Please share your Tech Suit Eulogies here. It's just a matter of time before they're gone for good.
Morn the passing,
celebrate the life.
Remember the moments.
Share your stories, anecdotes.
Personify your suit.
Tech Suit you were so good to me. You helped me keep it together when I was falling apart (at the end of my races) Despite the rips & wardrobe malfunctions we had some pretty good times together and it's sad to think you're really gonna split. I hope the powers that be won't take you from me, but if they do, I'll miss you and the slick floaty feeling you gave me when we swam together as one.
Chicken's therapy for tech suit mourners:
Use the money you would have spent on tech suit to buy a ticket to a beach/island destination (or lake!!). Tell someone you're going swimming or grab a buddy and then put on a regular tank/jammer/brief and just jump in and swim.
Just swim.
Embrace the waves, the swell, the wind. Puke if you need. It feels good.
Go as slow as you want and enjoy the beauty above and below the water. You might see a city from a totally new point of view. You might see fish, coral, and other beautiful sealife. You might even see a shark, but don't worry cos you have a better chance of being hit by a car than being bitten.
Forget the pool for a while. Forget the bloody swimming costumes and 100th's of seconds. Just swim for the joy of it.
And the Lord spake unto Mo'ses, sayin, relenquish unto thy Tech Suit, before Pi-ha-hi'roth, between Mig'-dol, and the sea, and cast the demon into the eternal closet.
There once was a man from North Texas
Who,when the B70 ban came to pass
Said I care not a whit
Though I swam fast in it
But FINA can kiss my hairy old a**.
There once was a man from Pittsburgh (named Jim!)
Who had a growth on his *** (yuck, Jim!)
but while clad in Blue70,
swam fast anyway,
But Blue70 gone now (poor him!)
‘TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE ZONES
“Twas the night before Zones and all through the states.
Not a swimmer was stirring, not even their mates.
Their tapers were swum in the pool with great care.
In hopes that PBs soon would be there.
We swimmers were trying to taper and rest.
We aspired to pass the pressure-filled test.
We had purchased B70s, water repellent and new.
The price tag was staggering, but still they did woo.
We had started to dream ‘bout blazing fast speeds.
When into our dreams a shrewish voice intercedes.
We jerked up our head and said “Who can it be?”
We awakened and squinted the Purist Harpy.
The Harpy with smug visage on display.
Said “Put down your toys and cease all that play.”
The Harpy, the opposite of good ole Saint Nick.
Hated all tech suits, and anything slick.
The Harpy admonished that swimming was through,
If we continued with technological breakthrough.
The Harpy said, “Onward, let’s go” to FINA.
Let’s clean up the sport and get rid of the diva.
On Speedo! On Adidas! On Arena and Jaked!
We don’t need you when we can swim naked.
As dry leaves before the hurricane fly,
FINA, urged by Harpy, intoned from on high:
“The new suits shall be banned and all older suits too.
You shall swim in a brief or a Smithian tutu.”
And then, in a twinkling, FINA reversed course.
It suffered a bout of manufacturer remorse.
So all suits were allowed, no limits in place,
The Harpy grimaced, conspiratorily plotting its case.
The swimmers meanwhile, embraced the defeat.
All dressed up in rubber, from their head to their feet.
They smiled as they sped through the water with ease.
Like Superman, not cut off at the knees.
Their eyes -- how they twinkled. Their dimples how merry.
They signed up for meets, and never did tarry.
They floated, and glided, and never did sag,
The suits compressing the mid life saddle bag.
Yet the Harpy insisted that the suits swum our races.
That without them we’d all have downtrodden faces.
But following Ande’s advice to the letter,
We swimmers insisted we were just training better.
We drilled and swum fast in both practice and meets.
We timed out kick sets to the very last beat.
We thought evil thoughts of our secret nemeses.
We plotted their defeat with guile and ease.
We lifted our weights and even cross-trained.
Though quite controversial, it left us less pained.
Our starts had improved, our turns were a glory.
Especially for masters folk, both nimble and hoary.
Then, once again, with churlish purist glee
FINA inexplicably launched an over-regulating spree.
Tech suits, once again, were ripped from our hands.
Tech suits, once again, were banned from all lands.
But jolly Saint Nick, to combat purist zeal.
Granted us holiday meets pending appeal.
He grabbed up his giftbag and poured out more presents.
We shouted our thanks for his omnipresence.
He warned that the Harpy wouldn’t always hold sway.
And that eventually we’d return to the tech suit clad day.
Then we heard him ‘xclaim as he faded from sight,
"Happy laps to you all, and keep up the good fight."
