There are no medals for a low stroke count.

You only get a medal if you win, place or show. Nobody cares how many strokes you take to get there. So why do swimmers and coaches spend so much time obsessing over stroke count, and why are the low stroke count swimmers so often slow?

There are only two issues that determine how fast you swim: what happens when you’re taking a stroke, and what happens when you aren’t.

These two issues determine speed. Being less metaphorical, the two issues are catching water and low drag. (Technically low drag should occur all the time, but I’ve got a blog to write and you’re addicted to catchy phrases.)

We argue about which is more important, but I don’t care. They are ego-based, non-fact-based arguments. The muscle queens swear by their pecs and the water gliders harangue us with their superior fish-like posture.

Get your speed however you can. If you choose to muscle your way to an 18-minute 1500 meter open water swim at a 180 heart rate, good for you. If you choose your 18-minute time by being slippery in the water with a 150 HR, good for you, too.

If, however, like some people, you glide through your 1500 meter triathlon swim in 29 minutes with a low stroke count, and feel great getting out of the water, be prepared to finish in the basement unless your bike and run are superb. And, if you pile on the strokes at a 180 heart rate, join the gliding swimmer in the basement as you assume the aero position on your bike and contemplate the emptiness of your liver that used to contain glycogen.

Although there are no medals for a low stroke count, there aren’t medals for stupidity either. Parrotting this reductionist no-medals argument as your reason for ignoring stroke count, is like saying there are no medals for using deodorant. Problem is if you want to win the heart of your chosen one, smelling like a stevedore means you’re going to have to court upwind. It doesn’t take long to realize the significant downsides to upwind courting, just as there are with ignoring stroke count.

A low stroke count should be the result of fast, efficient swimming, not the goal. That’s why there aren’t medals for it. It’s like a low heart rate should be the result of good aerobic fitness, not the goal. The goal is to win. The low heart rate and stroke count should happen when you’re doing it right, and you’re doing it right when winning doesn’t approximate cardiac arrest.

OK? Do I have to come up with another inane analogy to explain the direct impact low stroke count has on winning? Or are you going to tell me another story about Muscles McFish who takes 30 strokes in a 25-yard pool and beats everybody?

Those people are out there, just as there are people who take 12 strokes and beat everybody. These kinds of stories help create a mindless argument about an esoteric detail that isn’t nearly as entertaining as other mindless arguments such as the similarities between the Tea Party and Occupy Wall Street. Who cares? The objective is to lessen the anger from not getting enough of the economic pie. One group wants to arrest bankers not protesters, and the other wants to dismantle the government. See, that is a much richer argument than stroke count so waste your time on politics so you can become a better swimmer.

In the "From 19 strokes to 13 In 15 Minutes" blog, the point was that a low stroke count was not the objective. It happened when Michael’s muscle memory and body management, that he learned from a drill, was able to create a low-resistance environment that allowed him to lose six strokes per length (25 yards). He did this unconsciously. It’s the magic of swimming that comes from understanding how to implement good technique and then magically reaping the benefits.

For him, the next step was to maximize the power phase of his stroke. He found low resistance first and now has to work on preserving that while focusing on what happens when he’s taking a stroke. The more propulsion he gets during the stroke the more speed he will carry into his low-resistance body. This means he will go fast and have a low stroke count.

Whether a swimmer first learns maximum power delivery or minimum resistance doesn’t matter. What matters is that both are learned.

Here’s what happens when they aren’t:

Low resistance swimmer: This is the low stroke-count swimmer who is under the proficiency delusion. Eleven strokes in a 25-yard pool in 40 seconds at a 90 heart rate isn’t swimming, it’s a range-of- motion exercise. Save your time driving to the pool and buy a yoga mat.

Maximum power swimmer: This is the high stroke-count swimmer who is under the proficiency delusion, too. Twenty-five strokes in a 25-yard pool in 18 seconds at a 170 heart rate isn’t swimming either. It’s a classic aerobic workout. Save your time driving to the pool and buy a treadmill.

The problem, and the source of the arguments about stroke count, is the result of endorphins. Both types of swimmers get an endorphin rush and this, unfortunately, reinforces the incorrect narcissistic notion that they are great swimmers. So, when you argue about the relevance, or irrelevance, of stroke count you are really arguing that you are a mediocre swimmer under the influence of endorphins.

But stroke count does matter. It is the only benchmark of great swimming. It is the only way to look back and assess your proficiency, lap by lap. If you are taking 25 strokes and going fast, you have to know your energy-sucking train is going to hit a wall. And if you are taking 11 strokes and you can watch the mold grow on the tiles at the bottom of the pool, you have to know that you’ll be finishing your set while the rest of us are watching Modern Family. Neither of these endorphin-induced states is a reason to feel good about yourself, unless your alternative activity choice was eating and drinking while watching football on the plasma.

Swimming is not running or biking or basketball or knitting because the water is a poor judge of proficiency. If you suck at running you will fall. If you suck at biking you will crash. If you suck at basketball you will get chosen last. If you suck at knitting your grandkids won’t wear your sweaters.

If you suck at swimming, however, you’ll think you are great. Or at least pretty good. This is because the water isn’t the taskmaster other mediums are. You can have the worst technique and you’ll never need stitches or be shunned by your grandkids or be waiting sheepishly on the sidelines as the basketball captain reluctantly glances in your direction, hoping you will graciously agree to take your uncoordinated body somewhere else, but knowing instead that you will burden the team as well as the game and the universe with your incompetence.

Nope, the water says, "come on in, the water’s fine" and like a dog, loves you unconditionally despite your bad habits and misplaced sense of accomplishment.

So the next time you get out of the water feeling like you got a great aerobic workout be aware that it might be because you suck at swimming. And the next time you get out of the water feeling like you were transcending physical and metaphysical boundaries because you never looked at the pace clock, be aware that it might be because you also suck at swimming.

And, as if you need it, one last analogy: If you were playing tennis and your serve never made it over the net, you’d know something was wrong with your power. If your serve cleared the chain link fence, you’d know there was something wrong with your technique.

Either way, you’d know you sucked at tennis. You certainly wouldn’t argue that you were any good. You’d make a decision about whether to get professional coaching or a gin and tonic.

If not getting the ball over the net is the swim blog equivalent of a low stroke count/low speed lap, and the ball-in-space-serve is the equivalent of muscling your way through a swim practice, then all that’s missing is tennis’ stark kinesthetic reality that would tell you that you suck at swimming.

You can choose to recognize this by noticing – and being guided by – your heart rate and stroke count, or you can decide to argue about whether they matter because nobody gives you a medal.

And, if you do, nobody will give you a medal – for debating or swimming.

 

 

 

About:

Louis Tharp is a competitive age-group swimmer and a TI triathlon swim coach who is currently taking a few semesters off from West Point coaching in order to work one-on-one with Nicholas Sterghos, an ’09 West Point graduate and pro triathlete.

Louis Tharp’s book, "Overachiever’s Diary, How The Army Triathlon Team Became World Contenders" is available from Total Immersion.

Read a sample chapter and reviews from the top triathlon and swimming media at Overachiever’s Diary.

Buy Overachiever’s Diary by Louis Tharp on TI. Read a review of Overachiever’s Diary at active.com

His home pool is Club Fit, Briarcliff in Westchester County, New York.

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