Formal Occasion
Because it would be nice to have the vital information for everyone on MEMO's handy in one place, I googled for a free site that would collect it. It's only taken about three months, but I finally have the majority of people complying.
Who knew the first question ("name") would be such a stumper! Several people put their first names only, as though it were kindergarten again and I was asking them to label their cubby. And what's with people who don't use capital letters? Or people who ONLY use capital letters? My sense of organization is deeply troubled by that, and I've got to go in and fix these flaws.
Next up was the Emergency Contact, which also isn't as easy as it sounds. Because of the lack of imagination on the form-creator (me), it was left as an open question. SIXTEEN people put down the name of their BFF/next-of-kin/anyone they knew with a car and failed to leave me any way to contact said person, short of hollering their name as the ambulance is driving off. Two people just listed the phone number of that nameless person. So I'm rehearsing the call now: "Hi, this is Marcia Benjamin, X's swim coach. I need to talk to you about X." Caller: "I told you to take me off this damn call list!" Me: "But you're very important to X!" Caller: *click*
And then there was the list of medical problems. I got a list of winners which included "complete stud" and "lazy" as noteworthy comments. More detailed answers included "I hate swim meets" and "allergic to backstroke/any distance of breaststroke." Two people were either "hangry all the time," or "get hangry easily," so I'll try to google some hanger-management classes soon. Or just keep them away from others.
It isn't just in form-filling where people surprise me, counting in general seems to be tough. Masters are notoriously poor at remembering how many laps they swims. Four laps seems to be the threshold for going blank. We used to do a repeating set called "The 15-Minute Swim," which measured the yards you can complete in exactly 15 minutes. I stopped it because literally two-thirds of all the people couldn't remember which lap it was/had no idea whatsoever/came up with a different number from their lanemate ... who went the exact same distance. I used to give everyone a minute or two to figure out some answer to give me, and even then it didn't help.
And of course there's timeliness. Workout starts on the hour and finishes on the hour -- giving people an HOUR workout. The number of people who complete an hour workout in one hour are maybe three. All day! That's out of 75 people. There are people who arrive on time but immediately sit down, exhausted by the prospect of exercise. And there are also people who go to the bathroom for a ten minute stretch of AWOL (don't want to ask) even though they live less than five minutes from the pool. Also there are many people who stall by deck changing ... even those at 6 am when they could have put on their suit when they wake up instead of underwear. Then there are the toe-dippers and fake-stretchers, whose actions have no redeeming value except to make them five minutes late and super irritate me. And finally, there are the flat-out lateniks. The record late arrival time for a workout is +41 minutes, by Andrew M, who remarkably has a real job that he attends daily. Tammy C has also pushed past the 30-minute threshold several times, but to be consistent she is also late with her monthly check.
So having trouble with writing your name, counting, and coming to class on time sound suspiciously like a kindergarten problem. I spoke at a conference once on coaching Masters Swimmers, and the first slide I showed was labeled "Masters Swimmers: 8-year-olds with drivers licenses." I'm sticking with that assessment. And even when they drive me crazy, I love it.
Next up was the Emergency Contact, which also isn't as easy as it sounds. Because of the lack of imagination on the form-creator (me), it was left as an open question. SIXTEEN people put down the name of their BFF/next-of-kin/anyone they knew with a car and failed to leave me any way to contact said person, short of hollering their name as the ambulance is driving off. Two people just listed the phone number of that nameless person. So I'm rehearsing the call now: "Hi, this is Marcia Benjamin, X's swim coach. I need to talk to you about X." Caller: "I told you to take me off this damn call list!" Me: "But you're very important to X!" Caller: *click*And then there was the list of medical problems. I got a list of winners which included "complete stud" and "lazy" as noteworthy comments. More detailed answers included "I hate swim meets" and "allergic to backstroke/any distance of breaststroke." Two people were either "hangry all the time," or "get hangry easily," so I'll try to google some hanger-management classes soon. Or just keep them away from others.
It isn't just in form-filling where people surprise me, counting in general seems to be tough. Masters are notoriously poor at remembering how many laps they swims. Four laps seems to be the threshold for going blank. We used to do a repeating set called "The 15-Minute Swim," which measured the yards you can complete in exactly 15 minutes. I stopped it because literally two-thirds of all the people couldn't remember which lap it was/had no idea whatsoever/came up with a different number from their lanemate ... who went the exact same distance. I used to give everyone a minute or two to figure out some answer to give me, and even then it didn't help.
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| actually this is Ryan Lochte, so it's okay to do here |
So having trouble with writing your name, counting, and coming to class on time sound suspiciously like a kindergarten problem. I spoke at a conference once on coaching Masters Swimmers, and the first slide I showed was labeled "Masters Swimmers: 8-year-olds with drivers licenses." I'm sticking with that assessment. And even when they drive me crazy, I love it.
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