BERKELEY, Calif. — Don’t panic. Just breathe. It doesn’t matter how long it’s been since you swam laps. This isn’t a real race; it’s just one length of the pool. What’s the worst that could happen?
Those are the CliffsNotes of my internal monologue, as I stood behind the blocks at Cal Berkeley’s stunning outdoor pool, contemplating my life choices.
Sure, the beautiful pool filled with elite swimmers made me long for my 12-year competitive swimming career that ended when I was a teenager in Michigan. But in that moment, as I mentally prepared to race now-three-time Olympians Abbey Weitzeil, 27, and Ryan Murphy, 29, flashes of Gob Bluth reflecting on foolishness ran through my head.
I’ve made a huge mistake.
***
During the Olympics, fans on social media often wish they could watch a regular person out there competing to further highlight the exceptional athleticism on display. It’s a relativity thing. Understandably, it can be challenging to appreciate just how fast swimmers are going when all eight 50 freestylers finish within .60 seconds of each other.
So, I volunteered as tribute.
I had three weeks in May to prepare to “race” against two of America’s fastest swimmers. No amount of training in that time frame would have me ready physically, so I jumped in cold turkey. It had been six months since I last swam laps and about 15 years since I’d been in any kind of competitive shape — not to mention two years removed from tearing the ACL that would help launch me off the blocks.
I’m not one of those wildly mistaken washed-up athletes who think they can beat professionals at their own game — and certainly not professional swimmers with 10 Olympic medals between them. The goal simply was to not embarrass myself too badly, especially since we were shooting video.
Mental prep and hydration were all I had. It was far from enough.
Put your head down, go all out, it’s two quick races.
Of course I was nervous in the days prior, but watching Abbey and Ryan in the weight room before their afternoon practice (and before our race), I got a better idea of just how humbled I was about to be. They have pounds of muscles and what felt like 10 feet on me.
As they began practice, Cal coach Dave Durden — who also led Team USA at the 2021 Tokyo Olympics — asked for my swimming resume, wanting to set odds on my races afterward against Abbey and Ryan.
I told him to bet heavy on the favorites.
***
With Cal’s practice winding down and the races approaching, my mind time traveled back to my teenage self about to fight for a best time. Nerves, fear, excitement — all of it. Unfortunately, my competitive, race-ready body was absent, and I felt unqualified to even be near this pool filled with elite swimmers.
I’d first go against Abbey, whose Olympic gold, bronze and two silver medals were all in sprint freestyle events. But I needed a practice start.
Do I even remember how to dive off the block?
Yes, but evidently not well. The blocks were a lot higher than I remembered. My first time diving off in 12 years, I smacked my legs so hard on the water that they were red — and later bruised, along with my ego.
I tried to play it cool, but the leg-flop wasn’t lost on Abbey, who quickly fixed the backplate for my foot on the block, which wasn’t fully secured. Is that why my start was so bad? Let’s say… yes.
OK, race time. Just 25 yards. You got this.
With Abbey on my left, we climbed up on the blocks, waiting for Ryan to tell us to take our marks.
Don’t slip, don’t slip, don’t slip.
I shot off the block, far more gracefully in my head than on camera, and let the muscle memory take over, hopefully saving whatever would be left of my dignity.
When I took my first breath — there was a time when I wouldn’t breathe on sprint 25s — I could see Abbey’s wake far ahead of me.
Not good. You’re really getting your [expletive] kicked.
Never in my life had I been so focused on pulling as much water as possible. Are my arms filled with lead? I felt like I was on a hamster wheel, rapidly flailing yet barely moving forward.
Oh, god, this hurts. Come on! Pull, pull, pull!
Finally, I hit the wall about 4.5 seconds after Abbey — an eternity in sprint events — to the surprise of absolutely no one. I still never expected to win. I just wanted to stay in the same video frame, and thankfully, our drone footage ensured everyone could see exactly how many body lengths behind I was.
Panting at the wall, I felt like I’d never catch my breath again. I couldn’t believe that one length was merely an eighth of what was once my strongest event.
A total class act, Abbey reassured me that I did well, we high-fived and I floated back down to the other end of the pool, remembering I had to do this again.
***
Take deux. OK, this won’t be as bad. Ryan is doing backstroke, you’re doing freestyle. Maybe you can keep it closer.
Yeah, maybe not. He’s still an Olympic gold medal-winning backstroker who swept the 100 and 200 in Rio.
I focused more on my start and breakout strokes the second time around, but it didn’t matter. With my first breath, I could see Ryan still powering through his underwater kicks.
He hasn’t even surfaced yet? You’re toast.
As in the first “race,” this one was just as over the moment it started.
Ryan also was kind about it and said he had fun, which was hopefully at least a little true after we made them do a final sprint following their second practice of the day.
Unsurprisingly, two Olympians, about a month out from qualifying for their third Games, kicked my [expletive]. Getting supremely humbled was the expectation for sure, but how humbled can you really be when you already knew embarrassment was inevitable?
They’re two of the fastest swimmers in the world with impressive longevity out of Cal Berkeley — one of the best college and pro programs on the planet that regularly produces Olympians. And they both have strong chances of medaling in Paris. Ryan in particular has shown remarkable consistency, becoming the first swimmer to win the men’s 100 and 200-meter backstroke at three straight U.S. trials.
Obviously, I never stood a chance.
But getting wrecked by two Olympic swimmers was better than any work day I can remember. It’s the closest I’ll ever get to racing in the Olympics, and I think I held my own. Kinda.
At least, I did better than you would have.
