Nov. 28 – Beijing
If you’re a swimmer, the logic is simple. You’re in Beijing, so you have to see the famous National Aquatics Center. Since you’re going to slog through 15 million commuters to get there, you should swim there if possible. And if you can get in the water, you might as well put in some hard strokes.
I was sitting outside the entrance polishing off a tin of Lay’s potato chips, waiting for the Water Cube to open. Thinking, maybe I wasn’t taking the challenge seriously enough. The task I had set myself was to beat Michael Phelps’ 400m I.M. time from the 2008 Beijing Olympic Games, where he had won eight gold medals. For non-swimmers, “I.M.” stands for individual medley; butterfly, back stroke, breast stroke and front crawl in sequence. I was only going to swim 200m – 50m of each stroke – and try to go faster than his world record time of 4:03.84. In other words, I wanted to know if I was half the swimmer Phelps was.
Fifty Yuan (seven dollars) fee paid, I entered the gigantic bubble-wrapped structure. I had my picture taken (photo I.D. I’ll never use again, but a cool souvenir), paid the one-time mandatory 20 Yuan “deep water certification”, and got my locker fob key. 
The change room was spacious and uncrowded since I had deliberately chosen noon on a Monday for this excursion. And soon I was on deck of the 50m long, ten-lane wide practice pool. (Not the main competition pool. More on that below.)
An attendant made an out-and-back motion with her arm and said “one hundred metres”. Two lengths to get my deep water certification. That formality done, I slid over to the middle lane and got a feel for the water. It was warmer than I had expected, somehow slipperier, and felt fast. I suppose there are some fancy physics behind this – my half of the pool was maybe 2.5m deep all the way, whereas the other half was shallower. But probably I was just on an adrenaline high from being someplace special, swimming for the first time in over a month. Woohoo indeed.
There was plenty of space. As I went through my warm up, then some drills, I shared my lane with two stout older ladies, and we managed to stay out of each other’s way. I exchanged begoggled nods with one of them, and she struck up a conversation. She spoke no English, and I no Mandarin, but here’s what I think we said to each other:
“Mister strange looking, bearded, yellow-capped foreigner, your legs are dragging too low in the water.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Mister foreigner, you should swim more on the surface of the water. It is faster.”
“Thank you for the advice. But this means using strength and skill which I lack.”
“Mister foreigner, this is regrettable.”
“I agree.”
My lane mates left after an hour, and I had 50m all to myself. Time to see what I could do. As in drunkenness, there are four stages to athletic exertion: lion, lamb, monkey and pig. I started boldly with my newly-learned butterfly stroke. Backstroke was done more gently, the movement slightly awkward. The turns at the wall were part monkey, part Michael Jackson, and no part Michael Phelps. Like doing the “Thriller” dance underwater. Pig stage – wallowing and squealing – meant a final 50m that just wouldn’t end.
I touched the wall, scrabbled for my wristwatch and saw 3:36. The virtual Phelps, trailing in my wash, finished in 4:03. I could barely feel my legs as I slid back in over my head, exhaling bubbles. Yessss! A very modest achievement, I’ll admit. But I crossed an ocean to get there.
Once dressed, I toured the building. Games banners and national flags still adorn the hall, and the diving pool is operational. But the main competition pool area was being set up for some sort of media trade show. The other side of the facility now features a massive water amusement park, complete with multi-story slides, splash pad and wave pool. I stepped out of the Water Cube and onto the massive Olympic Green that connects to the adjoining Bird’s Nest Stadium. The colossal vista did what its designers surely intended; impress people with China’s potential. My arms and shoulders pleasantly numbed from the effort, I walked away. Through the still air, the recorded voice of Celine Dion warbled the 2008 anthem “One world one dream” on auto repeat.
