School
Swimming lessons in those early days meant swimming with a lot of other, older children. A lot of them were my brother’s friends, with names like Kevin Courtenage, Derek Grant, De Wet Erasmus and Michael Hodgekiss. There were a few kids my age, but none from my class, or even from kindergarten. Those that were from my school spoke Afrikaans, and at 4 or 5 years old, although I understood some of this South Africanised Dutch dialect, I was not ready to speak it.
Charl Borrmann joined Bloemfontein Otters early on. He was born on the same day, in the same hospital ward as me. Today I don’t know where he is, or even what he is doing. As kids we were pretty even. About as fast in the water, about the same size. But later he became a lot taller than me.
White haired Almero Strauss was another swimmer who started at Otters and was there for 10 years. For as long as I was. Even longer.
So when I swam I was always behind my brother and his mates and wanting to join in with the poolside conversation between sets, and after practise.
It is a lonely place, the pool, sometimes. Cold, and the only sounds are the subterranean strokes and half formed words drowned in bubbles.
I went to school one day in January 1977. I was 4 years old, and on the 19th I turned 5. Most of the other kids were 5 years old, turning 6, and some even older. This also proved to be a lasting consequence, both for me personally, and for my swimming.
In those first days at school I remember going to PT, Physical Training, and we were being taught to swim in a ridiculous little pool that was hardly more than knee deep. After swimming in 50 metre pools, this seemed silly to me.
But a few days later they wanted swimmers for the Grey Gala and they asked the teachers to find a few students who were able to swim 1 length of the 50 meter pool. I swam freestyle and then went one better and swam a length of butterfly. Everyone was watching, agape, waiting for me to stop and hold onto the wall to rest. But not Penny, my coach, and not me. At 5 years old, this was already old hat. This was the beginning of some kind of swimming celebrity, which lasted throughout junior school. All because I started early and kept on going.
After kindergarten we moved from the Arthur Nathan to the Stadium Swimming Pool, in an area called Willows. Today the area is quite run down, quite derelict, although the pool has not changed much. The actual stadium has been painted blue and has the word VODACOM repeated a few times along the back of the stands.
Here was the real home of Bloemfontein Otters, and what was to become my home away from home. I spent many hours here each day, and came to swim here every day except Sundays.
Very soon I noticed the swimmers that were older and fastest. They were to become my models throughout my school career. Allan and his twin brothers Dean and Emile Louis. Dougie Eager. Amanda Markgraaff. Jeanine Steenkamp. All swam with grace and elegance and an almost feminine power. It was magical for me then how they simply won what seemed to be every race they swam. That kind of skill and mastery in the water caught my attention, admiration and inspiration from the very beginning. But I was just 5 years old, and I wanted to be part of what was happening, and most of the time I was swimming at the tail end of the swimmers moving across the length of the pool, endlessly, back and forth.
I always seemed to come to the wall just as the strongest swimmers were ready to head out into the next set. I sometimes heard the end of a joke, or conversation. And gradually I felt more and more determined to swim faster, so I could hear what everyone was saying, and lie on the warm poolside paving with my brother and his friends and be part of the fun.
I had to work hard to stay with them, because they were two years taller and stronger than I was. But I found if I put in a lot of effort, I could just stay with their feet. Once I got close to their feet, I was in a slipstream, and it became easier still. And then I realised something quite amazing. They weren’t putting in a lot of effort. They were cruising comfortably. This meant if I swam quite hard I could keep up. I also found that just swimming hard didn’t work. It tired me out. I experienced a real moment where I followed my hands going into the water, and instead of letting them glide and then gradually pull for another stroke, I tried to make it one movement. Hand enters the water and immediately begins to pull the water. One movement. This proved to be an early breakthrough, because when I swam with this in mind, I swam a lot faster. Soon I was keeping up with the Jones’, and they at first made fun of me, and my brother with them. I got shoved aside a bit, but eventually they let me be part of the group, even if I was largely a silent partner. If I said something I’d get a few jeers, but at some level they respected me and what I was doing to hang around them.
My brother and I also became more and more competitive towards each other. When we were not swimming at the stadium we raced each other in the pool at home. Butterfly, backstroke, breastroke, crawl. Underwater. Running. And we drew pictures together and saw who could render Mickey Mouse or Donald Duck the most accurately, with the fewest flaws.
One day when we were very young still, they had a charity event, what they called a Big Swim. The idea was that parents and friends ‘sponsored’ their child, or some other swimmer, and each length was worth 50 cents or R1, and the more we swam the more money we collected. So for these events we swam as far as we could. For an hour or more. I don’t remember exactly how far we swam. Maybe it was about 3km, or 4. I do remember people that day at the charity swim commenting on how perfect my brother’s stroke was as he did length after length after length. His freestyle was a flow of limbs that didn’t need any correction. So were the other strokes. His butterfly was elegant, he glided in his breastroke, and even his backstroke was beautiful. Coaches confided to Penny that he would go far. To swim the way he did, they maintained, with no stroke correction, meant he had natural talent that would set him apart from the rest. He will become a champion, they predicted.
All this speculation was going on behind me, now that we were out the pool and bundled into shivering towels, and I was very aware of it. I was also aware that not a word was said about my stroke.
I took this to mean, to imply really, that my stroke basically sucked, it was a dogs breakfast. I heard some people say when I swam that I looked like a windmill in the water. What could I do? Can you change how you walk? It bothered me, and it bothered me even more because it felt comfortable, it felt natural, and now I had to change it, and I didn’t know how. I felt happy in myself about my swimming style, but I wasn’t sure if that was enough. After all, I also wanted to be a champion. So, I swam even harder.
