In the immortal words of Martin Short, I am not the strongest of swimmers. My primary problem, as with so many things, is a lack of technique. Over the years, I’ve come to terms with the sad fact that I swim in a way that probably frightens young children, all flailing limbs and horrific gasping noises. It looks very much like drowning, now that I think about it. I’m kind of surprised no one has tried to rescue me. (underscore) All of this leads me to my latest quest: a solid freestyle stroke, complete with professional-style breathing and a minimum of water going up my nose. Enter John Fitzpatrick, owner and head coach of the Chicago Blue Dolphins, an adult aquatic fitness company, and Chicago Magazine’s “Best Swim Instructor” of 2006. This man, I figured, was up to the task. I called him, we discussed my various issues and set up my first lesson. I went to sleep that night and dreamed of sharks.
A few days later, I stood outside the Dolphins’ training facility, located in an easy-to-miss storefront near the corner of Webster and Elston, clutching my brand new goggles and swim cap. Taking a deep breath, which I fervently hoped would not be one of my last, I rang the buzzer. The door opened to reveal a warehouse space faintly suffused with the sharp bite of chlorine.
John, who resembles a compact Stanley Tucci, came striding toward me, hand extended in welcome. Pleasantries exchanged, he pointed me to a glass-enclosed room that really didn’t look big enough to hold a pool, but I decided not to ask any questions and just do whatever I was told.
A good decision, given that the room did, in fact, hold a pool-of the “endless” variety, which creates a current for its occupant to swim against. I gather, from John’s gleeful demonstration of the 8-by-15-foot pool’s workout options, that this a relatively new addition to the Blue Dolphin training arsenal.
Swim cap and goggles firmly in place, I step into the warm water and watch as John demonstrates the first step on the road to a picture-perfect freestyle stroke. As I’ve summoned images of myself cutting smartly through the water at Spitz-like speeds, I am surprised that the first drill in John’s Total Immersion method looks suspiciously like lying down on a ledge in the pool with one side of your body pressed against the wall.
In fact, that’s exactly what it is. Balancing on one arm, John explains, helps get swimmers accustomed to moving sideways, on one side of their body, for extended periods of time. On John’s instruction, I extend my lower arm and teeter precariously underwater, which is not easy to do. Try it sometime.
Back in the pool, I test my balance/teeter skills on the opposite side, and then John flips on the pool’s current and I paddle 18 inches to the middle of the pool, where I’m shown the first key component of a solid freestyle stroke. John starts on his left side, extending his left arm above his head, with his right hand where a hip pocket would be if he were wearing jeans. Eventually, he pulls the right arm forward, plunges it deep into the water, and turns his body onto the right side, pulling the left arm back into “pocket” position.
I give it a try, and find I’m not quite as bad as I thought I’d be.
Encouraged, I nod knowingly as John incorporates a breathing drill into the stroke; when he pulls his arm up, he rolls himself over onto his back, takes a breath, and turns over again. I attempt this maneuver and find myself choking vigorously on a noseful of pool water.
“OK,” John says, looking slightly concerned. “Now, you’re good at expelling water while your head is under. So let’s say that’s about a 3 on a scale of 10 for blowing water out of your nose.” I cough my assent. “When you’re turning over, you need to be at about an 8.”
As John already knows, this not only makes sense in terms of clearing necessary respiratory paths, but has a nice side benefit. After a few turns, I find that the more violently I exhale through my nose, the less I’m concentrating on the possibility of choking to death.
Just as I am mastering the forceful exhale, however, John tells me our time is up. As I climb inelegantly out of the pool, we make plans to meet again for lesson two in my four-lesson odyssey. I head to the showers, enjoying the unfamiliar sense of exhaustion. And my exceptionally clear nasal passages.
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jreaves@tribune.com
