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YOU SWIM LIKE A WOUNDED DUCK- MY FIRST FITNESS CLUB
EXPERIENCE

The fitness club craze that has swept virtually every major city in America and many smaller venues has very humble beginnings.

Most people have heard of Turners Gyms not realizing that they were not started by some physical fitness enthusiast named Turner, but in Germany in the early nineteenth century. The German gymnastic movement was started by Friedrich Ludwig Jahn when Germany was occupied by Napoleon. The Turnvereine ("gymnastic unions") were not only athletic, but also political, reflecting their origin in similar "nationalistic gymnastic" organizations in Europe. The Turner movement in Germany was generally liberal in nature, and many Turners took part in the Revolution of 1848. After its defeat, the movement was suppressed and many Turners left Germany, some emmigrating to the United States.

The Turner Gyms still exist with over 13 districts scattered across the USA with gyms in over 54 cities. The Turners (literally to turn as in gymnastics) have a website at http://www.americanturners.com

Today there are countless gyms now called fitness centers in America, many franchised under names such as 24 Hour Fitness, Bailey Total Fitness, LA Fitness just to name a few. The industry reported in 2007 over 6,000 individual clubs and over 35 million participants. Since then the number of new fitness centers has continued to balloon. Until recently I have never stepped foot in one of them.

After our annual trip back to the Midwest from Southern California, my daughter Amy presented me with a belated Father’s Day present of a two month membership at the premier fitness club in Madison, WI.

As I approached the front door of the glass and aluminum façade of this massive mega complex, there was little comfort in knowing that my daughter’s impulse to buy this membership for me was made BEFORE she had a chance to see my 67 year old body. Oh I needed work all right. My belt was on its last notch, one that I had fashioned with an ice pick; several pairs of pants hung in my closet unused in quiet testimony to my belly size, and I was panting from my walk from the parking lot to the front door.

I was assigned a membership consultant to record my general information and take my picture for my membership pass which was my key to future visits. He was young, fit, had a belt size I had not seen in 40 years, wearing a skin tight golf shirt with indistinguishable tattoos on both biceps that ended under his sleeves and changed shape every time he moved his arms.

It soon became apparent that another assigned responsibility of my membership consultant was to sell me every possible “add on” he could. There was an add-on towel service. What no towel? I was offered a personal trainer who would assess my general state of fitness and supervise my individual training program. I tried to pant as quietly as possible as I slowly recovered from my walk from the parking lot. I could get massages from a certified masseuse at $80 a rub, a tan, a manicure or a waxing at the spa and free childcare. I had to wonder how many 67 year old men needed childcare.

My introduction ended with a tour of the facility. We first tested my newly printed membership pass, a small plastic card that had to be slid through a reader to record each visit. The card caused my newly taken picture to appear on a monitor behind the counter. Had they included my protruding abdomen in the shot so as to evaluate my progress or lack of it, or was it really to prevent others from using my card? Either way, boy, did I look fat. The perky little blond attendant behind the counter who looked like she had the total body fat of a grape, peeked at my image and then looked at me with a sympathic expression that shouted “My God, we wouldn’t have any trouble recognizing that body.”

First we went to the general exercise floor which was massive. The stretching mats were just off the main floor and my guide advised me in very “fatherly” tones that I should never enter the main room without warming up and stretching first. I looked to see about ten people. Some were standing on their heads with their legs crossed at the ankles on the floor looking like a hairpin. Others were rolling on rubber balls reminiscent of my mother kneading bread dough with a rolling pin. There were people exposing some of the most intimate parts of their bodies up front and in your face, always covered by skin tight spandex, latex or some shiny rubber-like material which distorts the general landscape just enough, I think, to soften the image and the imagination.
Then it was on to the main floor which contained what appeared to be long rows of torture devices. My guide explained that each machine is designed to work on a given muscle group, and not to be intimidated because my personal trainer, whom I hadn’t sprung for yet. would help me navigate my way through the jumble of beams, cables, weights, and pedals to a perfect body. Yeah right!!!! I was still trying to count up all my muscles, divide into groups and see how close it would be to the number of machines. I couldn’t have that many muscles. It was explained that it was standard protocol to spray and wipe down the machine parts with a towel before moving to the next machine. I strained to find someone who that was doing that and could not find a single spray bottle or towel in use.

