Last weekend (Aug 28)  the NY Times published an essay titled Even Roger Federer Gets Old by Brian Phillips. It was beautifully written and highly entertaining. And it referenced one of my two all-time favorite pieces of sports writing, published exactly 10 years earlier “Roger Federer as Religious Experience,” by David Foster Wallace. (The other is the famous New Yorker article by John Updike on Ted Williams’s last game, Hub Fans Bid Kid Adieu.)

But I digress. These excerpts sum up the main points of “Even Roger Federer Gets Old.”

When we watch Federer in peak moments, Wallace says, we imagine what it would be like to experience a physical freedom unburdened by pain or weakness, and this in turn helps us cope with the troubling fact of our own mortal embodiment . . . How do you square the image of the transcendent, unchanging champion with the fact of a player who is growing old?

All athletes eventually age out of the games they excel in, because bodies, even supremely capable bodies, are imperfect and subject to time.

 

While I thoroughly enjoyed reading this essay–and recommend it to you–I thought it struck a more mournful tone than what I’d felt earlier in the month while watching the ‘transcendent champion’ Katie Ledecky (as well as Simone Manuel and Katinka Hosszu) in Olympic Swimming finals.

We all age. We all experience ‘mortal embodiment.’ At 65, I’ve had decades of experience adapting to declines in physical capacity. (I can even work up a bit of empathy for an athlete who–at only 35–is described as ‘growing old.’)
Indeed, in my mid-50s, I felt anything but old–as I enjoyed a few years of unexpectedly fast swims, eclipsing times I’d swum for over 10 years previously. I fancied that stretch of middle-aged ‘youthfulness’  might continue indefinitely. However, at 57, I was hit by an autoimmune syndrome, which aged me athletically to a degree I hadn’t imagined possible.
I learned to adapt to my new limits and, at age 60, found my way back to a performance level  which brought enormous satisfaction Though I was still far off the freestyle times I’d done at 55, I  felt they were the very best of which I was capable just then. I even managed to record a lifetime best in the 200 Fly that year, showing the benefit of having many events to swim.
The medical treatment I’m now receiving has taken away considerable stamina and strength. Even so–though nearly every race I’ve swum since beginning treatment has been a ‘lifetime slowest.’ I still consider several of these the best swims of my life.
Katie Ledecky as Religious Experience
Far from feeling wistful at the contrast with my current state, I absolutely thrill to watch strong, young athletes performing at their peak. There was a particular shot from the swimming events at the Olympics that brought me to a nearly-ecstatic state: On the final length of several of Ledecky’s races, the NBC cameras cut to a low, front-leading shot that displayed better than any other the extraordinary athleticism of the world’s most dominant swimmer.
I guested on a Slate podcast that week. The interviewer quoted someone as saying Ledecky swam like a man. I said I disagreed. Rather, I said, she swam like a fabulously athletic woman. As a career coach, I LOVE watching that. So, on one side is my capacity to be excited by watching great young athletes at their peak.
On the other, is the question of how–as a lifelong athlete myself–I deal with the frailty of my own flesh. Certainly, not everyone feels this way–but I have absolutely embraced the challenges of continuing to strive to be at my very best–even if that best is considerably diminished from ten years ago–or even last year.
Between normal aging, autoimmune, and now cancer, I’ve had ample opportunity to learn to compensate for loss of athleticism by raising my game–quite significantly–on the side of focus and a wide range of mental and psychological strengths.
In fact the most satisfying race of my life has come since my diagnosis with stage IV cancer. Though it was the slowest 1650-yard free I’d ever swum (albeit less than 30 seconds behind my time when I first swam the event at age 17) I maintained absolutely unwavering focus for 23m10s.
So I experience no conflict between celebrating and being uplifted by young athletes at the peak of their powers and my present physical capabilities. In fact, I believe that–mentally–I’m a match for any swimming gold medalist I saw in Rio. That’s a strength we build upon indefinitely.
[Note: If you are a devoted friend of TI and have M&A experience/expertise, we’d love to talk. Please message Terry at terryswim@gmail.com.]