This weekend, one of my multitudinous cousins was in town.
Technically, he’s my dad’s cousin but in my family we tend not to discern between 1st, 2nd or 3rd, 
once or twice removed.
There are too many of us and we all like each other too much for it to matter. 

He was here for a big Masters swimming event at UT, and we went to cheer him on.
Our daughters came armed with handmade signs and lots of spirit.
Tall one took one whiff of the air and uttered in ecstasy, “I love the smell of pool…”

One of the events Dan was swimming was a 500 meter freestyle. 
That’s 20 lengths, folks. At race pace. It makes you gasp for air just thinking about it.
So, needless to say, a guy’s got enough to do just pulling himself down the pool and back again without drowning.
Keeping track of mileage is too much to ask.

Which is where I came in. 
I got to be his official ‘lap counter’.
Standing at one end of the pool, I was given a long paddle with numbers at the bottom. I dipped it in each time he came my way so that he’d know how far he’d come and how much further he’d have to go. In between, he’d pound two more lengths at mock speed while I scurried to change the numbers on the paddle. I may not be going to Beijing this summer, but I got my own little smell of victory right then, I assure you.

But here’s the thing that really got to me.
Even more than my own moment in the sun, or Dan’s goal-shattering swim.
All these zillions of ordinary folks, swimming their hearts out, for fun.
For fun. 

I mean, nobody requires that they take their vacation days in Texas at a swim meet or that they let their hair turn slightly green in the chlorine or that they wake up everyday at 5am to swim laps. They do it on their own, for health and sanity and competition and comraderie and passion and, well, for fun. 

Some hold world records, others are cancer survivors. 
Some are fast, others are slow. 
Some are 26, others are 86. Seriously. 
And there they all are, in their Speedos and goggles, with their Gatorade and Gu, stickin’ to it and having fun.

I cannot be in the presence of that sort of people — whether they’re swimming or singing or writing or campaigning or dancing or teaching — without being brought to my knees. In admiration. And gratitude. For the entertainment and the inspiration. I may be a card-carrying sap, but I came home with a whole new oomph for the stuff that makes life better than good…

What’re you up to?