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The Sportsman Diaries: Special Olympic Aquatics, Harvard University, Cambridge MA 6/19-6/20/2010
By Dan | June 20, 2010
The way I came about being a Special Olympics swimming coach is pretty uninspiring.
I became a lifeguard and swim instructor after high school to make money for college. I wasn’t a competitive swimmer or anything, I was just naturally buoyant (Thanks, Burger King) and knew all the strokes. I’d love to make a joke about how ‘breastroke’ was my favorite, but after a decade of teaching the damn arm and leg techniques, the humor in the name has been dead to me for a long time. Well….not that long, maybe just the last couple of months or so.
Anyways, when you lifegaurd for a organization like a Boys and Girls Club, you work whatever hours the pool director gives you. Sweet gig too, just sit there and PRAY no one dies on your shift.
One night I was working my new 3-9pm shift and was told ‘Special Olympics’ would be using the pool from 7-8pm. I was nervous as hell, because I never considered myself to be good with people who have special needs. I even admit, sometimes I was plain scared of upsetting them or offending them by not understanding what they were trying to say to me.
The first athlete arrived 15 minutes early and sat down right next to me outside the Guard office. Her name was Debbie, she was in her 40’s and had Downs Syndrome. I immediately said “How are you today?” just like I would any patron in the pool, and just like everyone else she relied with a simple “Good.” After 20 seconds of silence Debbie decides to talk to me about the Red Sox for the remaining 15 minutes of my time lifeguarding an adult lap swim.
“The Red Sox lost this afternoon”…..”It’s ok, I love them”……..”Guess who my favorite is”……”Jason Varitek, because he’s the captain”……”Guess who my favorite of all time is”…..”Jim Rice”…..”I met Jim Rice”……”He gave me a hug, said I was his biggest fan”.
Keeping my eye on the pool the whole time I would reply to her in very short responses like “That’s nice”, “Oh, wow”, or my favorite “MmmHmm”. I wasn’t trying to be rude, and I certainly wasn’t trying to brush her off, but like I said before, I was nervous.
During Special Olympics’ time in the pool every swimmer came up to me to shake my hand and talk to me. I was amazed that this was the friendliest group I’ve ever lifegaurded, most other swimmers don’t bother saying anyhting to me let alone make eye contact.
After a few weeks my anxiety disappeared. Handshakes turned to hugs and polite chit-chat became full-length conversations. Unlike any other shift I had in the pool, I would look forward to my time with Special Olympics.
After my first year with Special Olympics my shift changed and I was no longer the lifeguard for their swim. I still decided to show up, not to work, just to see them all again. It was just 45 minutes after work had ended, no big deal. I’ve since coached dozens of swim meets and volunteered hundreds of hours, and it never ever seems like work. It always felt like being part of a team, which I don’t think I truly ever felt before.
All the athletes that compete in Special Olympics train for one big weekend a year: The Harvard Meet. Just like any swim meet, they get divided into ‘heats’ and race different strokes and hope to win medals. My job is to bring my teams’ wheelchair-bound athletes to the pool and prep them for their races. Their races are always slow as hell, and the people swimming next to them are slow as hell, but it’s the most excitement I’ll ever have watching swimming, and YES I’ve watched Michael Phelps on TV when he competed in Beijing. I don’t know if it’s the fact that they are competing in this sport without full mobility in their arms and legs, but it can really move you.
After hoisting them up out of the pool and into their chair (which is the hardest part of this coaching gig) I bring them to the “awards tent” where they are presented with a ribbon for not placing or a medal for coming in first, second, or third. It’s a great moment for the athletes and their families, something they all deserve.
This year left a bad feeling in my stomach as I left the first events Saturday. One of our swimmers named Joe had been getting up there in age, and had noticeable chages in personality. This year Joe had become much more irritable than he already was. He had been wandering away from the group all day, and sometimes getting himself lost. Simple things like tying his shoes or taking off his shirt were becoming much more difficult than they had in the past. He would fall asleep in his chair, trail off when he was speaking, and became frustrated easily with his teammates. Our head coach noticed these chages to and notified Joe’s caregivers. It was sad, but I think I was coming to the realization that Joe didn’t have much time left.
On Sunday, Joe competed in his last event for the year. He was swimming 50 yards of front crawl against 7 other swimmers who were almost all equal in their swimming abilites. I tried to wave to Joe at the other end of the pool, but he just gave me one of those “Get outta here” waves. The starting whistle blew and Joe quickly swam a 5 yard lead against all his other competitors. They tried their hardest, but just couldn’t catch up. I couldn’t have been happier.
Joe got out of the pool and quickly began acting like a tough guy, something that has always been a unique quality associated with him and not any other swimmer on our team.
“Hey Joe,” I said. “You did it! First place.”
“I know.”
“Aren’t you excited.”
“Yeah I’m excited. Now get my shoes.”
“Joe, your shoes are under that bench. Let’s put them on after we go get your medal.”
“Ok, but you hold them, I sit down and put’em on.”
“No Joe, we gotta go now. The group already went to the awards tent. Just put them on later.”
Needless to say, Joe was pissed. I didn’t want to spoil the surpirse that he was going to get a gold medal, because he didn’t seem to be making that connection on his own. I followed his group to the awards tent and realized he had wandered off again. I bolted back to the pool area and found Joe leaning up against a wall, trying to put his shoes on.
“Joe! They’re giving the medals out, we gotta get there! Just CARRY your shoes!”
“HEY. Relax. You relax.”
“Ok Joe. They’re going to give your medal away, because you couldn’t get there on time.”
“You listen to me. (Something incoherent).”
“Ok then, no medal for Joe.”
I start walking away, hoping I can delay the medal announcements by two minutes when I hear Joe yell to me in the distance. I couldn’t make it out at first, but then I heard it clear as if he was standing next to me. It was “I hate you, I hate you.” Now Joe has said that to me numerous times before, like the time I wouldn’t let him buy a coke before he got in the van that was taking him home, or the time I wouldn’t let him help me put the vacuum in the pool, but this time it cut me deep.
I explained the situation to the people handing out the medals, and they patiently waited for Joe. Joe got their and was announced as the gold medal winner. His expression on his face changed from typical grumpy Joe to pure jubilation. Holding his arms up in the air and sporting a smile that showcased all 9 of his remaining teeth, he approached the awards podium to great applause from the twenty or so spectators at the awards area. He got to stand on the podium, higher than any of the 7 men who swam against him. As always, Joe wouldn’t leave until he shook the hands of ANYONE that looked like they were in charge, and thankfully they all obliged him with a smile on their face. Joe came over to me and gave me a high five and got a big hug from his brother who was in the audience at the time of his race. After this weekend I was forced to reflect on Joe, because I feel that he doesn’t have too many of these moments left, and unfortunately for some of these athletes these medal ceremonies are the only happy moments they get in their lives. This is their only time to feel respected and appreciated. Something we all crave and take for granted when we get it.
Being a fan of respect and sportsmanship is something rarely seen on any televised sporting event but is always found in Special Olympics. I didn’t become one of their coaches for any feeling of political correctness, community service, or warm and fuzziness, but rather because I’m a fan of respect and will always respect the hell out of them.
Thank you, Joe.