Mickey Hadick

My efforts with Total Immersion swimming are slowly paying off. The number of strokes it takes to go 50 yards is down by half, and I can actually feel the thrust, with little effort, when I get the mechanics correctly. People are still a little curious why I'm doing this now, at my age, and how it is I never learned to swim properly before if I had the interest. So a little background.

The Jungle That Is Our Youth

There were a few boys my age that were physical specimens starting in sixth grade. Their testosterone came early, or there was something in the water on their street, that gave them manly features while I still sported a pudgy belly and a double-chin. I ate a lot, and a lot of ice cream to boot, so I understood why I was the way I was. But two boys in particular, Terry B. and Danny V., had muscle definition and a chiseled physique. They were ripped. And it wasn't just being skinny, but there was muscle development.

One day in sixth grade, there was rain and so our recess was held downstairs, in the basement, and it was a crowded, raucous affair. At some point, Terry B. got a hold of an empty masking tape roll (i.e., just the cardboard ring) and slid that up his arm until it was snug on his bicep. He then flexed his muscle until that cardboard ring tore open. I was astounded. To this day I'm astounded.

Swimming with Sharks

The city pool was in the park directly behind our house, less than two hundred paces from our fence. We heard the shouts and screams of kids splashing in the water every day in summer. My mother was nervous about us venturing there, but we did go, and without ever taking a lesson, I could navigate the water fairly well. I stayed in the shallow end, but I could swim underwater, and was very comfortable, and splashed and played with the roughest of them.

There was a boy a year older than me, Jeff W., who had the same chiseled physique as the two my own age. He was something of a prick, and had a reputation for being tough, and so I generally avoided him. I was there, in the shallow end, with him one day in summer.

I was swimming under water, and apparently kicked him as I passed. When I came up for air, he jammed my head back under, and I took in a great gulp of water into my lungs. I still recall the feeling of panic vividly, and how I gripped at the edge desperately as I coughed it out.

I coughed and coughed until I spit blood. He was a little concerned, but mostly about what might happen to him. The life guard had him sit out of the pool until after the next Adult Swim. I made my way back home, shaken and unnerved.

The Best Revenge is Living Well

I did not return to that pool for five years, until I had learned to swim with my head above water. I don't like any kind of horseplay in the water, and I panic quickly as I lose air, or if water goes up my nose or in my mouth. I'm kind of a wreck.

But I am now, finally, gaining a bit more ease in the water. Breathing is my biggest problem.

You'd think I could have overcome all of this earlier, and without so much internal drama, but that is a kind of metaphor for my entire life. I'm trying to be a late bloomer, before it's all too late.

Oh, and that Jeff W. guy? Well, if he tries to befriend me on Facebook, I'm going to ignore it. So there.

Labels: memoir, personal growth, story

I thought I'd seen everything in the shower at the YMCA. In fact, I thought I could handle most anything in a gang shower because I've seen the HBO prison series "Oz", and, more importantly, I survived the hazings in the gang shower on the hockey team when I made varsity as a freshman.

You see all manner of body types in the shower at the local YMCA. It is strange what time does to the human body, and stranger still how some older men believe alternately sitting in the sauna and then showering is a form of a workout. They parade back and forth in complete nudity, apparently having made peace with their body.

I believe I've mentioned in the past that some men like to blow their nose in the shower. That really grosses me out. I saw a man without a single hair follicle anywhere on his body (but he was incredibly fit). I've seen a few things that are inappropriate even for this blog. I thought I had seen it all.

Yesterday, a gentleman walked into the shower after a basketball game fully clothed. He was barefoot, but had all of his clothes on--sweatshirt, t-shirt, sweat pants, shorts over the sweat pants, jock strap, and a do-rag. He stood under the water for several minutes getting soaked to the skin, and then, finally, disrobed. I'm not sure how he managed his wet laundry, as I decided to leave.

Labels: story

The Polish of this world have made Galumpky almost synonymous with Cabbage Rolls, but I knew them as Kapusta, which is the Slovak word for the same thing. Of course the recipes might vary wildly. In my mother's Slovak World Congress cookbook, there were no less than six different recipes for cabbage rolls. The point is that wrapping meat in a sturdy, boiled leaf has broad appeal, and should not be claimed by any one ethnicity. No matter who made the cabbage roll, the gas you pass later on will smell just as bad as that produced by someone else's cabbage roll.

