Many of you already know from past posts that swimming has been difficult since having an SCI. While it would be a lie to say that I've had no good swimming experiences over the last year, the truth is that most of them have turned me toward the idea that swimming is something I will no longer enjoy... which made me very sad. So, I came to the CanAms sincerely believing that I would be done, and to be honest, I was relieved at the thought. I have other interests (primarily music) that I am heavily involved in and thought I would find most of my emotional fulfillment through that aspect of life. I didn't feel like a "quitter" at the prospect of not swimming any longer, but thought that while life is already so hard for me all by itself, I should be careful to do things that edify my emotionally. Just recently I was the keynote speaker at a music festival, and was asked to spend some of my time on my journey with swimming after an SCI. I told the audience that no matter how long it took, I was going to keep trying to swim until it was something that I liked, that I wasn't going to give up. As I looked back (before the meet) I thought, "Carson, you idiot, you've made a promise you might not be able to keep!" I'm glad it all worked out differently than I had anticipated.
I took off to the airport on a Wednesday with my mom, who was my travel buddy, and prepared for our exciting adventure. We had a quick layover in O'Hare, Chicago that caught us off guard since our flight was delayed about 30 minutes. When we got off the plane they informed us that the shuttles were not wheelchair accessible, which meant that we were about to take a long jog around a HUGE airport, with the help of an escort. Fortunately for me, I got a nice push the whole way while I had a carry-on on my lap. My poor mother had to run the whole way with luggage, but we at least got a good laugh out of it after we barely made our flight... well, at least I got a good laugh. We refer to the experience as the "O'Hare hustle".
Anyway, we had no issues once aboard the Toronto-bound aircraft. We made it to Canada and through customs without any problems and made it to our hotel. We were happy to arrive at the right destination, all in one piece, and with my wheelchair still intact. We rented a car, and took off to the hotel, which was only a nice 7 minutes from the Toronto PanAm Sports Centre. We got into our room we positively crashed, I'm not sure we even had the chance to eat before going to bed. We were exhausted and my neck was destroyed. You know, even before I had a SCI, I never had enough leg room on the plane and my butt always went numb. Now that I can't shift around as easily, I'm paranoid that I'm getting a numb butt and that I'm going to develop a pressure sore (my worst fear, Google it and you'll find out why). I also don't have the core to support my already overused neck, so it's very painful after the flights. Anyway, I was happy to lay down.
The next day, Thursday, was the day to check in, register, attend a technical meeting for coaches and staff, and explore the amazing venue. Since I didn't have a coach that came with me, my mom and I both planned on attending the meeting and hoped we might gain some insight as to how we could successfully navigate an international swim meet. I think we were both a little bit apprehensive about what was to come the next few days, since neither of us had any experience with this kind of meet. We went to Subway for lunch and there met a few other swimmers and their coaches. We quickly became friends and I realized that I would be dealing with some very kind, helpful people. One coach in particular went out of his way to help me the rest of the time I spent in Toronto. He was truly a God-send and helped us to steer ourselves through this new Paralympic world.
Throughout that first day and the next, I slowly became acquainted with some incredible individuals who generously reached out to me. That next morning when I would swim the 50 m backstroke, I got the first full taste of the crowd I belonged to. No one fit a mold, and no one's disability seemed identical to another's. There were several in wheelchairs (for various reasons), many amputees, many who were born with their disability, and others were blind. As I sat in my tank-top and suit, perhaps for the first time, I wasn't concerned about my atrophied legs, or lack of abs. It was a good feeling. I got into the pool for warm-ups and prepared for prelims. But before I actually get into the how-I-did-swimming part, I have another confession to make. Because swimming has been so hard up until this point, I prepared very little for this meet. I swam only a handful of times before going and was riding off of old swimming abilities that existed before my SCI. So that being the case, I didn't have high expectations for getting faster times and such.
