I had to be the world’s worst lifeguard. The first clue might have come on my first day in lifeguard class. The swim test. Now I’m a fairly competent swimmer. Or I was. I was on swim team in my younger days and I knew my way around a pool. Unfortunately, I hadn’t been swimming in awhile. Okay, I hadn’t been swimming in five years. How hard could it be? It’s like riding a bike, right? Uh, wrong. The first thing we had to do for class was swim ten laps. Any stroke, but ten laps. Hmm, I don’t recall seeing anything about this in the pre-requisites. But I was on swim team. Yeah, that was ten years ago but I was, oh yeah, really bad. I actually swam one race against kids in a lower age bracket and still came in third. But any stroke. And I can do ten laps floating on my back.
So I hit the pool, taking it incredibly easy and I’m noticing that I haven’t even really gone the length of the pool, fifty yards, and already I’m a bit winded. This is not a good sign. This might be like riding a bike with two flat tires uphill against the wind. I’ve completed a couple of laps and now I’m into survival mode. I am floating on my back and kicking with my legs when I start to develop a leg cramp. One thing you have a lot of time to do when swimming is think. The irony of this situation is not lost on me. I’m taking a water safety course and there’s a very good chance I might drown. I wonder how it will read in the paper. Will they mention the fact that I used to be on swim team, that I made it all the way through “Flying Fish” in the YMCA swim program? Or, like all good journalists will they cut to the chase, “Would be lifeguard drowns, irony at 11.”
You’ve probably guessed since you’re reading this, that I survived the swim test. But there were other challenges. Apparently it was a required class for some student athletes and a favorite among the wrestlers. Now you fans of cable television may not be aware that there is wrestling on a collegiate level. And it’s a bit more real than the stuff you see on television. Of course I’m wondering if I’ve gone too far, suggesting that the wrestling you see on TV might be more for entertainment than for sport. Be that as it may, our wrestlers had close to the lowest percentage of body fat of any student athletes. What does that have to do with lifeguard class? Who do you think we practice all of our amazing life saving moves on? That’s right, each other. And, when you think low percentage of body fat, I want you to think “like a rock.” A one-hundred-and-eighty pound rock. If I have the choice of saving and towing to safety a member of the men’s wrestling team or a member of the women’s gymnastics team, who do you think’s going to get the nod? That wrestler is going to be at the bottom of the pool for a long time. Fortunately they’re in such good shape, they can hold their breath forever.
The only other thing I remember from the class was the final. The instructor told us she would be a victim and we would have to rescue her. She walked to the end of the pool, slipped in the water and proceeded to “drown.” We jumped in the water, swam like fiends and saved her. Upon getting her out of the pool, she asked why we swam. We looked at her as if she were crazy. She proceeded to point out at least five items around the edge of the pool that could have been used for the rescue. Oh and also mentioned that running to where she was might have been much faster and more efficient than swimming the entire length of the pool. In spite of all that, I passed the class.
Now it’s summer vacation, and I’m employed at the swimming pool at the local junior college. It’s an Olympic sized pool and we have six lifeguard stations: two at the deep end, two in the middle and two in the shallow end. We also have one station in each the men’s and women’s locker rooms. In addition, all lifeguards are given a set of yellow sweats. This is our uniform. We can wear any kind of swimsuits we like but the sweats are mandatory. We look like big bananas. Most of the lifeguards opt not to wear the sweats. At this point I should probably point out that I am the only male lifeguard that doesn’t wear a speedo and doesn’t have a tan. I’m like an “anti-lifeguard.” I wear the sweats. But, I also happened to be one of the most creative. Or sadistic, depending on your point of view.
Whenever someone would break a rule like dunking someone or running on the deck, we’d blow our whistle to get their attention and motion for them to stop. That usually did the trick. I, on the other hand, would always motion them over to me. This usually meant they had to cross the pool or walk half way around it to get to my station. When they arrived, I’d lean down from the tower and say, “Don’t do that again.” It drove them crazy. For repeat offenders, we make them sit out for a specified period of time. Since this was the year of the bicentennial (yes, I know, before many of you were even born…), I came up with some patriotic disciplines. I’d make them walk around the pool whistling the Star Spangled Banner. Or walk around the pool and salute each lifeguard. Yes, I was mad with power!
It was in this spirit that I had my first (and only) rescue. I was sitting on the west side of the pool, in the middle station, resplendent in my yellow sweats. There was a young boy about ten feet out in about six feet of water. He looked like he was struggling. I looked at him, he at me, and I said, “Are you okay?” He looked at me and said, weakly, “Help.” Now this had happened before. The kids were always playing around and I wasn’t sure if he was doing the same. I asked again, “Are you okay?” And he again replied, “Help.” Now, I’m thinking this might be legitimate and I’m starting to take off the sweats. At the same time I’m thinking I’m going to kill him if he is faking. I notice a kid to his right, treading water. I ask the kid, “Is he okay?” The kid takes one look at him and says, “He’s drowning!!!” With that I leap from the tower. As soon as I hit the water, everything I ever learned in lifeguard class vanishes. All the holds, the escapes, the tows…gone, all gone. I’m not even sure I remembered how to swim at this point. Just by leaping in the water I’m at his side so, I put my hand on his chest to keep him afloat and I walk him back to the edge of the pool. I’m supporting him like a waiter might carry a large tray of entrees through a crowded restaurant. And I’m underwater, walking. It crosses my mind that this is something they never covered in lifeguard class. I get him to the side of the pool, catch my breath and get out, triumphant in my first rescue. My supervisor comes over. I can see the look of pride on her face. I’m ready to deliver my, “Aw, shucks, nothing to it, red-blooded American hero speech.” She looks and says, “One question. Why didn’t you use the pole?” “Huh?” There, sitting next to my station, one brand spanking shiny new ten foot pole.
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