It Must Be the Suits

NBC has finally been showing a bit more underwater video of the Olympic swimmers as they continue to smash the World Records in every single event. As a swim coach, I am fascinated by the underwater shots -- that's where you can tell what they're doing that makes these folks so incredibly fast.

The dolphin kick off the wall is probably the most noticable thing the Olympians do that is beyond my capability. My decades-older body simply won't move like that. (Well, to be honest, age probably has little to do with it -- I have never been able to undulate like that.) My feet don't flex the way theirs do, either. Coming off the wall, I'm certain that I'll never achieve such a fishlike body wiggle and such Flipper-esque tail power.

But other than that, my stroke looks exactly like Michael Phelps! Exactly, I tells ya!

So why can't I go faster?

And don't give me any hogwash about "natural talent" or "better training" or "bigger muscles". I'm not buying any of those lame excuses. And don't tell me that I'm just a wimp, either -- while that might indeed be true, it still wouldn't explain the disparity between MY performance and Mr. Phelps's. I can't see anything that he's doing that explains why he'd be finished with the race and have time to do an interview, warm down, and eat a hot dog before I ever made it to the wall.

It must be the expensive swimming suits.

I'm tellin' ya, if I got one of the new Speedos, then I'm sure I'd be setting records left and right, too. But (sigh), since I can't afford one, we'll all just have to operate under the assumption that I'm really fast, since no actual proof will be forthcoming. But it's OK -- you can ask me for autographs if you like, and I'll write down what I eat each day so the network can do an "up close and personal" documentary about how many calories I consume, etc. The lack of a fancy, gut-compressing, slick-as-a-penguin swimsuit is the only thing that is keeping me from the fame and glory that I deserve.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

In the meantime, I'll just keep doing what I'm doing, and will be thankful that I don't have to deal with all the screaming fans, universal adoration, and endorsement revenue that torments Michael on a daily basis. And that's not even taking into account the chiropractor bills he'll eventually have to pay to fix his neck from being weighed down with all that posture-ruining gold. Poor guy.

Oh well. We each have to do the best we can, right? Hold our form, keep the head down & get a good catch, dolphin kick as well as our inflexible tendons will allow, and refuse to let the lack of high-tech swimwear keep us from having a great day.

Sounds good to me.