Second Chance

Swimming is a sociable sport - at least if you indulge in it like I do - by doing "sets" of say, either 2 or 4 lengths @ 25m at a good pace, resting at the end wall to catch your breath, then flying off for the next set until the life of a courier beckons. The resting phase affords all kinds of opportunity to gossip with the guy (or heaven forbid, the babe) in the next lane. If I rattle on too long, the lifeguard will casually stroll by and ask the poor, trapped individual with whom I'm talking, "Ma'am (or sir), is this guy bothering you? Yes? Warren, get swimming!" Much laughter follows.

In that aspect, the Town of Ohville does a good job of taking care of its lane swim patrons.

Last Friday I was talking to Ron in the next lane, who was looking particularly industrious, on his way to 100 laps, grinding them off with a Breaststroke/Freestyle Combo. Up until last October, Ron would stomp out his cigarette in the parking lot, then drag his 285 lbs into the change room, get into a pair of monstrous floppy bloomers then hit the pool for a convivial 25 laps or so. The fastest Ron moved during the hour long session was in getting dressed so he could get outside for another weed.

Ron used to be a Junior A hockey player for the Three Tree Creek Greyhounds, just before Gretzky got there. Underneath the layers, you can detect a powerful build and good motor. Ron is 54 and runs a very successful marketing business.

I didn't see him for a long time, and when he finally showed up in March, he looked different. "Ron , you look 10 years younger, what the heck has been going on for the past 6 months?"

"I had a massive heart attack last October. Barely made it. I was rushed to Newmart to have open heart surgery to clean out the grease. I've quit smoking, lost 30 lbs and am working with a trainer to make the best recovery possible. I've been given a second chance and I'm not going to blow it"

The changeroom fell dead silent. Impactful stuff. Stuff we all think about. After a short pause, everyone rallied about Ron, wishing him a full recovery.

Back to last Friday. "Warren" he said, "I want to throw a wee challenge in your direction. Swimming same old same old laps every day can get a little boring and I need some spice. How about we have a go?"

"Just as long as you remember that, according to my family I'm an aging gentleman"

"Well, I have to keep my pace down so that my target heart rate doesn't exceed 130. What I'm suggesting is that I do 2 lengths, you do 4"

"Seems fair. After all, I'm only twice your age. Sure, I'm game"

So away we went. Ron beat me by a stroke. I arm length. "What's your heartrate?" I gasped. "124!" he replied proudly.

Then quickly, he transferred his monitor to my chest. "Good Lord, Warren, you're 178!"

"Ron, I just swam 4 lengths to your 2. What we had was by any other name a race. Knute Rockne always claimed that winning counts. Why else have a race?"

But for the future, we asked the lifeguard if she'd kindly bring the defibrillator down onto the pool deck and station it between our two lanes...