jock librarian

In the second chapter of Catherine McCall's autobiography, Lifeguarding: A Memoir of Secrets, Swimming and the South, she writes about the thrill of competition:

At age six, I was something of a hero at Big Spring, at least on summer Sundays during swim meets. I was speedy and already comprehended the importance of winning, of scoring points for our team and making my parents feel proud. Somthing happened every second at a swim meet. It wasn't a quiet sport, like golf or tennis, but a busy, noisy one, full of stopping and starting and cheering and clapping. Only when the starter said, "Take your mark" would everyone stop in midgesture, mid-sentence, as if on a movie set and someone had just yelled "Freeze!" Moments later, the gunshot would release the swimmers, and the whistling and cheers would turn on again.

My meet in Yonkers this past weekend was relatively subdued in comparison. Six of us donned team suits and were a quiet force (although some of us were still recovering from the rigors of swim camp). The day's highlight was watching Coach Jun compete in breaststroke. The man has a pullout to die for. Travelling faster than a water snake beneath the surface of the water, he ends up halfway down the length of the pool in a matter of seconds. Impressive!