I swam relatively well in the prelims for what I usually swim, and went about a second faster. That evening I swam again in finals. I realized (with the help of a coach) that I lose much of my technique when I get into a race, and end up dying hard on the second half. I tried to maintain my stroke better in finals, and swam far more efficiently with more to give in the end, though I swam a second slower. It will take time for me to learn to pace myself better. I watched the other swimmers and felt awe at the incredible adaptability of human-beings, as well as admiration for the evident resilience these individuals demonstrated.
On Saturday, I didn't end up having a race, so my mom and I looked for some places to visit in Toronto. We found ourselves at Scarborough Bluffs for the afternoon. We drove down around some massive cliffs that stood on the edge of a beautiful, blue Lake Ontario. It was blustery, cold, and very muddy, but nevertheless very beautiful. Every so often, in small, serene moments like that one, I realize that what I am experiencing is a result of my SCI. This happened more than once in Toronto. It's a strange bitter-sweet feeling where I wonder what other positive opportunities I might be afforded thanks to a traumatic injury. Regardless of what lay in the future, I was happy to be there enjoying the clear blue skies with my mother.
The last day of the competition arrived and I prepared to swim the 50 m breaststroke. Breaststroke kind of scares me because in the past, I have struggled to make it to the other side of the pool. My wee little forearms start locking up, I lose my horizontal position in the water and I begin to go from swimming across the pool to bobbing up and down towards the wall. It kind of feels like a survival mechanism to keep myself from drowning. At one meet I was struck with fear when I realized I had half a pool to swim and thought, "What if I actually need to be rescued because I completely freeze up?" So, I was a little worried of locking up...
I'm happy to report that I did not bob too badly, and that I made it safely to the opposite end of the pool with a fastest time by a second. My breaststroke time is much slower than my backstroke time, relatively speaking, but I'm trying to see if I can get it up to something more reasonable than what it currently is (which is unacceptable). I sat around for a while while I waited for finals to begin and went over to the table where some of the US Paralympic coaches, staff, and team members were. I was introduced to some new friends and talked with the coach of the US Paralympic team. He was very personable and let me ask him my many, many questions. As I met more and more swimmers and coaches, the more I started becoming interested in being a part of this group, and a part of the US team.
Finals for breaststroke came and I went in to the warm-up pool. Someone had mentioned having a more efficient pull in breaststroke, so I thought that I would try to engage my lats and the whole scapular-protraction thing to see if I could get it better. It's probably not a wise thing to try something new in finals, but since I didn't feel like I knew what I was doing to begin with, I had nothing to lose. I could always go back to bobbing in a worst-case scenario. So, I tried it and while I still locked up and swam like a jellyfish, I did so five seconds faster. It was a great way to end the meet and I was actually pleased.
The meet came to a close and I started feeling a bit sad that it was time to say goodbye to so many fantastic people. To this point, I haven't written about how throughout this entire experience, I felt some subtle but significant changes within me. Since my injury, I have spent a lot of time and energy trying to convince myself that I am still whole and valuable as a man with a disability. But despite my best efforts to tell myself that I am not a compromised human, and despite all of the previous posts I have written about self-worth, I have seemed incapable of internalizing those feelings, still feeling broken to one degree or another. As time has moved forward since my injury, I've been concerned that I may never feel whole again, and wondered if I would ever cross that bridge into a place of inner peace.
As I sat on the pool deck and looked around at the other athletes, something happened within me. I saw humanity. I saw beauty. I don't know exactly when it occurred, but everything that I have been trying to tell myself about my own worth finally sank in. I felt the value of the individuals at this meet, and felt my own value not only as an athlete, but as a human being. I was amazed at certain moments at the courage and strength I saw in these swimmers. I thought that for many of us, we work through all sorts of other challenges that can seem overwhelming. For example, even working through social stigma alone can be exhausting. Yet, in the face of all other challenges many of these athletes face, they make it to the pool everyday to have a rigorous workout, and then travel internationally to race. I observed with deep respect what these people were accomplishing. I began to feel honored that I belonged to a group that exemplified such admirable characteristics. Characteristics that many work for a lifetime to acquire.