There were some machines that moved by themselves like the famous conveyor belt scene in the “I LOVE LUCY” episode. Only here the people were on the belt instead of the chocolates. Some were crawling up moving stairs, walking, trotting, jogging or running over and over again, skiing on a contraption that moved both arms and legs or rowing on a waterless lake.

Most exercisers were either listening to music on ear phones, watching TV on giant overhead screens or smaller screens on the front of the machine. One person was reading an unfolded book in one hand while hanging on to the machine with the other. How did he turn a page?
As we walked around the exercise floor, joggers would whiz by on an indoor track that encircled the entire scene.

The overwhelming expression on most sweating faces was one of indifference or pain. No one was smiling or communicating with the outside world. Just that stoic; “This is good for me………..This is good for me………..This is good for me,” expression. If one of them should suddenly collapse over their chosen device of torture and die as the machine shot their remains out the back like a bean bag on a coal shoot, I am convinced that the autopsy would show that the poor soul died of a massive, catastrophic climax of sheer boredom.

I was beginning to wonder if a fitness club was for me. That thought seemed to further coalesce when we arrived at the weight training section of the exercise floor. Here men and women with muscles that I never knew existed, arteries weaving their way over their surfaces like little wiggling worms of strength, long, tiny balloons appearing to be about ready to burst in a shower of red, grunted under weights in a myriad of directions. Some would start to shake as they neared the end of a lift, teeth gritted together and really dreadful sounds piercing through pursed lips.
My guide suggested I might want to wait a bit before getting involved in this sort of training. Really!!!!!!!!! He also cautioned that it is best to have a spotter in case one were to accidently drop a bar loaded with weights over your throat, pinning you to the bench. I would seek out two spotters, one on each end of the bar to help me get it up and down in the event that I was foolish enough to consider weight training.

The tour then moved to the basketball courts. Absolutely no interest. Then the Zumba room, a possibility; and finally the lap pool, the water walking pool, steam room and sauna. The last four venues were my only hope.

The water areas were only accessible through the locker room, Men’s for me and on the ground floor. A large sign stated that the use of camera, I phones and any other image recording device in the locker room is STRICTLY forbidden for the privacy of our members. The thought of possibly recording any images in the locker room for closer examination later dissipated as I rounded the corner. There was a cornucopia of bodies in various states of undress. Big bodies, small bodies, smooth bodies, wrinkled bodies, white bodies, tan bodies, even a few tan all over bodies, hairy bodies, smooth bodies and I mean smooth ALL over. And the tattoos, My Gosh, some bodies looked more like a paint canvas than skin. Almost every inch was covered, so dense, that trying to ascertain the meaning of a few inches of images would without a doubt violate every possible protocol of purveying in a locker room.

We walked past the lockers, past the damn electron scale that is accurate to .00001 lb (it can measure sweat drops as they fall), the bathrooms and shower room and a neat device that spins all the water out of your Speedo. Then there was a pool, eight lanes, the whirlpool that was very warm and full of jets, the steam room with a lovely scent and the dry sauna. Now we are talking fun.

The final area was a large water walk with an island in the middle. The idea was to walk either with or against a strong current that coursed round and round the island. I assumed against the current was probably more helpful to get in shape, but with the current looked like more fun. My tour abruptly ended with the words, “The rest is up to you.” And I supposed my check book too, if I wanted all the extras.

The next morning with my heart saying, “The place has nothing to offer you,” and my head saying, “Are going to waste all the money your daughter spent on you for a Father’s Day gift by not using this fitness club membership?” My ever present German frugality finally prevailed and I returned.

I first ruled out the treadmills, Nautilus machines, weight lifting, the bicycles that do not move and the Stairmasters that climb to absolutely nowhere.

