Although I have been a member of a Masters club for some time, I don't like
the term. I think it is inaccurate. The term 'Master' conjures up the vision
of some giant of the discipline whose towering achievements allow him or her
to excel in action and whose words of wisdom fall effortlessly from
sagacious lips to attentive youngsters, gathered eagerly to learn from the
experienced experts. The reality is a bunch of odd shaped old folk puffing
their way up and down the pool while the 'yoof' hang  about making offensive
(but generally quite accurate) remarks, waiting to get the pool back for
themselves. Furthermore it is a blatantly sexist nomenclature. In a fit of
political correctness I once proposed that we rename ourselves as the
Masters and Mistresses club. All I got was a rather bleak look from my wife,
and no votes.

I had to become a Masters swimmer as, beyond a certain age, it becomes a bit
embarrassing, to constantly be overtaken by nine year olds. And that's the
secret point about Masters - it's not so much about enabling antiques like
me to have a swim, as in keeping the younger generation out. It's not nearly
so bad to be coughing and spluttering after a few simple lengths if everyone
else is doing the same, but when I swim in with the youth it is a bit
off-putting to find I am the only one who needs to rest after the warm up.
This strength-in-numbers camaraderie makes the penalties of ageing more
acceptable. As the years march on I find it more and more difficult to
locate (let alone tie) my shoelaces under my midriff. However, with the
Masters I don't get the same barracking as from the snake-hipped youngsters
when I occasionally stray in to 'main club' sessions. Instead, fellow owners
of Classic Bodies offer to hold a mirror, or tie my laces for me. The SAGA
and pensions catalogues left anonymously in my swimming bag at Masters are a
kindly gesture, not the unfair reminders of advancing age that the younger
swimmers offer me, like baldness cures and funeral insurance leaflets.

The allowances for age continue in the pool. For a start, coaching is
optional in Masters, if done at all. By our time in life we're either
incurably stuck in our bad ways, or such know-alls that any coach with sense
won't want to take us on. Many, like me, fall in to both categories. We pay
lip service to the concept of old dogs learning new tricks, and carry on as
we always have done. The result is a replica of the Great Pyramid made up of
training aids on the end of the pool, while the swimmers impersonate the
escapees from the Titanic in the water.

Travesties are committed however, when the memory failures of great age
start to take place. Placing schedules on laminated cards at the end of the
pool does not help us remember what we should be doing as, without our
glasses, we can't read them anyway. The result is a pool full of veteran
swimmers all doing different things, and adamant that the others are wrong.
Occasionally one of us geriatrics forgets that butterfly is impossible over
the age of 25, and tries it. This produces an enactment of what it might
look like if the ducking stool were combined with the electric chair, and
usually leads to the enrichment of local Osteopaths soon afterwards. The
inflexibility of the middle aged back also shows itself up in some over
optimistic attempts at tumble turns. Forgetting which is the deep end can be
near fatal for a Master swimmer who requires at least 2 metres of water to
get over in. This has contributed greatly to my baldness and left many a
phrenologist baffled. Similarly, a master swimmer's racing start is not so
much a torpedo launch as a burial at sea.

Ladies of a certain age are well suited to Masters. A bit of cellulite on
the thighs makes a pull buoy quite unnecessary, and the sight of your
swimming bag will provide an instant excuse for any hair disaster. Master
matrons regularly shock the tender sensibilities of young girls in the
changing rooms, by ignoring the cubicles and stripping off without even a
pause in the conversation. You try going through pregnancy and childbirth
and keeping any sense of modesty! Also, the number of costumes required by
females decreases from a dozen up to the age of 20, at the rate of one per
annum until, by their early thirties, most ladies are happy to appear in a
darned up relic, simply because it is easier than trying to find one
sufficiently pre-stretched to get in to.

Masters fall in to two broad categories. The 'has-been's and the 'never 
was'es.
The has-beens are high class club swimmers who have never stopped, just got
a bit older. They tend to look younger than they are, and charge up and down
the fast lane making the water go round like a whirl-pool. In the silly
relay gala at Christmas it is these keen types who will argue about what the
rules are, and keep a score. I am more typical of the 'never-was' group, who
have taken to, or returned to, swimming later in life. In our book any
exercise you can do lying down can't be a bad thing. We are more concerned
not to over-train, thus our warm-up, training, and swim down are
indistinguishable. To us 'being in the training zone' means anywhere
poolwards of the car park (including the bar), and has nothing to do with
heart rate.

Masters show their true colours when it's competition time though. Whereas
younger swimmers have Galas, we masters have Meets. Masters Meets are
populated mostly by 'has-beens'. These are the competitive types who will
always turn up wearing a tee shirt telling you what they have been and where
they have been it. The amazing thing to us 'never-was' swimmers is that the
'has-been's still are. The years put remarkably few seconds on their times,
and though body shapes may change a bit, the fitness is obviously still
there. From time to time someone like me will enter a competition, and find
the secret of the real pleasure to be found in Masters competition. Though
coming in last, we are appreciated by everyone just as much as the stars,
and that is something only life experience brings.

Don't tell the kids, but getting older doesn't make you solemn, as they like
to think ('serious' and 'solemn' are different). With responsibilities and
worries following you about in life, escaping to the simple pleasure of
swimming with your friends is as rejuvenating to the mind as it is to the
body. Enjoyment is what it is about. If you're any good that's a bonus, but
not a prerequisite. The magnificent Gerry Forsberg once said to me " At
least if I can't beat some of the opposition just yet, I stand a chance of
outliving them!" He was still doing both in his mid eighties, so it must do
something for you.  It is not true that the only great thing about Masters
is their waist measurement.