The Waynesboro Y, or Why the Hell Did I Think I Was Fat?
One of the events my mom had planned for us to attend during my recent visit to the old homestead was a reception and fundraising kick-off for the local family YMCA. My dad was a big supporter of the Y back in the day. He was an avid swimmer (having taught himself to swim as a lad in what I'm sure were the o, so healthful and safe waters of the Mohawk River in upstate New York), and he made certain that my brother and I were enrolled in swimming lessons as early as allowed. Which, back in the day, was around 4 years old, or when you were tall enough to stand in the shallow end of the municipal pool (3 feet deep) with your head above water. None of this infant swim program stuff back then! The municipal pool was fine in the summertime, but once Labor Day rolled around and school started, the Y was the only option.
Except, they didn't have a pool. Or a gym. Or a weight room. Or a facility at all. They did have a swim team which, after I had worked my way through lessons from "Minnow" through "Fish" through "Flying Fish" and, finally, through "Shark," I joined.
How, you may well ask, did they give year-round swimming lessons and field a swim team without a pool? Well, mostly they used the pool at the local girls' boarding school, Fairfax Hall. And sometimes they used the pool at the local boys' military academy, Fishburne. (I think that school was named for the same family who owned the famous local pharmacy.) In 1967, the final year I swam on the team (at the ripe old age of 12), the Y moved into a brand spanking new facility, thanks to donations from my dad and others who felt the town needed such a place.
In honor of those who donated a certain amount or more, the Y put up a wall of tiles with donors' signatures on them, but apparently, over years of renovations, expansions, etc., the wall of donors was removed. Someone had the forethought to save the tiles, though, and, as the facility prepares for yet another expansion and renovation (dag! it is now 40 years old!!), the tiles were discovered. The management of the Y called the families of as many donors as they could track down to invite them to the reception and thank them personally. My mom got the call (my dad passed away nearly 10 years ago), and she wanted to go--mainly, I think, to see the tiles that were going to be on display.
That's my dad's distinctive signature, all right! It made me happy to see it, but wistful as well. I sure do miss him, and will to the day I shuffle off this mortal coil.
There were other items on display as well. Here is the one that caught my eye:
That is the YMCA swim team--the first team to practice in the brand new YMCA pool. And there I am! Can you pick me out? Let's pull in a bit closer...
NOW can you see me?
Here, I'll make it really easy.
I'm the one in the middle of this picture, the gal with the lovely headband.
And here's the thing: I thought I was fat. In fact, the surety that I was fat drove me to start yo-yo dieting from the time I was probably seven or eight years old, which has, in turn, led to a lifetime of weight issues (a situation I'm trying to turn around now, in middle age, for good).
But DAMN! I look at this picture and I see a kind of chubby face (the stupid headband really doesn't help, does it?) that hasn't yet lost its baby fat, and a fairly fit young woman's body. My big issue has always been my belly (although it took me many years to realize that, whether fat or thin, I can guarantee that my legs will remain shapely), but I'm hard pressed to find a gut on the little girl/young woman in that picture.
One thing I kind of regret (kind of) is that I did quit the team after this year. There were several reasons. I was a strong swimmer but not a fast swimmer. I could swim for hours, literally, but I wasn't going to break any speed records. As with running now, I had great form (still do, when I get a chance to swim), even on the butterfly--a stroke I hated. HATED! But, because I could do it properly (and so many of the kids on the team couldn't), I was stuck swimming the butterfly leg on a lot of mixed medley relays. When we got into the new pool, I was determined to work on my times for breast and backstroke so that they would stop making me swim butterfly. It never occurred to me that I could refuse to swim it... but then, that would have pegged me as less than a team player, huh?
The thing was, junior high was harder than elementary school, and, what with the new pool and all, our team practices were four or five nights a week instead of one. I was having a hard time juggling team practice and homework and that all-important TV-viewing time. Then I came down with the flu. When I returned to practice, we were getting ready for the regional Jr. Olympics swim meet, and I really wanted to qualify for breaststroke. So... my first day back, I found myself racing timed laps of breast against someone swimming freestyle--the idea was that I would push myself to a better--maybe even a qualifying--time. But instead, I exhausted myself and passed out in the middle of the pool. For the only time in my life, I had to be "rescued." Literally, they used a hook.
I decided that I'd never be free of the butterfly, and I'd always be a second or third stringer, swimming relays and nothing else... so I quit. But now I look back and wonder if I had stuck it out, would I have made that breakthrough? Would I have gotten to swim breaststroke or backstroke or ANY stroke at the Jr. Olympics?
Oh well...some lessons you learn a bit too late to take optimum advantage of, huh?
Well, I guess I'll just have to be kinder in my assessment and treatment of the aging chassis now!
Except, they didn't have a pool. Or a gym. Or a weight room. Or a facility at all. They did have a swim team which, after I had worked my way through lessons from "Minnow" through "Fish" through "Flying Fish" and, finally, through "Shark," I joined.
