ANTHONY IRVINE: The Road Less Traveled (USA Swimming)
BY MIKE GUSTAFSTON (CORRESPONDENT)
OMAHA – At some point sitting across from Anthony Ervin at a German
restaurant in the East Village, I gathered he was not a “prototypical
swimmer” – whatever that means.
We had just spent the day at a diversity clinic in Flushing, New York.
Anthony was brought in to teach nearly 100 kids from the greater metro
area some stroke techniques. He showed up in tight-fitting pants and a
black Imagine Swimming polo. He had tattoos down the full length of both
arms. He looked the exact opposite you’d think an Olympic gold medalist
freestyler “should” look.
Somewhere along the line, people assume elite top-level athletes must look like buff, brutish, All-American
linebackers. Anthony Ervin is not linebackerish; he has more the body
of a punk rock guitarist than linebacker. Then again, Ervin has not
approached the sport like prototypical grind-it-out athletes. After
winning an Olympic gold medal at 19-years-old in the 2000 Sydney
Olympics, Anthony – “Tony” to friends – decided he wanted to explore
other things. Other endeavors. Other interests.
And suddenly, it’s big news. Why don’t you want to win more Olympic
gold medals? Why don’t you want to keep going? Don’t you love to swim?
Don’t you love the sport?
Ervin joined a rock band, moved to New York, and lived life – like every
single other twenty-something person I know. And yet, the level of
media scrutiny that pinpoints on these “in-between years” is
significant. Everyone wants to know. Everyone wants the scoop. Many want to exploit Ervin’s story in some way, some shape, some form. And I’m sure there are
scoops, details, and fascinating stories. But doesn’t everyone have
these? Why -- simply because Ervin can supremely swim between two walls
potentially faster than anyone on Earth -- are these “in-between” years
(that have nothing to do with swimming between two walls) that
fascinating?
The answer, of course, is that people want to understand what they don’t
understand. So they can dissect it. Compartmentalize it. Analyze it.
Break it down into something logical and understandable. Which is a
totally illogical thing to crave, and yet, we do so anyway.
Heading into this evening’s gargantuan Olympic Trials final of the 50m
freestyle, as 14,000 eyes attempt to understand Tony’s “SLEEVE TATTS,”
(a phrase Comedy Central’s Anders Holm tweeted to me last night,
apparently a huge fan of Ervin’s), his persona, his using of words like
“vicissitudes” in press interviews -- people will try to figure him out.
And we won’t. We never will. Partially because Anthony won’t let us.
And why should he?
Imagine Swimming
For years, Anthony has taught swim lessons. He’s been involved with the
water, around the sport in some capacity. Though that’s not the easy
story to write – the easier story is that Anthony “came back” to the
sport after eight years of disappearance.
Ervin didn’t come back. He was never really gone.
I know this because we worked for the same company here in New York City
– Imagine Swimming. Co-founded by Olympian Casey Barrett and NCAA
champion Lars Merseburg, Imagine Swimming is not only a wonderful group
of kids, but teachers. All sorts of swim instructors and coaches come in
through the Imagine Swimming doors -- many artists, many swimmers and
former competitors, many of them tattooed, many who are passionate about
the water, like Ervin. All of them are engaging, articulate, and
caring.
See, when you work with kids, you see things as they do. Which can be
fresh air for the burnt-out competitive swimmer. I remember teaching one
little 6-year-old girl how to pull with her arms. I was going through
the motions, showing her how I had been taught, using too many words and
not enough imagination. Suddenly the girl’s eyes lit up. “So it’s like
scooping a big bowl of eyeballs, right?” she asked. At Imagine, you
learn to go with it – you teach the kids how they learn best. So I
nodded, and scooped the eyeballs too. “Yes,” I said. “Just scoop the big
bowl of eyeballs like this.”
How can you not fall in love with swimming when your day consists of conversations like that?
