Not Guilty, Part 1

When I was in middle school, I joined a club swim team coached by a gentleman named John McFadden. A career teacher, John clearly loved his student-athletes—but he also had a most unique way of voicing his displeasure.

And we displeased him often.

It's important to note, however, that whether we arrived late, sat on the wall, splashed water at a member of the opposite sex, or simply swam slower than John deemed acceptable, he didn’t call us lazy. Or stupid. Or slow. He didn’t, in fact, call us anything. Instead, he’d bellow,

“THAT’S NOT GOING TO GET YOU TO THE PROMISED LAND!”

The Promised Land could be anything from a state championship to an Olympic Trials qualifying time—or, in my case, the chance to be the slowest girl on my high school team’s fastest relay.* (It’d be a few more years before I’d figure out that my Promised Land was, in fact, on solid ground and not at sea.)

At the time, I wasn’t too concerned with John's word choice. I was more worried about how many push-ups we'd have to do as penance. But now, I can’t help but wonder if his coaching style is part of the reason I don’t feel guilty when I miss a workout. Yes, you read that right.

I’m not saying I don’t regret skipping exercise. Besides the fact that I’ve missed out on something that’s frequently fun and always good for my sanity, I know it’s going to take me that much longer to drop my 5k time, or to be able to keep up with a fast group ride, or to be able to finish a half marathon in a new city with enough energy to bar-hop that evening. But guilty? Not so much.

I still do push-ups, though...when I feel like it.

Hollywood wants us to believe that success in sports is directly related to character. And that’s fine, within reason. I mean, I enjoy kicking back with Chariots of Fire and a warm beer as much as anyone.** But when you’re facing a hellish work deadline and the basement’s flooded and your best friend is sobbing to you over the phone that her guinea pig is having seizures (don’t ask), sometimes it’s best to take morality out of the picture, postpone the freaking tempo run already, and spare yourself the inner debate whether this decision is consistent with your New Year's resolution to grow as a person.

Whatever. It's just going to take you a little longer to get to the Promised Land.

Admittedly, I have no idea if John would agree with all this. As much as I’d love to buy him a warm beer and ask him why he used the phrase, he went to his eternal Promised Land a long time ago.

Wherever he is, you can bet everyone knows how to swim.

*That’s right: I celebrate the small victories.

**Maybe even a little more. Okay...a lot more.