrifice and that its rewards, while
worthwhile, are often few and far between. To be a contented swimmer, one must first learn that
happiness cannot depend on the outcome of a race.
If you are a sports fan, you believe that all sports build character and strengthen human will
through tests, setbacks, and triumphs. You believe that all sports reinforce the notion that we
improve ourselves through work and dedication. That is true, but there is something intrinsically
unique about swimming. It is an incredibly personal pursuit and its athletes reflect that. They
exist in an isolated, sensory-deprived world, where communications consist of barked commands, and
external stimuli are limited to the rush of water in the ears and a fogged view of a pace clock. As
a result, swimmers possess a keen level of self-awareness, even balance. They are not in it for the
fame or the money, because there is little of either. It's unlikely they are in it for team
camaraderie, because it is difficult to conceive of a more individualistic sport, except perhaps
extreme sports like ultra-marathon running or rock climbing.
To be a swimmer is to be willing to exist within the paradox that you may win a race but
still fail because a time is not fast enough. Or you may finish dead last and feel
victorious because a best time is achieved. Those are odd lessons to accept in youth.
They are odd because they require a willingness to accept that victory, its meaning and
significance, is nuanced and multi-layered – just as life is. And regardless of how a
race ends for a swimmer, neither can the clock be beat nor can the swim be completely
perfect. That makes the sport one of the most humbling on the planet. Ultimately,
satisfaction must come from within. This may be the most important lesson sports can
teach a person about life.
The parallel between swimming and life is intentional, for in both individuals must
ultimately be wholly accountable for their own success or failure. Much of today's world
fails to remind of us of that."
[On a personal note, I've just passed the 10 year mark as the president of a company I founded to
make a teaching aid for swimmers called "the fistglove". I haven't even broken even yet on an
investment of more money than I care to mention here. My CPA just shakes her head and asks me how
much longer I'm willing to hang in there. We both know the IRS gives a new business 5 years to write
off their start up costs and if they aren't making a profit at that point, the high probability is
they're not going to be able to stay in business. I've been at it twice that long. There comes a
point when good business sense tells us to move on. I'm not ready to give up quite yet. I believe in
assisted fist swimming as a beneficial practice. I don't need proof that what I'm doing is going to
ultimately be successful because "I believe". Belief isn't based on proof. I try to make every
moment count when I sit at my desk figuring out production schedules and cost benefits. Of course, I
simply may not be a good businessman. I won't be happy with that realization next year or the year
after or five years from now but if that's the reality I must face, I'm prepared to face it. Why?
Because I'm first and foremost a coach trying to give back to my sport and I've already done that. I
start and finish each day trying to learn something new. I also start and finish each day trying to
teach something new to at least one other person. I want to make sure each day has value and that's
what I value.
Over 30 years ago I started training in the martial arts and I was introduced to the samurai spirit.
The samurai walked out of their house each day with their affairs in order. They never knew whether
or not they were going to die in battle or return that night to their home and family. The most
successful samurai were always "present"; they lived in the moment with great attention. This is the
spirit of Zen. No fear (of the future) and no regrets (about the past). I do my best to pass this
philosophy on to the swimmers whom I coach. I believe this zen-like approach to competitive swimming
will give them some perspective on winning and losing. I believe I can help them enjoy the journey
regardless of the final destination. I know the full impact is lost on 12 year olds so I give them
the "samurai lite" version. I don't want to scare them!
Each day my sensei would say to me "Real life, real death" to help center me before class. He wanted
me to practice with full force and not hold back. That message is a little strong for most adults,
much less a 12 year old kid. Most of us are simply not prepared to put our lives on the line for any
reason. Yet, to me, every choice we make, in a sense, has the potential to put our life on the line.
"The parallel between swimming and life is intentional, for in both individuals must ultimately be
wholly accountable for their own success or failure."
Regards,
Scott
end-of-the-year meet obviously resonate with a lot of us coaches. The further one moves up the
ladder of competitive success, the more poignant the scene. We've all been there. How do you put the
agony of defeat in perspective for a 15 year old, especially if the rest of her teammates hit their
taper? If she missed a turn or forgot to warm-up adequately, at least there's something a coach can
refer to, a place to focus and improve upon, and then, of course, there's hope for the next season.
However, if the swimmer did everything right and just swam a little tight, what do you say to them:
"Too bad you're just not a big meet swimmer"?
A high school swimmer can spend a couple hours a day in the pool for 13 weeks and not make it out of
their regional championships to state and their season ends there. Not a huge investment and not a
major disappointment. An Olympic hopeful can devote themselves to a rigorous regimen for 4 years,
putting their college education on a back burner, working part-time (if at all), investing 8 hours
each day in swimming, lifting, stretching, spinning, yoga, mental prep, etc., and miss making the
Olympic Team by a tenth of a second. That's a potential BIG disppointment.