Previous to this event, I have been embarrassed that I belonged to a group of people with"disabilities" and have wanted to distance myself in an effort to feel normal or something. At this meet, I felt proud and am proud to be a part of a group that consistently demonstrates courage in the face of terrible odds, and consistently defies those odds in a literal way. These individuals seek to redefine the perspective that society has on the"disabled".
These positive feelings slowly dissolved the internal stigma that I'd developed within myself and replaced it with some love of self. I developed a different measuring stick for determining value than the one I used previously. I can't express my gratitude for that experience... it was truly a healing one. Our society values perfect beauty, talent, intellect, achievement, etc... but often neglects the value of the quality of the soul and character. Of the many lesson my spinal cord injury has taught me, learning that nothing is as valuable as the development of the heart has been among the most important.
So, I came away from that meet with a renewed perspective on myself and turned a corner that I've been longing to turn. I've been to the pool many times since this meet and I am no longer embarrassed, or as self-conscious. Before, I had a hard time going to the gym and letting everyone watch my obvious struggle as I fall over, drop weights, or constantly lean over to catch my blood pressure as I do a workout. I have a greater vision now, and more meaningful goals help me maintain a healthy perspective, despite all the stares and comments (though usually well-intentioned). As I go about working toward my goals, I now have a greater context within which I can find support and commonality.
On that last night after I had left the pool, I went out into the freezing cold and found it had began to snow. As I approached my car, I heard someone call my name and turned around to see who it was. I could see two cute girls I had met at the meet (both have competed in past Paralympic games) coming toward me through the snow and wind. With smiles on their faces, one of the girls pulled out her gold CanAm medal she had won at the meet and said, "I want you to have this!". Laughing and a bit confused, I refused, telling her that I wasn't about to go home with her medal. She continued to explain that this was a tradition for her, that when she found someone that she believed needed to keep swimming and had something to give, she would give that swimmer her medal to say, "Keep swimming!". I didn't know what to say... I thanked her as genuinely as I could, and put the medal around me neck, grinning. There could have been no ending more touching than that to end an already marvelous weekend.
My fire has been relit and I'm moving forward to keep getting faster and stronger in the pool. I'm still not sure what to expect for future meets, but I'm going to go for it. If nothing else I look forward to continued contact with such wonderful people. The next meet I hope to get to is coming up in June, and I've got to really whip myself into shape! Had you told me one month ago that this is how I would feel about swimming and myself today, I wouldn't have believed you. It all seems a bit miraculous to me.
The next day, Thursday, was the day to check in, register, attend a technical meeting for coaches and staff, and explore the amazing venue. Since I didn't have a coach that came with me, my mom and I both planned on attending the meeting and hoped we might gain some insight as to how we could successfully navigate an international swim meet. I think we were both a little bit apprehensive about what was to come the next few days, since neither of us had any experience with this kind of meet. We went to Subway for lunch and there met a few other swimmers and their coaches. We quickly became friends and I realized that I would be dealing with some very kind, helpful people. One coach in particular went out of his way to help me the rest of the time I spent in Toronto. He was truly a God-send and helped us to steer ourselves through this new Paralympic world.
 |
| Toronto PanAm Sports Centre |
 |
| Day one at the pool |
On Saturday, I didn't end up having a race, so my mom and I looked for some places to visit in Toronto. We found ourselves at Scarborough Bluffs for the afternoon. We drove down around some massive cliffs that stood on the edge of a beautiful, blue Lake Ontario. It was blustery, cold, and very muddy, but nevertheless very beautiful. Every so often, in small, serene moments like that one, I realize that what I am experiencing is a result of my SCI. This happened more than once in Toronto. It's a strange bitter-sweet feeling where I wonder what other positive opportunities I might be afforded thanks to a traumatic injury. Regardless of what lay in the future, I was happy to be there enjoying the clear blue skies with my mother.
