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It was a little like Christmas never came this year, so quick was its approach and so unyielding the regular course of day-to-day life. In years gone by, when the kids were younger and our schedule more relaxed, the tree in our living room drew me into its multicolored glow and stirred the nostalgic remembrance
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Amid all the millions of yards of training and the focus on goal times and personal records, the true nature of our sport often gets lost. Ultimately, swimmers are racers, and racers want to touch the wall first. That shouldn’t be a controversial statement, except there is a lot of energy spent trying to distract
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Every night when I turn out the light in the hall, Cartter and Scotty yell a strange farewell to each other from their beds. I have no idea as to the origin or meaning of their nightly valediction; it rings defiant and silly through the darkness, emanating from their open doorways throughout the house and
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Pace sets are as much an exercise in belief as they are an exact science. During my final two short course seasons as a swimmer, I tried to convince myself that the 2:06 200 breaststroke pace I practiced would manifest in a competition, but when meet day arrived, I never went under 2:10. A 13-year-old
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I’ve heard some people referred to as “human dynamos” in regards to their ability to get things done. My mother is pure TNT. While she was in town caring for my sister after her neck surgery, she spurred me to investigate a new meet format that circumvents South Carolina Swimming’s sanctioning process. The General Chair
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One of the ways my father used to express his dissatisfaction with my pursuit of coaching was to liken swim practice to “recess,” the implication being that the time I spend with my young charges is unserious. I think of this slight when I joke with the swimmers that “This isn’t school. We don’t have
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Danyelle has gotten the kids addicted to taking evening walks in the neighborhood. She did it with chewing gum. At the mention of walking the dog after dinner, they each perk up and glide over to the little shelf with its stash of Orbit and Hubba Bubba and Trident. They do this almost methodically, as
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Early mornings, crosstown traffic, carpool lines – the start of the school year gives rise to a particular kind of irritation. The kids’ school is eager to assert its authority over me, sending an onslaught of instructions-laden emails, while on the swim team, the start of whose season coincides with the beginning of the school

