In the Swim

Swimming is in our blood.

 When I was a child I was up at the crack of dawn, walking to the local ‘Olympic’ pool to ‘do laps’.

Soap bars came with badges of Australian Swimming Olympians that we gathered as if they were brigh blue bower bird treasures.

 Our heads were filled with the exploits and accomplishmernts of Murray Rose, Lorraine Crapp, Dawn Frazer  and the ‘Konrad Kids’.

At the Melbourne Olympics  Australian swimmers won 14 gold medals – 12 more than their nearest rival the USA who managed a paltry two. 

The Konrad Kids cycled to the Bankstown pool;did two hours training; cycled home for breakfast; went to school;  went back to the pool in the afternoon and shone at the 1958 Empire Games. A bit ironic for Latvian immigrants.

We were all out there at dawn ploughing the water, inspired by the possibility that like our heroes, we too could be champions.

That was before The Institute of Sport, sports psychologists, scientifically designed training regimes, super swim suits, performance enhancing substances, sponsorship, and ‘swim meets’.

I never was a champion. I do have certificates for my accomplishments as a an adult Swimming Club member and for wins at Aussie Master’s  carnivals – not a lot, but enough to feel good about myself as a swimmer.

But I was smart enough to know from an early age that I was nowhere near a world beater and better not to shout my megre acomplishments from the roof top.  I was a small minnow in a large pool, so to speak.

There has been a lot of chat this week about the failure of the Australian swimming team at the recent London Olympics.  Ten medals in total with only one  gold. Arguably our worst performance ever.

As a nation we have been beating ourselves up with questions such as:

·       Do we expect too much?

·       Are we too focused on winning?

·       Isn’t Silver or Bronze good enough?

·       Were the athletes underprepared?

·       Were the selections right?

·       Did they have suitable guidance?

·       Did Social media detract from their performance?

Turns out, if you read the Pippa Grange authored Bluestone Report* just released, that the problems lie in leadership, shared vision, ethics, accountability, and discipline.

Standards, discipline and accountabilities for the swim team at the London Olympics were too loose,  she says. 

As a teacher I have learnt a number of things:

•     High expectations are critical for young people to achieve at all levels.  If you set the bar too low, they will aspire only to that level.

The Bluestone Report says:

a number of swimmers felt that being an Olympian was abundant success enough; they

had no further expectation than being there and competing. Making the team earlier in the year was the win; the rest was a bonus, an experience to savor rather than a job to complete.

My old Ancient History teacher used to say: Aim for the stars or you will never get over the trees.

• Young people need to be coached and scripted for new experiences. It seems that with near half the swimming team being first time Olympians there was an obvious need for  guidance about what to expect from the environment and considered plans for how they could each respond to unfamiliar scenarios

.

One respondent to the report said:

It was the biggest moment in my life as a performer, and I felt uneasy and unsure how to be.

The report adds:

Many participants talked about the Olympics being like no other competition on earth and the difference is something you need to hear about, prepare for and anticipate.

• In their formative years all young people need to know what the rules are, where the lines are and what happens if you step over them. They won’t always obey, and they will make mistakes, but it is their coaches and mentors role to articulate the expectations, monitor and support  how those expectations are being enacted, and feedback to the young person the effects of their actions.  

The Bluestone Report says:

There were enough culturally toxic incidents across enough team members that breached agreements (such as getting drunk, misuse of prescription drugs, breeching curfews, deceit, bullying) to warrant a strong, collective leadership response that included coaches, staff and the swimmers. No such collective action was taken

There are winners and losers in competition- that’s its nature- by definition.  We pour money into elite sports people who the experts, and their past performance, tells us will bring forth winners.  We expect them to perform extraordinarily, else, why no direct our resources across the whole population to make as all equal in the pool. I’m just reading Margaret Atwood and genetically modifying us all with big Thorpie feet and calling the new species Thorpeople might be the solution.

I agree with the Bluestone report that  there is a need to manage the media and it’s commentary of expectation both in the formal traditional forms and it’s more casual social presences, but when our hopes are raised by the athletes themselves talking up their capability, who else are we to believe?  Are these young people so out of touch with their abilities in comparison to other swimmers in the world, or have they  (and us) been led to believe they are much better than they really are?  To quote a cliché: You have to walk the talk.

