My grandson, Brady, added to his list of athletic accomplishments this winter and joined his school’s swim team. He’s a very good athlete. If there is a game, he’s ready to play. Swimming is a whole new adventure. He did very well and improved throughout the season.
Swimming, like golf, track, cross-country, skiing, and other such singular endeavors, is all about improving your personal bests. You work hard to improve yourself and have no one but yourself to point to if you fail to get better. Brady’s commitment paid off. He lowered his swim times at each meet, and his personal achievements helped the team to excel.
His swim team experience reminded me of a time in my own recent history.
I had my left knee replaced a couple of years ago. I’ve had trouble with it for several years. My first big issue flared up the day that I met my daughter-in-law, Lindsay’s, parents to discuss David and Lindsay’s wedding plans. I was in my garage putting new grips on my golf clubs and, out of nowhere, my knee popped. Instant, excruciating pain.
Within a few months I had orthoscopic surgery to repair a tear. That took care of my problem until my knee continued to deteriorate and I needed a full replacement. The replacement was completed about ten years later and, after the procedure, I was feeling better than I had in years.
Ruth and I went on a cruise about five months after my surgery. I was feeling so well that I climbed the Dunn River Falls in Jamaica. Ruth tried to talk me out of it, but I knew better. That is without a doubt one of the dumbest things that I’ve ever done. I had no business climbing the falls, but I did. I’ve regretted it ever since because I injured my right leg during the climb and my problems persist.
I have tried a number of things to help eliminate the discomfort: anti-inflammatory drugs, injections, physical therapy, chiropractic manipulation, massage etc. etc.
One round of physical therapy took place during the summer of 2016 and coincided with the summer Olympics held in Rio. I had two therapists in adjoining offices. Part of my therapy included a form of “deep tissue” ultrasound and it was, at times, painful. If the therapist didn’t keep the ultrasound wand in motion, my leg hurt like heck and I climbed the walls. I accused my ultrasound therapist of working for the Germans during World War II, and I nick named her Helga. After each ultrasound treatment, I went to my second therapist, Dave, for more traditional stretching and strength training.
During one round of ultrasound, Helga and I talked about the success that Michael Phelps was having and his growing collection of gold metals. The night prior to our discussion the Olympic commentators talked about the “red circles” on Michael’s back. They commented that Michael was using “cupping” to increase blood flow. As our conversation continue, Helga explained that cupping therapy is an ancient form of alternative medicine. A therapist puts special cups on your skin for a few minutes during each procedure to create suction. (Kind of a mechanical hickey.) People get it for many purposes, including to help with pain, inflammation, blood flow, and as a type of deep-tissue massage.
I thought it was a simple discussion to help pass the time. Wrong. After the ultrasound, I met with my second therapist. Dave said, “I understand that you’re interested in trying cupping.
“I never said that. I was just having a discussion about Michael Phelps and the Olympics with your German torture expert next door.”
“Well, let’s give it a try.” And so we did
To be perfectly clear, cupping hurts. It hurts when the cups suck your skin inward and it hurts even more when they pull the cups off of your “sucked up skin”. Cupping made the deep tissue ultrasound seem like a walk in the park. (I silently cursed my conversation with Helga.)
A few days later, I had another appointment with Dave. While he was working with me, Helga walked into the room. As she walked by I said. “Helga! I almost drowned because of you!”
“What do you mean?”
“The other day when you talked Dave into cupping me, I figured that I must be a better swimmer now. After all it helped Michael Phelps win all of his metals.”
“So?”
“So, we live on a lake. After my cupping session I thought that my swimming skills had improved. I dove off our dock expecting to swim like Michael Phelps, and I dropped like a rock. I almost drowned in the process. I can’t swim any better than I did before.”
There are no shortcuts to success. Lesson learned.