Sweet Victory.

I like to swim. If you believe my mom, I always have. Dove right in the deep end at age two and just dog-paddled around, happy as can be, while causing a mini-panic attack on deck based on the belief that I would drown. For a portion of my youth, I was a synchronized swimmer, spending something like 20 hours a week in the water. After I quit that, I didn't get in a pool for probably five years -- it took me that long to dry out from being water-logged.

These days though, I swim two or three times per week. I am a decent swimmer. No frills -- I rarely flip turn -- but I get it done. More importantly, I like it. I really enjoy swimming when the sun streams in the windows and hits the water. It just makes me happy. However, I have no idea what kind of swimmer I am compared to others -- speed, endurance, no idea. Compared to the other people that tend to swim at the same time as me, I'm Michael Phelps but they just learned to swim a year ago. Not really a great comparison.

This morning, my "swim coach" suggested that I consider participating in a swim meet in June. It would be a 1500, which is a distance I can swim without any problem other than counting it. My mind has a tendency to wander off when I swim -- I succumb to the rhythm of breathing, kicking and stroking, rather than remembering that I just swam 400 or whatever. I looked up the results from last year to see how fast I would have to be not to embarass myself. I don't think anyone but me cares about it but I just do not want to come in last. Aim high, right?

Considering participating in a swim meet brought me back to my very first meet as a synchronized swimmer at the age of nine. I took first place. My prize for winning was a one pound bag of M&Ms. There may have been a blue ribbon involved as well but I distinctly recall the M&Ms. Between winning and getting candy, it's no surprise I have spent so much time in the pool in my life.