 

As for the bonding session in Manchester, over the Olympic years we’ve had numerous incidents of questionable behaviour (both good and bad) by young Olympians. But I think the press conference missed the point which is surely about on the spot guidance, direction, support and discipline for a group of young people who were being backed by us all to represent our country. Instead we got a public confession where the words had been obviously schooled and scripted . The swimmers demonstrated they were very conscious of what they were and were not to say. They were on song.  A pity that same guidance hadn't been given pre London.

Swimming Australia has indicated its preparedness to implement the recommendations from Bluestone and also those of the Independent Review of Swimming.  They make sense, and so long as they don’t get bogged down in process and PR rather than changed practice we might again see young people aspire to bring home gold for Australia, and more importantly modelling a type of celebrity that champions health and fitness rather than high priced handbags.

*https://assets.imgstg.com/assets/console/document/documents/Swimming%20Australia%20Culture%20Review1.pdf

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Art work of the Week

Where are my goggles? Pencil drawing on paper 260x180 mm

Christmas Carol

When I was a child Christmas was about the smell of pine needles in the bush as they roasted in the blistering heat of an inland Australian summer. We knew we would have long summer days walking to the pool as the concrete pathways buckled under our feet, and we bought slices of watermelon to ward off our thirst. There was no sunscreen, no skin cancer council warnings, no UV alerts. We baked ourselves along with everything else, covered in coconut oil. Glistening little roast potatoes. And when we were overdone and had to don real clothes, we were basted with tea and vinegar and coated in protective cotton wool. 

From her childhood my daughter recalls the smell of old fashioned Christmas paper that her grandmother used to wrap presents . While everyone else was ooing and aahing at their gifts, she was busily sniffing. Grandmother is now in her 90’s, still lives independently, and never misses the girls with a card and a crisp banknote  for Christmas. My daughter still loves the smell of paper. Give her a new book and the first thing she does is open it up and put it to her nose. 

For a large part of my adult life I lived on the coast. It calls to me daily. Here were new Christmas traditions.  Breakfast at the beach with children and friends, fresh damper and fruit followed by a dip in the ocean.  Lunch was seafood and all the trappings, usually with a friend and her family - mother in her seventies and eighties who had been an Olympic class diver in her day, brother often visiting from the USA with a daughter who found us all mundane and uninteresting.

We tried to make each Christmas lunch notable. I think we topped it with our beach front adventure. No picnic baskets and blankets. No cross legged in the sand with grit in the food. This was full on white tablecloth and all the trimmings. We removed all the outdoor furniture from home to the shelter of the she oaks and set up the best restaurant in town. Smells of sea salt dropping on to our skin, sounds of waves running over tiny pebbles and shells.  A view you couldn’t buy – and it was all ours.

I’m back in the inland – don’t ask how that happened- but for the time being this is it. It brings great advantage of proximity to immediate family that for most of my grown up years was impossible. And it’s been a time to grow a new set of Christmas rituals, particularly as it started with a small grandchild.  

I have open house on Christmas Eve – that is until 8pm when Santa throws you out. My friends joke about the deadline, but they dutifully abide. It’s just the family members that linger, and that’s OK.  We have fun.  Christmas Eve in my house as a child was always tears and turmoil. 

Though we are all grown up – my granddaughter is now mid teens – we still hang up our santa sock and wait for early morning goodies. Once it was just me filling them as everyone slept , now everyone sneaks around all the bedposts depositing their fun presents- buzzy whistles, ring puzzles, zodiac predictions for the coming year, tacky plastic animals, fridge magnets, and always chocolate coins. We must look hilarious to circling aliens.

The damper and fresh fruit breakfast remains. I tried to change the Damper recipe last year and met with thunderous outrage from the girls. 

Lunch is with the extended family. We rotate the venue at our houses taking turn about each year. We all pitch in, and when the whole crew arrives it is noise and laughter from beginning to end. We start with barbequed prawns - another recipe that has disallowed variation. I thought a couple of years back that I would  try something I had found in the street markets in Hanoi: chargrilled prawns with a dipping sauce of lime and pepper -  but that got the thumbs down as well. 

My brother proposes every year that we finish lunch by 2pm. We all nod wisely and agree that he has a great idea.  

Desert never makes the table before 4pm.

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Art Work of the Week

Merry Christmas. Acrylic on canvas 1200x910 mm