How, you may well ask, did they give year-round swimming lessons and field a swim team without a pool? Well, mostly they used the pool at the local girls' boarding school, Fairfax Hall. And sometimes they used the pool at the local boys' military academy, Fishburne. (I think that school was named for the same family who owned the famous local pharmacy.) In 1967, the final year I swam on the team (at the ripe old age of 12), the Y moved into a brand spanking new facility, thanks to donations from my dad and others who felt the town needed such a place.
In honor of those who donated a certain amount or more, the Y put up a wall of tiles with donors' signatures on them, but apparently, over years of renovations, expansions, etc., the wall of donors was removed. Someone had the forethought to save the tiles, though, and, as the facility prepares for yet another expansion and renovation (dag! it is now 40 years old!!), the tiles were discovered. The management of the Y called the families of as many donors as they could track down to invite them to the reception and thank them personally. My mom got the call (my dad passed away nearly 10 years ago), and she wanted to go--mainly, I think, to see the tiles that were going to be on display.
That's my dad's distinctive signature, all right! It made me happy to see it, but wistful as well. I sure do miss him, and will to the day I shuffle off this mortal coil.
There were other items on display as well. Here is the one that caught my eye:
That is the YMCA swim team--the first team to practice in the brand new YMCA pool. And there I am! Can you pick me out? Let's pull in a bit closer...
NOW can you see me?
Here, I'll make it really easy.
I'm the one in the middle of this picture, the gal with the lovely headband.
And here's the thing: I thought I was fat. In fact, the surety that I was fat drove me to start yo-yo dieting from the time I was probably seven or eight years old, which has, in turn, led to a lifetime of weight issues (a situation I'm trying to turn around now, in middle age, for good).
But DAMN! I look at this picture and I see a kind of chubby face (the stupid headband really doesn't help, does it?) that hasn't yet lost its baby fat, and a fairly fit young woman's body. My big issue has always been my belly (although it took me many years to realize that, whether fat or thin, I can guarantee that my legs will remain shapely), but I'm hard pressed to find a gut on the little girl/young woman in that picture.
One thing I kind of regret (kind of) is that I did quit the team after this year. There were several reasons. I was a strong swimmer but not a fast swimmer. I could swim for hours, literally, but I wasn't going to break any speed records. As with running now, I had great form (still do, when I get a chance to swim), even on the butterfly--a stroke I hated. HATED! But, because I could do it properly (and so many of the kids on the team couldn't), I was stuck swimming the butterfly leg on a lot of mixed medley relays. When we got into the new pool, I was determined to work on my times for breast and backstroke so that they would stop making me swim butterfly. It never occurred to me that I could refuse to swim it... but then, that would have pegged me as less than a team player, huh?
The thing was, junior high was harder than elementary school, and, what with the new pool and all, our team practices were four or five nights a week instead of one. I was having a hard time juggling team practice and homework and that all-important TV-viewing time. Then I came down with the flu. When I returned to practice, we were getting ready for the regional Jr. Olympics swim meet, and I really wanted to qualify for breaststroke. So... my first day back, I found myself racing timed laps of breast against someone swimming freestyle--the idea was that I would push myself to a better--maybe even a qualifying--time. But instead, I exhausted myself and passed out in the middle of the pool. For the only time in my life, I had to be "rescued." Literally, they used a hook.
I decided that I'd never be free of the butterfly, and I'd always be a second or third stringer, swimming relays and nothing else... so I quit. But now I look back and wonder if I had stuck it out, would I have made that breakthrough? Would I have gotten to swim breaststroke or backstroke or ANY stroke at the Jr. Olympics?
Oh well...some lessons you learn a bit too late to take optimum advantage of, huh?
Well, I guess I'll just have to be kinder in my assessment and treatment of the aging chassis now!
Labels: dad, mom, skewed body image, swim team, waynesboro, YMCA
posted by Cathy VanPatten at 9:02 PM
2 Comments:
Awwwwww...look how cute!
One of the few good things about being my age is, for better or worse, I'm not particularly concerned about how I look and, for the most part, neither is anyone else important to me. On the other hand, I deal with a LOT of women on a daily basis who have HORRIBLE body image problems. Remember Cara? The woman who came with me to our 33rd reunion for no other reason than to get out of Richmond for a couple of days? She thinks she's fat. She has no ass but thinks she's fat. She looks in a mirror and sees...fat. No one can tell her otherwise and she's merely the tip of the iceberg.
I am SO sorry people had/have these problems. Adolescent, even adult, self-esteem is difficult enough even without body image issues added to the mix.
And you've ALWAYS had great legs!
Aw, shucks! Thanks!
The body image thing is brutal, though. I think very few American females escape girlhood with a good, solid, realistic body image. Ah well! I guess there are worse blows to the psyche, huh?
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