What's the point?

This was part of a larger email, from an Australian swim event provider. I liked what it had to say despite the Aussiefication of English words!.

So we were trawling through Twitter, working hard, a few days back and we came across a report in the London meeja that reckoned that swimming for most punters is a complete waste of time. There's this doctor, see, and he was telling a conference that most swimmers efforts are pointless because they can't swim properly and have rubbish technique. And, they succumb too readily to vending machines selling rubbish food. That narrows it to most of us.

"Dr Dane Vishnubala, the GP physical exercise champion for Public Health England, said many people who are sent to the pool to get in shape simply splash around using a 'doggy paddle hybrid' and pass the time chatting with friends", reported The Telegraph of London (see for yourself... Click here)
While the health benefits for people with a sound technique are tangible, those who are less able would be better off going for a run, a walk, or taking dancing classes, the doctor said. Even worse, the Tele reported, "A trip to the local leisure centre risks yielding a 'net calorie gain', other GPs warned the conference, because of the prominence of money-making vending machines in the foyers."

This contribution, no doubt well intended, provoked a bit of a response. Perhaps this chappie was talking in the context of pure physical fitness, in which case he probably has a point. But the point of swimming, we reckon, is much more than getting fit and losing weight. Hey, if our main purpose was getting fit and losing weight, we'd be runners. Running strips the flabby bits off you much more quickly than schlepping up and down a pool. Sure, good technique is a big help to faster swimming, but if good technique was an entry level qualification, then less than two per cent of us would be doing it. The point isn't always faster swimming: the point is more enjoyable swimming. Coach Sandra used to say, "The point of training is to swim faster with less effort."


It also ignores the other benefits of swimming that apply irrespective of skill. We allude to the mental benefits. The great joy of swimming, we reckon, is that culcha: the chatting and yarning, the boasting and the retelling of experiences, sometimes swimming-related but many times not, that takes place as part of the overall swimming effort.

The swim is simply the precursor to the culcha. The swim grants you entrée to the culcha. If you don't swim first, you're not entitled to the culcha. The swim sets you up, endorphins running through your body, irrespective of whether you drop your shoulder or cross your hands on entry, or twist your body or cross-over your legs in the kick, for the joy of the shared culchural experience that follows, generally over a cuppa at the beach café.

That's where the real benefits kick in. You can go to the beach or to the pool feeling down, but you emerge again two hours later feeling triffic. That's partly a function of the swimming, partly a function of the culchural interaction, and overall a function of the combination of the two.

These benefits are not exclusive to smarty-pants lane nazis who've swum with Olympic-level coaches as kids. They are available to all of us, irrespective of technique, body shape, age or wealth. That's what Dr Vishnubala is missing.