Lane by Lane

A story about swimming, friendship, and the slow work of belonging.

We were swimming, my closest friend Sasha and I, during my last morning practice at the Dynamo pool.. The morning sun, so rare in Moscow’s early spring,  was pouring into the water just the way I love it, and Sasha was swimming beside me. I tried to place my hands into the water in perfect sync with hers. We didn’t say a word, yet we were so close that no conversation could ever replace that moment. It was our last practice together. The very next day I was at Madrid airport, and my new life was going to begin.

To avoid paying extra for luggage, we took only the essentials with us. Fins. My wetsuit. Everything I needed for the pool. I was imagining a whole new world waiting for me: perfect swimming pools and the best training sessions imaginable.

As soon as I arrived, I did my research: where were the pools in Madrid? I went straight to the one whose name sounded monumental. M86 is a swimming complex built for the 1986 World Championships. It reminded me of Moscow’s Olimpiysky, where I had first started training before it was completely demolished to make way for a new complex. The M86 pool had the same competitive atmosphere. You could almost imagine Kristin Otto swimming in the lane next to you or those crowds welcoming the athletes from the stands.  It looked as though M86 hadn’t been renovated since it opened. Worn-out interiors, awkward layouts, and outdated showers. But I liked it anyway. There was something deeply familiar about it, almost homelike. Something I thought I had lost.

I started training alone. But still dreaming of finding a team or a group to train with. The awkward thing was that it was surprisingly hard to Google. It looked like there was no information about amateur swimming clubs at all. Those clubs where adult folks like myself unite, train and do some stuff together. Like open water races or just fun training in the pool. I desperately needed such a team. Checking my Moscow team chat kept breaking my heart. I’ve seen plenty of European athletes while open water swimming, they surely train somewhere. 

Sometimes I found myself following people carrying swimmers’ backpacks. Those enormous Arena and Speedo bags with separate pockets for wet gear. I would catch up with them and start asking questions. But they always turned out to be members of the national team, water polo players, or synchronized swimmers. Finding Masters swimmers in a crowd on the street turned out to be far harder than I had imagined. 

What surprised me the most was that almost everyone knew how to swim properly. Back in Russia we jokingly called leisurely breaststroke in lap lanes “Sochi breaststroke.” Here, even casual swimmers looked as though they’d once belonged to a club. The easiest and the most obvious way to find a team was asking people in the lanes. So I had to overcome my shyness.

Finally I joined my first Spanish swimming club. Suddenly I discovered another Spain, one built around lanes, club caps and race calendars. There are a lot of clubs in Madrid. Almost every municipal pool has its team. There are swimmers of all ages and backgrounds: former professional athletes, lifelong swimmers, and people like me, who only discovered the sport later in life but trained with the same determination and ambition.Some clubs ask to participate in the competitions, others leave the choice up to you. Getting a license for my first ever championship was fulfilling my childhood dream of becoming an athlete, something that had never happened. Of course I chose to compete. 

The atmosphere felt just like a professional championship. Athletes gathered, then following the judges’ instructions, passed to the blocks and at the starting signal dived into the water. My first ever start I almost failed – I climbed on the blocks seconds earlier than it was permitted. After the start my coach firmly explained why I had to be careful with that. 

I didn’t get it at the beginning, but the championships are a really big deal. My teammates were almost obsessed with counting points they got. The higher the club placed after the competition the better conditions it could get for training in the municipal pools. So I checked – how many did I get? Just a few, thanks to my age group.

Teams had their own colours, T-shirts and flags. So when you are at the champs you see all the different colours: yellow, blue, black, pink. Ours is fuchsia pink by the way. The whole complex is filled with swimmers, everyone roars from the stands, cheering on their teammates. I could hardly hear when they cheered me on to finish my 50 fly, but even those far-away sounds helped me to move. 

The wildest thing is the National Championships. There are several during the season – Open water (usually in Ibiza), long distance in the pool (usually the Canary islands), short course in winter and long course in summer. For those two every year the Royal swimming federation chooses different pools to involve different cities.

So with the team I travelled to Oviedo, Asturias. It’s the Spanish northern region. Green, clean and beautiful. You could see clubs from Barcelona, Gran Canaria or Pamplona. All came to test their mettle across multiple events. I was the last in my category but still felt that level – I swam alongside the strongest athletes. The clubs were roaring. And of course the fiesta for the closing. 

Still I was feeling lost and lonely. As though I still couldn’t quite become part of the group. In the changing rooms they talked about regular stuff – swim equipment they bought, swimming races they planned, some shoulder problems or therapists they visit. But I discovered that wanting to connect with people wasn’t enough to make them want to connect with me. The coaches were repeating everything, literally everything, just for me multiple times. Because getting into the water, my Spanish dropped from a C1 to about an A1. And being the weakest in the team, I felt I had no business being in that lane at all. Conversations were hard to keep going, and after practice I still walked home alone. 

Then one evening, after training, Daniela stopped me in the showers. “Come to the bar with us,” – she said, -“It’s the easiest way to get to know everyone.”

 We drank beer and the conversations became easier. I found out that Daniela is vegetarian and struggles at friends’ dinners as Spaniards eat meat a lot, Gloria lost her job for the third time in just 6 months, David is overwhelmed with the bureaucratic process of registering his marriage and Pablo is waiting months for his shoulder surgery.  

The hardest time for us was the planned reconstruction of the M86. The federation received millions of euros for improvements and the pool was almost closed for several months. So while the competition pool was under construction we swam in the training pool under a tent. It was cold and uncomfortable but the team vibes were so warm and comforting that we never stopped. When the pool was finally opened the complaints had doubled – the changes were not that obvious. But anyhow – the M86 could host the championships again. 

Even though pool swimming is very popular in Madrid, the open water culture has its unique taste here. When the water in the nearby reservoirs warms enough to swim in a wetsuit, dozens of swimmers head to the sierra for training. There are some: Pantano de San Juan, El Burguillo Reservoir, Las Picadas and others. 

Whenever you are there – you will find other swimmers for sure. Especially in August when the pools in Madrid are closed for the summer vacation. But this year is different. After a wonderful June of training and racing all activity in those waters were stopped due to wildfires. And now instead of discussing our next races we try to find out what can be done to restore those areas. 

Now, in August, Madrid almost dies. The city is filled with tourists and those rare locals who prefer to take their vacation in the less crowded month. The sports pools are closed. Even the one that is supposed to be open till the mid of the month. The coaches left the overheated city. And all I have left is a hope to return to training in September. 

And now, instead of crying, I’m telling Sasha about my progress in swimming.

Today I went for a routine check-up.

It turned out that my doctor was a swimmer too. We’ve raced at the same competitions for months without ever meeting.

Before I left, he smiled.

“You have an unusual surname,” he said. “You’ll be easy to follow.”