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CONFESSIONS OF AN AGE GROUPER

RIGHT HOOK
By Holly Bennett
DIDNT MEAN to punch him. I was as shocked as he was the moment my right hook connected with his head. I dont have anger management issues and I certainly dont encourage violence, but I clocked someone on the skull in the pool the other day. And a tiny piece of me didnt regret it. When swimming a Masters workout, there are certain principles of courtesy and common sense that lane-mates should follow. For example, when you nish an interval, you should immediately move over to make room for the swimmer coming in behind you. Whether or not you ever learned proper pool etiquette, its the obvious thing to do: Make way for oncoming trac. The nonsensicalnot to mention inconsideratealternative would be to stop swimming and stand 10 feet out from the wall without moving aside, thus directly blocking the next athlete aiming to nish his or her lap. That would be plain rude, reckless even, especially when that swimmer is me with my hard-hitting right hook. Its one thing to be short-changed the last few strokes of a 500-meter endurance set by a crowd at the end of the lane. Youre almost thankful for the early relief. But the set we swam on the day in question was 12x50-meter sprints. With 50s (especially fast, timed
46 MAY 2012

50s), you want to nish every lap fully and gauge each result. At the end of the rst 50, I was aware of someone clogging the lane in front of me. I pulled up short. On the second 50, the same thing happened. I was irked. Heading into the third 50, I considered the best way to politelyand concisely, during our brief and breathless 15-second restask my lane-mate to scoot over, without letting my annoyance show through. After all, maybe he was actually unaware of the three other people sharing the lane. Ill grant anyone the benet of the doubt. I decided Id have an amicable chat with my fellow swimmer as soon as I nished what promised to be my fastest 50 thus far. It was one of those rare days when I found myself slicing skillfully through the water, rather than ghting an uphill battle against a mountain of molasses. Energized by the often-elusive feeling of good form, my focus shifted back to the task at hand. I turned at the far wall, streamlined

into the nal 25 meters and pressed forward. Nothing was going to stop me from besting my typical 50-meter time. Nothing should have stood in my way. I felt him before I saw him. This time he was a full 15 feet from the wall, obstructing my victory route. I swung my arm around for one nal erce stroke and my hand connected hard with the back of his head. I apologized profusely post-punch as he shook o the sting of my assault. He smiled meekly and assured me he was OK, while a group of guys in the next lanethe lane where he normally swimsapplauded with light-hearted laughter. Apparently I wasnt the only victim of our friends poor lane-sharing protocol. Many a swim coach has told me I tend to smack the water with a clenched right hand, rather than enter it smoothly, ngers rst. Perhaps my subconscious has been prepping for the day I would be compelled to clear a path. And while I do feel horribly about the mishap, the pummeling proved immediately eective. My lane buddy scuttled lickety-split to the side after every single one of the ensuing 50-meter sprints.

HUNTER KING