The Lake and the Egg

I started talking about swimming in yesterday’s post. If folks don’t mind a break from lots of talk about eating right and exercising, I offer up this thirty year old tale about exercising and eating wrong.

Back when I was around eleven or twelve, I went to a Boy Scout summer camp. Like all good camps, there was a lake nearby and the scouts had a special Mile Swim program. We called it “The Rocky Squad.” (The movie had come out just a year or two before and the camp leaders apparently found themselves inspired by Mr. Balboa–not that I remembered Rocky swimming during his training.)

The lake was one half mile across. All each swimmer had to do was get to the other side and back. That’s it. He was now a full-fledged member of the Rocky Squad. This didn’t sound too bad so I decided to give it a go. On the morning of the event, my fellow challengers and I met up with the swim leader down by the lakeshore. We waded into the chilly water to the strains of Gonna Fly Now blaring from the camp PA system and began our watery trek.

It was a bit harder than I expected. I was continually forced to change strokes as various muscle groups wore out on me. Indeed, about halfway through, I was getting so worn out I decided I couldn’t make it the whole way. So I turned around and swam back to the beginning.

Ha ha. Just kidding.

All told, it took me forty-five minutes to complete the trip, but I did it–and I’m not ashamed to admit I felt proud.

My warm, fuzzy feelings of self-accomplishment lasted until breakfast the next morning. Do you remember the part in the movie where Rocky begins his training by drinking all those raw eggs? Well, apparently one’s membership in the Rocky Squad was only half-fledged until one performed a similar feat. Everyone who completed the swim the day before had to stand up in front of the entire mess hall and drink a raw egg. Juice glasses containing one fresh egg apiece were brought out on a tray and handed to each swimmer.

Oh no. I like my eggs over hard. Very hard, mind you. (Not to mention hot.) The tiniest bit of runny yoke makes me gag like a Fear Factor contestant wolfing down banana slugs. And suddenly I found myself in front of the entire camp, put on the spot by a silly tradition that had nothing to do with one’s swimming prowess–expected to down an egg in the runniest format possible.

Putting my panic aside, I grasped my “juice” glass with firm resolve. Steely eyed, I stared down the barrel at the slimy bullet with my name on it. As the din around me rose, so too did the tension. But I had no choice. There was no turning back. I had to do this deed.

Within moments, at a countdown helpfully provided by two hundred shouting scouts, I tossed it back. Ugh. I can’t imagine a banana slug being much worse than this. At least phase one was complete, though: I got it into my mouth. Then I made a small but profound tactical error. I held it at the back of my throat a bit too long (though definitely not on purpose). Ugh. My limited options flashed before me in an instant. Worried about the only other alternative, I summoned the nerve to swallow it. Phase two complete. I embarked upon the return journey to my seat, when after only a few short steps my stomach cried out, “What the hell is this?” and promptly returned the egg for a full refund.

The egg, nearly intact during flight, hit the ground with a sickening splat. The entire camp roared with laughter. Now it’s natural to think I might have died of embarrassment right then and there, but to be honest, the whole thing was too darn funny. I laughed right along with everyone else. The swim leader caught up with me after breakfast. Wiping a tear from his eye, he said he’d never had that happen before. I should go back one day and see if there’s a commemorative plaque on the mess hall wall sporting my name.