Possibly the greatest contribution ever made to the popularity of cabbage rolls was made by the Schmenge Brothers, the famous Leutonian Polka Band on SCTV. Stan and Yosh were both tireless and selfless in their gratitude for the cabbage rolls made by one of their loyal fans, and mentioned it in every episode. And the coffee.

On the other hand, cabbage rolls have never gone mainstream; if they had, you'd be able to get them at the county fair—deep fried and served on a stick—but cabbage rolls nevertheless.

Labels: story

I am in the process of learning to swim. I taught myself to swim when I was 14, and did a very poor job of it. In fact, because of an incident at the city pool, I have a very strong aversion to getting my face in the water, and that has hampered me forever.

I swim by keeping my head above water, like a dog or a horse. So it exhausts me to swim, and I don't do it very often. I heard about this new technique for learning (well, not brand new, but new to me) from Tim Ferriss. So A week ago I began.

I first read the book. But not one of those nice, new ones from their store, but an old copy from the library. It's well written, but I couldn't quite figure it out. I then bought one of the DVDs, and that is definitely the way to go. The DVD breaks it down even more simply, and I am able to mimic their behaviors.

I have one thing to add to the great canon of learning about Total Immersion swimming. I followed Tim's advice to buy serious goggles and trunks. I bought the knee length Speedos, and love the feel of them in the water. Much better than baggy trunks. The goggles kept fogging up until today, when I remembered a trick I used in my youth. I spit in the goggles and rubbed that into the inside lens. For whatever reason, it prevents the fog.

Labels: story

I never got around to telling this story about the cabbage rolls and my father's intestines. As I've said earlier, for family events, my mother would prepare cabbage rolls by the dozen. It was usually a major production for her, but she never asked for help. She prepared it all herself, creating dozens of them at a time.

Great big bowls of ground meat were mixed with rice and paprika. A large pot boiled heads of cabbage to loosen the leaves. And an over-sized roaster sat waiting to accept the cabbage rolls. She usually do all of this in our basement, where we had a second kitchen. She'd descend for an afternoon or evening, and not surface again until it was complete.

I don't recall the specific occasion, but my father felt ill late at night, after the event. The next day he checked himself into a hospital. Back in those days, if you got into the hospital, they kept you a while to run tests. Now you spend far more time waiting in the Emergency Room lobby than you do in a hospital bed (if you're lucky), but back then, they admitted you to run tests, and strictly enforced the visiting room hours.

He was in there a couple of days, having complained about chest pains. He was in his late forties, so the assumption was a heart attack, and that's what the tests were trying to determine. But test after test came back negative, and so they reviewed other factors. The truth finally came out that he had consumed an inordinate amount of cabbage rolls; the doctor immediately went with a diagnosis of indigestion. He probably prescribed an enema, but I don't know if it was ever administered.

I never really worked with my mother on those cabbage rolls, and I don't know if I have the recipe, so I'll be trying various combinations until I hit on something pleasing to my taste buds and my memory. I just hope I don't kill myself trying.

Labels: memoir, story

While driving to work the other morning, a car raced past me and tried to merge into my lane in front of me. The driver, a woman, made the mistake of signaling before merging, as if asking my permission. I said no, and would not slow down to invite her in.

There was no room for her to merge. There was just barely a car length space between my car and the car in front of me. Here is the weird part: if she had just done it, merged dangerously in front of me without signaling, without there being enough room, and without even giving me a thank-you wave, I would have been fine; I would not have ever mentioned it again, because people do dumb things in their cars and I watch out and drive accordingly.

But to ask to be allowed to do something stupid is unforgivable. I simply won't allow it. So I did not back off at all, and the driver declined to merge. She did, however, speed up and tried to merge three cars ahead; however, there was even less space there, and so, with here blinker still blinking, she braked and tried to merge again in front of me.

This time she started to merge, but I closed the gap and braced for a collision. She blinked, and veered back into her lane. She waited a few seconds, and merged behind me. It turns out she wanted to get on the other side of me altogether, and was able to do this. Once there, she accelerated hard to race past me on the other side and blew her horn at me as she did.

Well the same to you, lady.

Labels: story