As I walked through the fitness center, I found myself putting most members into one of four groups that often broke along age lines. The first were the 18-30 year olds who had fantastic bodies clothed in the latest fitness fashions, all color coordinated that shouted, “Look at me; Look at me.” It was as though they had an apartment within the fitness complex or arrived via a secret tunnel from the surrounding housing complexes, as they always seem to be there no matter what time you arrived.

The second group was the “young executives” in the 30 to 50 age group. They are the most intense. They are constantly looking at their I phone and have a teeth gritting expression on their faces like they just lost their biggest client or annihilated their competition at the office.

The third group is the 60 year old and up crowd. These folks include the old, older and oldest of which I am one, in the front end of the line, I think. This group holds the greatest variety from wrinkled to very wrinkled to prune like. Some have body shapes that look like huge boats and some like upside down lollipops with legs. A few actual appear to be in some sort of shape and there are women that are somewhat graceful looking, but not many. They talk a lot about who just died recently, who had another heart attack or their latest cholesterol counts.

The final group, while the smallest group, is probably the most obvious due to their lack of any discernible movement. These are the people who are at the fitness center due to doctor’s orders. Their bodies are often covered with long scars shaped like zippers or knife slashes across knees, chests, backs and abdomens. They often are sitting in chairs reading the newspaper, sitting on the sides of the whirlpool or emerging from the steam room or sauna with an expression of “Just ask me about my medical history and find a chair, because you aren’t going to believe what they did to me.” All the members of this group are clock watchers.

As I continued to explore the fitness center I discovered that the Zumba classes were almost all women and frankly looked like too much work. That left the aquatic area, lap pool, walking current pool and whirlpool. I bought a lock for my locker, a cheap gym bag, a pair of goggles and a nose clip at the fitness store. Oh, and a Speedo, black, size 40, the absolutely largest waist size on the rack. I will be lap swimmer.

I went back into the locker room, changed into my suit, and preceded to an empty lane at the pool. Lowering myself into the water by a rather awkward contortion of arthritic knees and carefully placed knuckles, I could not help but notice the two swimmers in the adjacent lanes gliding through the water like diving dolphins, gleefully chasing some imaginary sailboat. Undeterred, I adjusted my goggles, pressed on my nose clip and I was off. I started with the ever dependable dog paddle for a few yards, then switched to the side stroke for a few more, and finished with swimming on my back for a while. I was better than half way down the 25 yard pool length. Not bad if you don’t compare my progress to the two on either side of me. I had decided that I would not concentrate on speed but rather time in the water, and I had only 52 minutes left of my self-imposed workout of one hour. The hands on the clock in the pool room slowed to an agonizing crawl as if some magic force was pulling them back against all logic. As I stood at the end of the lane, one of my fellow lap swimmers cruised in for a brief rest and goggle adjustment, almost having to put on some type of brake so as not to hit the wall.

I leaned over and asked, “How do you swim so fast and effortlessly?” He laughed and explained that he had noticed I was “sort of” struggling. ”You swim like a wounded duck.” Then he said, “Have you ever heard of TI swimming?” He added as he put his goggles back in swim position, “Total Immersion. It really worked for me. Get the book first.”

I paddled around for a while, sat in the whirlpool, then the steam room and then the sauna and my first hour at the fitness center was over.

I had not planned to add whirlpool, steam room and sauna time to my workout time, but for today it would have to do. The words “Total Immersion swimming; it really worked for me. Get the book first,” kept repeating themselves as I left the center and struggled out into the parking lot. Boy was I tired. On the way home I stopped at a local bookstore and there it was, TOTAL IMMERSION: The Revolutionary Way To Swim Better, Faster and Easier by Terry Laughlin.

TI is one of those books that just seemed to be there at the right place and at the right time Easy to read, to the point, and filled with practical information by someone who should know, Terry Laughlin, a college swim coach for most of his life.

