This afternoon, around 3:45pm EST, I'm going to jump in the Georgetown pool and warm up for my 6th Hour of Power, my fourth at Georgetown.
I met Ted on 24 October 2002, I prospied on a Thursday and stayed with Ted that night. I was a prospie who was nearly sold on Carleton and Ted was an extremely excited and accommodating host. Ted alone was enough to make me come to Carleton. Ted went above and beyond the call of duty that day. Now, knowing him, is not a surprise at all. He lived in a corner triple in Burton and took me all around to meet swimmers. Flo and Kellen in Musser, sitting silently, are the only ones I remember. He showed me Caucus (ask an older than you alum if you don't know what it is), he glowed about life at Carleton, he was just generally a happy dude.
That afternoon was gender practice. The assistant coach, Tom, walked me around West Gym a little while the men were doing, no kidding, continuous relays. Except there were only three guys per lane. It looked pretty painful. Then they ran out to track and did more intense running than we ever did while I was at Carleton.
Losing Ted, like losing Joe, was (and is) one of the saddest things to happen to me in my life and a unqualified loss for humanity as a whole. They were among the sweetest, smartest men I've ever known. Ted battled a horrible scourge, and no amount of swimming will bring him back. But some amount of swimming, hopefully we've already passed this threshold, will prevent another extended family from losing one of theirs. I know how much Ted fought each and every time he swam, today, I hope you'll join me in a cathartic hour of pain, err, power to honor and remember my friend.
So, at minute 35, when your body is screaming to stop but your brain can't see the light at the end of the tunnel, tell it to EMSYDMF and go extra hard. Pain is temporary. And I'll buy a (pony) keg for anyone who swims so hard they throw up today.
BE MIGHTY!
