A Land of Swimmers

Close by my apartment is a huge, beautiful, Olympic-grade indoor swimming pool. When not displaced by Eger's water polo team -- nationally ranked and perhaps the source of Eger pride -- the pool's many lanes churn with swimmers of all ages, from babies barely buoyant to those for whom quite naturally each swim may be enjoyed as their last. It is not uncommon to see half a dozen or more people in a single lane, lapping up and down, up and down, following the understood rules for passing, yielding, etc. Some use devices -- hand paddles for pulling with their arms, only; kick-boards, for working their legs only. And some, swim just for recreation and/or fitness.


A few days ago I stood at the bright stainless steel railing on the second tier balcony overlooking the pool, a great to-ing and fro-ing, a contrast in styles, speed, and purpose. Along the lane nearest me, almost right below me, a middle-aged woman, clearly a coach, walked along the poolside tiles shouting words of encouragement to her young students. I can't say their ages exactly, but they were in the early years of elementary school, and from where I stood they looked no bigger than my thumb. One little guy in yellow swimtrunks worked furiously against the resistance of the kickboard he held in front, his little legs thrashing the water with fierce energy. Unfortunately, all that energy did not convert to motion, or at least forward motion, as, despite his determined effort, he only inched forward. Yet, he persevered.


A young woman, knitting needles and yarn still in hand, appeared alongside me and began shouting something to the struggling tadpole. I didn't understand her, obviously, though I suspected she was channeling the former U.S. Olympic gymnastic coach and Hungarian native, Béla Károlyi, who in the 1996 Olympics fortified Kerri Strug's resolve for one final vault, despite her broken foot. "You can do it, Kerri!" was heard round the globe. And she did do it.


The little guy's mother was no less sure that he could do it, and she spurred him on. A mother's love: I am always warmed by it. So I took a chance. 


"Beszélek Angol?"


She turned, surprised. "Yes, I speak English."


"That is your son down there?"


"Yes."


"What was it that you were shouting to him?"


"I told him not to give up. To keep going." She looked back at him, kicking away, going nowhere. She shook her head a little. "He tries so hard." She shouted something else to her son, and then watched him.


"He'll make it. He's got grit."


She turned to me. "Grit? What's this grit?"


"Grit. Determination."


"Ah. Determination. Yes. Well he does have that."


I moved toward generalities. "Swimming is quite popular in Hungary, isn't it?"


"Yes, it is," she said, her eyes back on her boy. "We love our swimming. And our water polo."  

"Do you hope that he'll one day play water polo?"


She swung to me and laughed. "István?! No! I'll be happy if he just learns to swim for survival."


"Survival? I don't understand."


She looked at me with incredulity. "Surely you've heard of global warming. You, an American, especially."


"Well of course," I said, blushing a bit with national guilt.


"And so you've heard then of the melting ice caps, and the rising waters."


"Yes," I said, more as a question than as an affirmation.


"Well, we in Hungary, and especially here in Eger, we are going to be prepared. When the tide rises, we will be ready." 


I pictured the map of Europe in my mind. In it, Hungary is completely landlocked. "But you are not near any water."


"Really? And what about our stream?"


"What about it?", I said sheepishly, not getting the connection that for her was so apparent. 


"When the stream rises and floods Eger and the town is underwater, what then?"


"Do you really believe that's going to happen?"


"Believe? No. I know it. We all know it. Our government has urged us to get ready, to prepare. That is why we swim. That is why István swims. So that when the time comes we will be able to survive, like ... like ... what do you call frogs?"


"Frogs?"


"No. Another word. Broader than frogs."


"Amphibians?"


"Yes! Like amphibians! We'll swim to work. Swim to school. Swim to the store. We will swim! The water will not stop us. We will be ready!"


I thought about what she said, thought about whether she was crazy. Then I leaned over the railing and shouted, "Go, Istvan! Go!"