My careful and under control personality doesn’t do fly by the seat of my pants very well. Though I like to write that way, in life, not having a plan makes me uncomfortable. This week I met the ultimate just-winging-it kid.
I’m standing between starting blocks at the swimming pool as a stroke/turn judge for a swim competition. A young man, decked in a speedo, taps me on the shoulder. I’m in the middle of judging a race so I only slightly turn toward him to let him know I’m listening.
“What’s the stroke order for this race?”
I stood there blinking. “Well…it’s the IM.” Nobody had every asked me what they needed to swim right before a race before. The race finished and I turned to him and listed the order slowly. “Butterfly, back, breast, free.”
“Oh, yeah. Thanks.” The whistle from the referee had called the next race. He hopped up on the block next to me and bent down for his start. In a matter of seconds, he was flinging himself off the block and into the water.
I honestly didn’t think it would end well for him, but he did just fine. I saw no infractions on his part to disqualify him, and his time wasn’t too shabby, ta boot. But man was I stressed out the whole time watching him, and he wasn’t even from my high school.