Giants
by Matty Wise

I hated swimming. As a young adolescent, the concept of wearing a Speedo that revealed a little too much to the world just wasn't cool. The fact that workouts consisted of only swimming back and forth in a narrow little lane was intolerably boring. The only way I could keep myself even semi-sane while swimming laps was by singing songs that sounded like whale calls under the water. Not only that, there's nothing like swallowing a gallon of chlorinated water throughout the swim practice. But I didn't always hate swimming. Back when I was an impressionable little kid, I remember watching giants from another world dive into the pool creating tidal waves as they dashed across to the other side in the blink of an eye. I swore I was going to become one of them, but after swimming for a few years, I had become completely disenchanted.

However, things changed when my brother became my coach. Andrew had no qualms whatsoever singling me out in front of the other kids. It was not uncommon for him to throw kickboards, pull buoys, chairs, or pretty much anything that wasn't nailed to the ground when I did something wrong. There was one instance when he declared that my technique was uglier than my face, so he ordered me out of the water, grabbed my fingers, and wrapped them together with medical tape. He then threw me back in and I was forced to swim with my hands taped for the rest of the workout. It seemed he could find the littlest flaw in even how I breathed which would then incur his wrath. To say that I hated swimming would be understatement, but I'm pretty sure I hated Andrew even more.

Even though I was subjected to my brother's whims, there was no question that I was improving. For once, I was actually seeing the glorious blue ribbons that meant first place; the fact that my races were unofficial was just a minor detail. But throughout the summer I improved, even to the point where I got to swim in the first heat, the official race where I could get points. Needless to say, I usually came in second to last or last place. But my brothers constant badgering actually was paying off. By the end of the summer, my swimming skill had improved a lot. There's no question I'm a sore loser. When I was bad, I hated swimming, but once I actually began winning, swimming became my favorite sport.

By the time I reached high school, I had evolved into a fairly good swimmer. My best stroke had become the breaststroke, and I had a mean freestyle, to boot. Swimming had become my ego booster. It was fun to watch some six foot guy with muscles bulging out of his skin stand next to me on the blocks, smacking his arms against his body like a whip. There was nothing more entertaining than being that scrawny, short, Asian kid that none of the other swimmers would notice, only to leave them eating my bubbles.

But I'll be honest. The reason why I began to really like swimming was because of the fine ladies. Now, as far as I know, swimming is the only sport where people practice coed. Unlike sports such as basketball or football where you have other guys sweat splattering all over your face, swimming has the charm of seeing a pretty face when you finish a workout. Of course being smooth with the ladies is a whole other sport, a sport that is not nearly as refined as my swimming. But, man, those girls were miracle makers. When it all came down to the four-hundred-yard relay to win the meet, and I was the anchor, the fourth and final man in the relay team (the equivalent of baseball's bottom of the 9 th , two outs, two strikes and all you have to do is hit in the run to win the game scenario), there was nothing like hearing the girls' swim team cheering for me when the odds were stacked against me. I've gone up against some of the most fearsome swimmers in my county, and if it weren't for those girls cheering, I would never have been able to step up to the challenge and whoop their overrated butts.

I had come to love the sport so it was only natural that I would like to impart my wisdom to future generations. I was hired as a coach for Nassau Swim Club, the summer swim team that I had been a member of ever since I was five. As soon as I began, things were already troublesome. All my kids knew who I was, which was a very bad thing. I was a not exactly what you would call an exemplary model when I was a swimmer. I was one of those kids that would hide in the locker room until the last minute, and then get chased by the coaches for refusing to jump into the cold water. I'd be the first to boycott a drill that I didn't particularly like, and I always pretended to cramp up to get out of a set. So there was no surprise when I would see my kids take turn around halfway across the pool when they thought I wasn't looking, or lie about how many laps they did, for I had done those myself. But the kids weren't only cheating, they were also lacking in motivation. They'd complain for the most petty reasons like their skin was shriveling, and all I could do was hypocritically yell at them for being exactly like how I was. My swimmers had become quite apathetic towards me.

The problem was trying to remedy the situation. I had already made two of my more sensitive swimmers cry when I told them I didn't care if I was pushing them too hard. I remember one of my more blunt swimmers coming up to me and saying, "You're so boring. You're nothing like your brother." That hit me hard. Andrew had become a legend for being one of the coolest coaches ever in Nassau history. He had been known for creating the "early morning" swimmers, a group consisting of the best swimmers. He was charismatic, funny, and energetic. I on the other hand was becoming a legend in a much different way. I understood the fundamentals of swimming, and I had no trouble teaching my swimmers proper technique. But just because you understand how to swim doesn't make you a good coach. My blunt swimmer had made it clear to me what I was lacking that my brother didn't. I was no fun. I had no personality; all I was doing was reading the workout from a piece of paper.

It's amazing the turnaround you can have when you start to be fun. One of the first things I did was create a rating system which was a tad controversial, but highly effective. Basically, the idea was -- you suck up to me, I'll buy you free food from Wawa (a local version of 7/11, but far more superior) at the end of the swim season. I remember my brother used to call all his swimmers peons so I decided to fondly call all mine weenies. Their goal was to get enough brownie points to achieve the status of Lemmdawg, named after our mascot, the lemming. But bribery can't just work on its own, especially if the payload is only at the end of the year. I was forced to lower my dignity. I made deals with my swimmers that if they could swim sets in certain times I'd do certain things, one of the more self-deprecating acts consisting of me wearing a bikini and running around the pool.

Now, people might say that what I did wasn't earning the respect of my swimmers, but I think I was. I had managed to erase that barrier that so often stands between the teacher and the students. It is nice that the kids liked me so much that they would invite me to play pool games with them. Not to be a braggart, but I had become quite the popular coach. I remember one time when all the coaches were doing crazy dives, the swimmers began to chant my name, and all I could do was blush in sheepish pride.

However, coaching isn't about popularity; it's about pulling the best out of your kids. There was a time when one of my seven-year-old swimmers needed help with her stroke. We spent an hour working on her breaststroke, and when I told her that she could now swim it in a meet, she gave me the biggest smile I'll ever remember, a smile that takes up at least half my brain. I'm quite the sentimental sucker, so when my kids give me cards they've made saying how much I've helped them, I can't help but feel all fuzzy inside. I feel like I've actually made an impact in these kids' lives. For me, the greatest pleasure is helping get those kids to become one of those giants I saw swimming through the pool.

Matty Wise will be a junior at Pitzer College in fall 2004 majoring in video games and Dance, Dance, Revolution in particular. He hails from the beautiful state of New Jersey . This piece was written for a course on Creative Nonfiction.