 |
| While we definitely took more flattering pictures than this one, this on is my favorite. It was windy. |
I'm happy to report that I did not bob too badly, and that I made it safely to the opposite end of the pool with a fastest time by a second. My breaststroke time is much slower than my backstroke time, relatively speaking, but I'm trying to see if I can get it up to something more reasonable than what it currently is (which is unacceptable). I sat around for a while while I waited for finals to begin and went over to the table where some of the US Paralympic coaches, staff, and team members were. I was introduced to some new friends and talked with the coach of the US Paralympic team. He was very personable and let me ask him my many, many questions. As I met more and more swimmers and coaches, the more I started becoming interested in being a part of this group, and a part of the US team.
 |
| Conversations with USA Paralympic team coach |
 |
| The PanAm mascot and myself |
As I sat on the pool deck and looked around at the other athletes, something happened within me. I saw humanity. I saw beauty. I don't know exactly when it occurred, but everything that I have been trying to tell myself about my own worth finally sank in. I felt the value of the individuals at this meet, and felt my own value not only as an athlete, but as a human being. I was amazed at certain moments at the courage and strength I saw in these swimmers. I thought that for many of us, we work through all sorts of other challenges that can seem overwhelming. For example, even working through social stigma alone can be exhausting. Yet, in the face of all other challenges many of these athletes face, they make it to the pool everyday to have a rigorous workout, and then travel internationally to race. I observed with deep respect what these people were accomplishing. I began to feel honored that I belonged to a group that exemplified such admirable characteristics. Characteristics that many work for a lifetime to acquire.
Previous to this event, I have been embarrassed that I belonged to a group of people with"disabilities" and have wanted to distance myself in an effort to feel normal or something. At this meet, I felt proud and am proud to be a part of a group that consistently demonstrates courage in the face of terrible odds, and consistently defies those odds in a literal way. These individuals seek to redefine the perspective that society has on the"disabled".
These positive feelings slowly dissolved the internal stigma that I'd developed within myself and replaced it with some love of self. I developed a different measuring stick for determining value than the one I used previously. I can't express my gratitude for that experience... it was truly a healing one. Our society values perfect beauty, talent, intellect, achievement, etc... but often neglects the value of the quality of the soul and character. Of the many lesson my spinal cord injury has taught me, learning that nothing is as valuable as the development of the heart has been among the most important.
So, I came away from that meet with a renewed perspective on myself and turned a corner that I've been longing to turn. I've been to the pool many times since this meet and I am no longer embarrassed, or as self-conscious. Before, I had a hard time going to the gym and letting everyone watch my obvious struggle as I fall over, drop weights, or constantly lean over to catch my blood pressure as I do a workout. I have a greater vision now, and more meaningful goals help me maintain a healthy perspective, despite all the stares and comments (though usually well-intentioned). As I go about working toward my goals, I now have a greater context within which I can find support and commonality.
On that last night after I had left the pool, I went out into the freezing cold and found it had began to snow. As I approached my car, I heard someone call my name and turned around to see who it was. I could see two cute girls I had met at the meet (both have competed in past Paralympic games) coming toward me through the snow and wind. With smiles on their faces, one of the girls pulled out her gold CanAm medal she had won at the meet and said, "I want you to have this!". Laughing and a bit confused, I refused, telling her that I wasn't about to go home with her medal. She continued to explain that this was a tradition for her, that when she found someone that she believed needed to keep swimming and had something to give, she would give that swimmer her medal to say, "Keep swimming!". I didn't know what to say... I thanked her as genuinely as I could, and put the medal around me neck, grinning. There could have been no ending more touching than that to end an already marvelous weekend.
 |
| (If you look closely, you can see the medal around my neck) |