Last night, if you were in the CenturyLink Center stands, maybe you saw
the Imagine Swimming crew. They have printed and packed special Trials
T-shirts that read, “TONY ERVIN IS ROCK AND ROLL.” Maybe you saw Anthony
flash a rock and roll hand signal at them upon destroying his personal
best in the semifinal of the 50m freestyle (a time two tenths faster
than his 2000 gold medal performance.) This Imagine Swimming/Anthony
Ervin connection is bound together by mutual love of water, of
education, of a passionate lifestyle – something that means much more
than simply swimming fast.
And maybe that’s why Anthony resists explaining every iota of his
personal life to the media, strangers, and anyone else who asks. He’s
not going to tell everything that happened in those eight years of his
life when he wasn’t swimming 50 freestyles. Why would he explain that
portion of his life when the one in front of him – his relationship with
the water – is happening before our very eyes? Isn’t it frustrating
that the guy can swim a personal best time, do something he’s never done
before, and walk into a media zone and be asked if he has ever had any regrets?
Of course he’s had some. Of course he’s had none at all. He’s seeded
first as a 31-year-old heading into the Olympic Trials. Everything he’s
done has led him here – and isn’t “here” a pretty good place to be?
The Road Less Traveled
In Flushing at the diversity swim clinic, the kids ate it up. Devoured
everything Anthony told them. Listened attentively, mimicked his
movements, asked him for autographs, took his picture, conversed with
him, played with him, high-fived him.
For Anthony, it was another day of water education – and I mean that in
the best and most genuine way. He even taught me a new drill, something
that sort of looks like a gorilla-like freestyle drill. I asked him how
he came up with that. He responded that he just sort of invents
different drills and ways to move through the water. It’s a reflection
of his cognitive approach to the sport rather than just taking any
coach’s word.
Like other great artists across many facets of life, Ervin simply wants to learn.
Cal Swimming has long been at the forefront of alternative training
approaches. Which could explain why they are – and have been -- so
successful. Their two most individualistic and strongest personalities,
Ervin and 29-year-old Natalie Coughlin, are also two of the sports most
inventive, innovative thinkers. They tinker. They ask. They learn. They
reflect. It’s no secret they both are still involved in the sport at an
age once considered “ancient.”
It’s this alternative, individualistic, cerebral thinking about the
sport and the water in its most elemental form that makes Ervin
different than most swimmers he competes against. Ask most swimmers
about their practices, they’ll tell you set times, repeats, paces. But
they can’t tell you why. Ask them about races, they can tell
you splits and strategies, but they can’t tell you the philosophy, or
the precision, the music, the rock-and-roll essence of the thing itself.
This constant, never-ending why has led Ervin to his successes, his “disappearances,” and his emergences. It’s this why
that has led him to where he is now – still striving to learn. Learning
his body. Learning how to adjust through the element. He’s grown up –
or as he likes to phrase it, he’s “turned 30.” But old dogs can learn
new tricks.
They swim best times, too.
And maybe that’s why Ervin is back in the competitive gauntlet. Maybe he
was teaching another swimmer, and maybe he pushed off the wall to grab a
discarded toy, and maybe he zoomed through the water like no one in
history has ever done, and maybe thought, “Hey, maybe I should---”
There I go again. Trying to compartmentalize Ervin’s journey.
Later, near the end of the Metro Diversity Clinic, Anthony stepped up on
the blocks and raced. The kids screamed, wild with glee. The parents
filmed. Anthony swam something astronomical – like a 20-point. The
coaches smiled and turned to each other and said, “WOW.” We didn’t yet
know what we were witnessing. And maybe another reporter would tell you
this race at this small swim clinic was the start of Anthony’s
“comeback.”
But it wasn’t. Anthony Ervin was never gone. He simply took a different path.
Mike Gustafson is a freelance writer with USASwimming.org and Splash Magazine. Follow him at @MikeLGustafson.
In : Olympic Trials