Terry explains that most lap swimmers who swim the crawl or freestyle are “thrashers”. Their style is based on the long held belief that the harder and faster one moves their arms and legs, the faster they will move through the water. But according to Laughlin, with the advent of sophisticated computer based measurement devices, sport scientists have determined that less than 10 percent of the thrust used to overcome water resistance (which is a 1000 times greater than air) is produced by what you do in moving your arms and legs. The other 90 percent of overcoming water resistance is the SHAPE of the BODY of the swimmer. That means that even the best swimmers in the world swim at about 10 percent efficiency. Even animals like dolphins swim at only about 80 percent. Therefore, if a swimmer can change their body shape and presentation to the water, they can swim better, faster and easier by reducing that 90 percent “drag factor” which is far more effective than moving you’re their arms and legs harder and harder. In a few words, “you have to swim more fish-like”. I was willing to give it a try.

The book explains that success is extremely dependent on learning correct body position. Most of us swim on our belly like we were taught. We are like a barge in the water and we have to be like a sailboat. We have to swim on your sides. We have to slice through the water, not push it aside. Our body has to be long, and in balance with both arms in front of our lungs for most of stroke to keep the legs close to the surface. We learn that our kick is used to keep legs near the surface so that we don’t plow through the water but glide over it. Legs are not the main source of power for propulsion.

The crawl or freestyle is broken into about 16 steps or skills that we have to master one at a time. We should avoid trying to progress to full swimming before you are ready. Until we are comfortable with each step, the whole (stroke) must be put off until the parts (individual head, arm, hand, and leg positions) are first mastered. Avoid “jumping” ahead. Be patient!

Mastering TI swimming is patterned after the mastery of many martial arts like Kung Fu. The whole is gained by slowly learning each part, as close to perfection as possible. Perfection is never reached but only strived for. In the Zen Buddhist story the elderly, blind Master Po is asked by young boy Kwi Chang Caine, “Old man, how do you hear such things?” The old man responds, “Grasshopper, how do you not hear them?”

My first time back in the pool and I was hooked.” I was not swimming but I was learning to “be fish like”. After three weeks in the pool almost every day, I have progressed up the sixteen steps to the point where I can swim a 25 yard lap in the pool on TWO BREATHS and using ONLY MY LEGS with a slow, gentle kick that I feel like I could keep up forever. I am on about step six or seven and will soon start using my arms for the first time.

I can stay in the pool for one hour each practice session and don’t count any of my whirlpool, steam room or sauna time as part of the work out. I have lost over 5 lbs. since I started TI swimming and no longer have to catch my breath every time I walk up a set of stairs. My flexibility in my arms and legs has increased to the point where I can touch areas of my body that I had long assumed were “out of reach”.

I have a long way to go to get to the point where I will be able to glide across the water like those lap swimmers I first saw at the fitness center. But I am committed. I have on several occasions during my one hour sessions at the fitness center pool experienced what some Total Immersion swimmers describe as a Zen State of Swimming. It is a state of peace with the water where I glide almost effortlessly, where my breath comes with ease and you feel like I am flying. It is wonderful.

I happened to end up next to the same guy that weeks earlier described my swimming as that “of a wounded duck”. He stopped as I came to end of lane, pulled up his goggles and whispered, “Hey, not bad for a beginner!” If he had only added the word, “Grasshopper” it would have been perfect.

Oh, well, I have the rest of my life to get to perfection. Until then, I will just enjoy almost effortless swimming.

Update

The TOTAL IMMERSION method of swimming is not without controversy. Although still growing in popularity across the USA and abroad, many swimming coaches argue that TI swimming is fine for recreational swimmers but to reach competitive times and win races one must rely more traditional methods of training.

Resources:

VIEDO CLIP OF AS NEAR PERFECT TOTAL IMMERSION SWIMMING AS YOU WILL SEE http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rJpFVvho0o4
BOOK-
http://www.amazon.com/Total-Immersion-Revolutionary-Better-Faster/dp/0743253434
DVD-
http://www.amazon.com/Easy-Freestyle-Swimming-Terry-Laughlin/dp/B001GBIOTG/ref=sr_1_cc_2?s=aps&ie=UTF8&qid=1341438715&sr=1-2-catcorr&keywords=TOTAL+IMMERSION+DVD

Total Immersion- Website
http://www.totalimmersion.net/