Charl Borrmann joined Bloemfontein Otters early on. He was born on the same day, in the same hospital ward as me. Today I don’t know where he is, or even what he is doing. As kids we were pretty even. About as fast in the water, about the same size. But later he became a lot taller than me.
White haired Almero Strauss was another swimmer who started at Otters and was there for 10 years. For as long as I was. Even longer.
So when I swam I was always behind my brother and his mates and wanting to join in with the poolside conversation between sets, and after practise.
It is a lonely place, the pool, sometimes. Cold, and the only sounds are the subterranean strokes and half formed words drowned in bubbles.
I went to school one day in January 1977. I was 4 years old, and on the 19th I turned 5. Most of the other kids were 5 years old, turning 6, and some even older. This also proved to be a lasting consequence, both for me personally, and for my swimming.
In those first days at school I remember going to PT, Physical Training, and we were being taught to swim in a ridiculous little pool that was hardly more than knee deep. After swimming in 50 metre pools, this seemed silly to me.
But a few days later they wanted swimmers for the Grey Gala and they asked the teachers to find a few students who were able to swim 1 length of the 50 meter pool. I swam freestyle and then went one better and swam a length of butterfly. Everyone was watching, agape, waiting for me to stop and hold onto the wall to rest. But not Penny, my coach, and not me. At 5 years old, this was already old hat. This was the beginning of some kind of swimming celebrity, which lasted throughout junior school. All because I started early and kept on going.
After kindergarten we moved from the Arthur Nathan to the Stadium Swimming Pool, in an area called Willows. Today the area is quite run down, quite derelict, although the pool has not changed much. The actual stadium has been painted blue and has the word VODACOM repeated a few times along the back of the stands.
Here was the real home of Bloemfontein Otters, and what was to become my home away from home. I spent many hours here each day, and came to swim here every day except Sundays.
Very soon I noticed the swimmers that were older and fastest. They were to become my models throughout my school career. Allan and his twin brothers Dean and Emile Louis. Dougie Eager. Amanda Markgraaff. Jeanine Steenkamp. All swam with grace and elegance and an almost feminine power. It was magical for me then how they simply won what seemed to be every race they swam. That kind of skill and mastery in the water caught my attention, admiration and inspiration from the very beginning. But I was just 5 years old, and I wanted to be part of what was happening, and most of the time I was swimming at the tail end of the swimmers moving across the length of the pool, endlessly, back and forth.
I always seemed to come to the wall just as the strongest swimmers were ready to head out into the next set. I sometimes heard the end of a joke, or conversation. And gradually I felt more and more determined to swim faster, so I could hear what everyone was saying, and lie on the warm poolside paving with my brother and his friends and be part of the fun.
I had to work hard to stay with them, because they were two years taller and stronger than I was. But I found if I put in a lot of effort, I could just stay with their feet. Once I got close to their feet, I was in a slipstream, and it became easier still. And then I realised something quite amazing. They weren’t putting in a lot of effort. They were cruising comfortably. This meant if I swam quite hard I could keep up. I also found that just swimming hard didn’t work. It tired me out. I experienced a real moment where I followed my hands going into the water, and instead of letting them glide and then gradually pull for another stroke, I tried to make it one movement. Hand enters the water and immediately begins to pull the water. One movement. This proved to be an early breakthrough, because when I swam with this in mind, I swam a lot faster. Soon I was keeping up with the Jones’, and they at first made fun of me, and my brother with them. I got shoved aside a bit, but eventually they let me be part of the group, even if I was largely a silent partner. If I said something I’d get a few jeers, but at some level they respected me and what I was doing to hang around them.
My brother and I also became more and more competitive towards each other. When we were not swimming at the stadium we raced each other in the pool at home. Butterfly, backstroke, breastroke, crawl. Underwater. Running. And we drew pictures together and saw who could render Mickey Mouse or Donald Duck the most accurately, with the fewest flaws.
One day when we were very young still, they had a charity event, what they called a Big Swim. The idea was that parents and friends ‘sponsored’ their child, or some other swimmer, and each length was worth 50 cents or R1, and the more we swam the more money we collected. So for these events we swam as far as we could. For an hour or more. I don’t remember exactly how far we swam. Maybe it was about 3km, or 4. I do remember people that day at the charity swim commenting on how perfect my brother’s stroke was as he did length after length after length. His freestyle was a flow of limbs that didn’t need any correction. So were the other strokes. His butterfly was elegant, he glided in his breastroke, and even his backstroke was beautiful. Coaches confided to Penny that he would go far. To swim the way he did, they maintained, with no stroke correction, meant he had natural talent that would set him apart from the rest. He will become a champion, they predicted.
All this speculation was going on behind me, now that we were out the pool and bundled into shivering towels, and I was very aware of it. I was also aware that not a word was said about my stroke.
I took this to mean, to imply really, that my stroke basically sucked, it was a dogs breakfast. I heard some people say when I swam that I looked like a windmill in the water. What could I do? Can you change how you walk? It bothered me, and it bothered me even more because it felt comfortable, it felt natural, and now I had to change it, and I didn’t know how. I felt happy in myself about my swimming style, but I wasn’t sure if that was enough. After all, I also wanted to be a champion. So, I swam even harder.
posted by Nick at 12:47 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home