Or is it? I think it depends on the degree to which they see their quest as a journey rather than a
destination. There are those among us who might invest a couple minutes a day working towards
acheiving a goal and when we fall short we're furious. Of course that's an immature response to the
circumstances. Others may invest 12 hour days for years to accomplish a goal and fall short and yet
feel completely enriched by the whole process.
I happened to be sitting next to Mike Hastings, Summer Sanders' coach, after the 1988 Olympic Trials
in Austin. I think she was 16 at the time and had just missed making the Team by a couple tenths of
a second. I wasn't even sure I wanted to bother him with conversation but since we'd known each
other for quite a few years I asked, "How is Summer handling this?" He leaned over to me and said,
"She's not happy but I think it's the best thing in the world for her. This will keep her hungry for
the next 4 years."
I'm going to reprint here what I used as the cover page of the booklet I handed out to each swimmer
at our high school awards banquet a couple weeks ago. It's pretty much a direct quote from the book
"Gold in the Water" by P.H. Mullen. I changed a couple words.
"What you share is a bone-deep knowledge that life involves sacrifice and that its rewards, while
worthwhile, are often few and far between. To be a contented swimmer, one must first learn that
happiness cannot depend on the outcome of a race.
If you are a sports fan, you believe that all sports build character and strengthen human will
through tests, setbacks, and triumphs. You believe that all sports reinforce the notion that we
improve ourselves through work and dedication. That is true, but there is something intrinsically
unique about swimming. It is an incredibly personal pursuit and its athletes reflect that. They
exist in an isolated, sensory-deprived world, where communications consist of barked commands, and
external stimuli are limited to the rush of water in the ears and a fogged view of a pace clock. As
a result, swimmers possess a keen level of self-awareness, even balance. They are not in it for the
fame or the money, because there is little of either. It's unlikely they are in it for team
camaraderie, because it is difficult to conceive of a more individualistic sport, except perhaps
extreme sports like ultra-marathon running or rock climbing.
To be a swimmer is to be willing to exist within the paradox that you may win a race but
still fail because a time is not fast enough. Or you may finish dead last and feel
victorious because a best time is achieved. Those are odd lessons to accept in youth.
They are odd because they require a willingness to accept that victory, its meaning and
significance, is nuanced and multi-layered – just as life is. And regardless of how a
race ends for a swimmer, neither can the clock be beat nor can the swim be completely
perfect. That makes the sport one of the most humbling on the planet. Ultimately,
satisfaction must come from within. This may be the most important lesson sports can
teach a person about life.
The parallel between swimming and life is intentional, for in both individuals must
ultimately be wholly accountable for their own success or failure. Much of today's world
fails to remind of us of that."
[On a personal note, I've just passed the 10 year mark as the president of a company I founded to
make a teaching aid for swimmers called "the fistglove". I haven't even broken even yet on an
investment of more money than I care to mention here. My CPA just shakes her head and asks me how
much longer I'm willing to hang in there. We both know the IRS gives a new business 5 years to write
off their start up costs and if they aren't making a profit at that point, the high probability is
they're not going to be able to stay in business. I've been at it twice that long. There comes a
point when good business sense tells us to move on. I'm not ready to give up quite yet. I believe in
assisted fist swimming as a beneficial practice. I don't need proof that what I'm doing is going to
ultimately be successful because "I believe". Belief isn't based on proof. I try to make every
moment count when I sit at my desk figuring out production schedules and cost benefits. Of course, I
simply may not be a good businessman. I won't be happy with that realization next year or the year
after or five years from now but if that's the reality I must face, I'm prepared to face it. Why?
Because I'm first and foremost a coach trying to give back to my sport and I've already done that. I
start and finish each day trying to learn something new. I also start and finish each day trying to
teach something new to at least one other person. I want to make sure each day has value and that's
what I value.
Over 30 years ago I started training in the martial arts and I was introduced to the samurai spirit.
The samurai walked out of their house each day with their affairs in order. They never knew whether
or not they were going to die in battle or return that night to their home and family. The most
successful samurai were always "present"; they lived in the moment with great attention. This is the
spirit of Zen. No fear (of the future) and no regrets (about the past). I do my best to pass this
philosophy on to the swimmers whom I coach. I believe this zen-like approach to competitive swimming
will give them some perspective on winning and losing. I believe I can help them enjoy the journey
regardless of the final destination. I know the full impact is lost on 12 year olds so I give them
the "samurai lite" version. I don't want to scare them!
Each day my sensei would say to me "Real life, real death" to help center me before class. He wanted
me to practice with full force and not hold back. That message is a little strong for most adults,
much less a 12 year old kid. Most of us are simply not prepared to put our lives on the line for any
reason. Yet, to me, every choice we make, in a sense, has the potential to put our life on the line.
"The parallel between swimming and life is intentional, for in both individuals must ultimately be
wholly accountable for their own success or failure."
Regards,
Scott