Lessons From "The Tank"

Not My Photo

When I was a kid, growing up in Westbrook, Maine, we had an outdoor pool. The official name of the place was the Cornelia Warren Outdoor Pool. But in our neighborhood, it was affectionately referred to as The Tank. 

That's what my Mom called it when she used to drive me to lessons. "C'mon Mike. Time to go to The Tank. You're lesson is at 9:00." 

Some of my earliest and most positive memories from childhood centered around this place. Swimming was a constant in my life during the summers of the late sixties and early seventies. I was at home in the pool, and I always felt safe there. As soon as I was big enough (probably eight or nine years old in what was a much smaller town then), I could walk the mile distance with a group of kids from my neighborhood. 

We would take the railroad tracks (long since gone) where William Clark Drive is now, and stop at a local store on Maine Street to purchase candy and soda. The soda was in a water-cooled cooler and always felt ice cold in those old glass bottles. I can't remember the name of the place, but it was right next to Matty's Taxi.

Just across the street from the store was what we called the rail road yard. On occasion, we would sneak over and try to climb in one of the boxcars. But usually, the workers would scare us away. 

After our penny candy feast, we would head for the pool. The Tank lived up to its name. It was a behemoth rectangle made of asphalt and concrete and painted aqua blue. There was no filtration system back then, and a lone "bubbler" circulated the water from the center of the pool. We used to swim out to the bubbler, because the water was extra cold. There was a shallow/wading end that got progressively deeper until it reached a rope divider. Then the pool got really deep. There were three diving boards at the far end where the water was deepest. Two low boards on either side with one high board in the middle of the deep end. 

One lifeguard would entertain us at the gate while we waited in line. Meanwhile, the other guards would walk around the edge of the pool with flower watering pots. The large containers were filled with chlorine, and the guards would walk and dump the chemical at the pools edge. I think two guards did the duty, walking away from one another at the shallow end, and meeting up at the deep end of the pool. 

Fifteen minutes later, the gates would open, and we would pile in the pool house to drop off our towels, sneakers, socks and shirts. There was a quick walk down a hallway that had a small wading pool to rinse off our feet. Then a guard would make sure we went under the shower. We would run for the pool from there.

I seem to recall that on occasion, the guards would have us all line up around the edge of the pool, then send us in all at once. And sometimes, they would direct us to lay in the water and kick our feet. The adult in me now wonders if we were the agitation/mixing mechanism for the chlorine. I know we didn't do this often, and the memory is kind of fuzzy. I'd love to hear from other Westbrook kids at the time to see if I'm recalling this correctly. 

I can't remember the criteria or test to swim in the deep end. Maybe that's because I used to wear my Red Cross Swim Patches on my bathing suit, along with my season pass. The patches and season pass were made of cloth, and could be easily sewn onto our suits. I loved those badges, and I would move them from suit to suit as I outgrew my clothes; begging my mom to sew them onto my latest bathing suit. 

I remember the deep end test I had to take to pass during lessons though. We had to swim across the pool at the deepest part. The first time I tried, I only made it to the first low board before I got scared. Mr Harriman pulled me out of the pool with one hand. I remember thinking he was the strongest man I knew, and I instantly had a new hero. 

After a few tries, I passed beginners, and advanced beginners too. It must have passed advanced beginners at the end of the summer. The next year, I was at the pool with both patches on my suit. I made sure I was the first in line for opening day. I marched down to the deep end and got up on the low diving board, walked to the end, and jumped in. Only I hadn't swam for about nine months, and I momentarily forgot how. I struggled to the side, and went back to the shallow end to practice for a while. 

First lesson in humility? 

Many times in my life, I have needed to return to the shallow end of the metaphorical pool to gain my bearings, reassess my skills sets, and set off for deeper waters again.  

While elementary school was difficult for a host of reasons, it seemed that I got a break from being bullied during my time at the outdoor pool. I remember a couple of instances of being teased/abused on the way home, but nothing like the daily grind of having to fear walking home from Canal School. 

Trips to and from the pool were spent with friends. First walking, then riding our bikes. And the friendships I made around the water still hold a special place in my heart. There has been a ton of emotional work to do as a result of being bullied daily during 4th, 5th, and 6th grade. But now that the work has been done, I am left with the wonderful memories from neighborhood kids. It's amazing how kindness can resonate in our lives. I sometimes forget that friendship and affection have their legacies too. Yet another lesson from swimming at The Tank.

As I got older, and the new junior high school was built, I had access to an indoor pool and competitive coaching. We would still swim at The Tank for fun, and there were relay races and other activities on the last day of the season. A bunch of us Jr High swimmers got together and laid waste to the entire pool during the first relay. So much so, that the guards separated us, and made us swim with the other kids. But I remember the kudos we got from other kids about how fast we were. It was some of the first acknowledgment that I was actually athletic, and I so desperately needed that at the time. 

Over the years, I learned a lot from swimming. I've learned the obvious. Dedication and hard work can help to achieve goals. I became a school record holder and state champion in the 100 yard backstroke. I taught swimming and life-guarded at the YMCA in Portland during High School. I went on to coach, and aquatics was the ultimate mirror I had to face to recognize that my drug and alcohol abuse was a problem. Who I wanted to be in the field of aquatics and what I had become at the hands of addiction were so far apart that I had to seek help. 

But even now, swimming continues to teach me more than anything I give to the sport. I have been recovering from impingement syndrome in my right shoulder, and had made some great gains. In February of this year, I could barely swim 25 meters without having pain in my shoulder. In fact, my shoulder was beginning to hurt, even at rest. I sought treatment for my shoulder, and have started working out again at the gym, and in the pool. In July, I was averaging a mile swim, twice a week. 

But the pain in my shoulder has returned, so I went back to seek additional treatment. The first thing the physical therapist did was remove any overhead exercises at the gym and reduce my swimming by more than half. 

So here I am, in the shallow end . . . Again. I will follow directions, reassess, and take heed of my the importance of rest. I will head out into deep water eventually. 

Sometimes, I need to emotionally hang out in the shallow end as well. Life can get heavy and cause an overabundance of pain. And there's nothing wrong with a strategic retreat back to the shallow end to reassess, follow directions, and allow for emotional and spiritual rest. 

I can always head back out into deep water eventually. 

M :-)