Don't Flail
words by eugene kim
illustration by callie silverton
A myriad of mechanical parts work in tandem, each performing a unique duty in order to produce a singular, unified movement, the summation of the synchronicity between appendages and limbs and trunk. In this manner, the human body, quite peculiarly, resembles a machine whose function is to produce a constant flow of movement, ceaselessly pushing forth. The flow of the body is unique in that it is incredibly malleable, contorting into many forms at the behest of its person—it is no wonder this flow has been immortalized in countless works of art.
Similarly, a body of water exhibits a continuous flow that can take an infinite number of forms. Yet, while the flow of the body seeks to traverse, the flow of water seeks to immerse. What arises is a fascinating intersection between the two flows.
There is no better way to understand the essence of something than to go through it oneself. I sat down with Varsity Blues swimmer and four time national champion Michael Sava to learn about his experiences.
The butterfly is known as the most difficult and tiring stroke. What made you decide to compete in that event?
Sava: “The fly has a lot of notoriety for being difficult and challenging, so people didn’t really want to swim [fly] at practice. I was the only one who wanted to, and my coach was like, ‘okay, then you’re swimming in these events at competitions.’ In Canada, there’s not too many people who are into the 200 fly specifically, because it takes a lot of work and a lot of focus.”
The butterfly is not necessarily a technique intuitive to even the most natural of swimmers, with a phenomenal amount of skill and effort required in order to succeed. Perhaps this is a signifier of its ability to push the fluidity of the body to its limit.
A competitive swimmer responds to the flow of still water. What, then, can the body do in response to a moving body of water? What happens to the flow of the body when it is redirected into the flow of a boat or another craft?
In search of this answer I also conversed with Seavey van Walsum, who runs whitewater kayaking, to learn about their experiences.
How familiar do you need to be with whitewater? Do you need a good understanding of the flow?
Van Walsum: “Yeah, of course. No matter how good you are as a paddler, you always have to scout every rapid that you do. You have to scout from the top and the bottom, which is partially why on whitewater trips—even though you might be going where [the river] is carrying you—you won’t go as far as a flatwater trip, because you have to get out and scout each rapid.
“What defines whitewater is elevation, constriction, and volume.
“[The difficulty of a rapid] depends on the rapid. You can have a rapid that’s very big, and it can look very scary. But the maneuvers are very simple and so it’s easy to navigate. You can also have something that’s much smaller, but it’s a lot bonier, meaning more rocks and very low levels of water.”
That’s the beauty of a craft, acting as an intermediary between the oppressive flow of the river and the responsive flow of the body. For a swimmer, there is no such grace. The window of observation is replaced by the imperative need to move.
How would you describe the butterfly stroke to someone unfamiliar with it?
Sava: “With all strokes, there’s a sort of a catch, a pull, and a recovery phase—I would say you could break [a stroke] up into three. Catch is when your hands first enter the water. They should be around shoulder width apart. You should try to feel your body on top of the water and press on it. Everything has to be smooth in the water. One phase leads into the other. If it’s too robotic, it doesn’t work; you have to build momentum and a rhythm and keep it going.
“Then you get into the pull, which is the ‘power’ part of the stroke, where you pull back on the water. And you’re supposed to breathe—I like to breathe every stroke, but that’s mostly because it’s the 200m.
“When you breathe, you have to sort of extend your chin above the water and be completely flat. Can’t go too high up, can’t go too low, because otherwise you would hit the water. It has to be just always going forward.
“Then you get to the recovery—that’s when all the photos are taken, Michael Phelps or Ryan Lochte or whatnot. You bring your arms over the water and your fingers, like, your thumb should be facing down. It should be nice, smooth, that’s where you’re supposed to be resting. But it’s also, like, you’re whipping your arms forward.
“You have to do two kicks for a stroke cycle. The second kick should be technically more powerful, because that’s what gets you forward.”
To go forward is for the flow of the body to overpower the opposing flow of the water. In doing so, one exists not in that nebulous, quivering hesitancy characteristic of our mortal state of being, but in an inseparable flow of thought, movement, and habit.
With the assistance of a craft, however, a different understanding becomes possible.
There are a lot of factors in determining the flow of the river and navigating the rapids. Can you summarize the general experience?
Van Walsum: “You pull the boats aside, you scout the rapids—so you look at it from the top, and you look at it from the bottom and you make landmarks, so that when you’re going down the rapids you can respond to how the river flows. I get a very strong rush of adrenaline. As soon as the water hits, it’s entirely calm. It’s hitting calm and like the eye of the storm. I seem very stressed from the outside, but everything is apparent in what I have to do next.”
It seems like a fairly dangerous activity. What motivates you to continue doing it?
Van Walsum: “I like how I feel when I complete something that I wasn’t confident I was able to complete. And then I just perceive myself as a different person who can problem-solve. That’s why I return to it.
“Also another thing is that it’s an individual sport that can very easily not be competitive because it’s so creative. Oftentimes with sports that are route-based, you get people who are willing to help each other problem-solve.
“I’m really happy to have entered into that sort of space in terms of working out. I was raised in a very conservative environment—I skied, ran cross country, and played various different team sports. In those it was all about winning or finishing before someone else, but if you’re on a trip, like an expedition where you have to complete whitewater, it’s about getting everyone through. You have to uplift your weakest members rather than cut them from the team.”
What would you say the biggest difference of your relationship with the water as a paddler is compared to a swimmer who swims in open waters?
Van Walsum: “It’s definitely a collaboration—you can’t really defy the way that the river wants to go. You can get sucked into one spot, you can flip, you can get pinned. I think you need to be more respectful, but also a little bit cheekier with the water.”
Whitewater in all its magnitude renders the need for a harmony in the flow of the body and flow of the water. One cannot overestimate the machinations of their body, for the titanic flow of the river will swallow them whole.
Still water has been defanged, so rather than a symbiosis, it is a severance, necessitating a reconciliation between the fluid capability of the body and its ability to execute precise minutiae.
How do you reconcile making sure that you’re performing the stroke correctly, but also, like you said, ensuring your movement isn’t robotic and has a consistent flow in the water?
Sava: “You could be physically strong, but that only gets you so far. And then you could also just be naturally talented in the water, but if you don’t go to the gym or go to practice, you won’t get to where you want to be. You need a balance between good technique, and lots of physical conditioning to maintain that technique for whatever distance you’re swimming.
“You can’t just go to practice and go through the motions, you have to constantly be thinking.”
Michael Sava and Seavey van Walsum’s words express the bilateral nature of the relation between the body and water, not dissimilar from any other relation. After all, we do not exist in a vacuum. Every flow, every movement can be connected to another, no matter how faint or palpable.
What advice would you give from your experiences?
Van Walsum: “If you want to get yourself out of a hole, it’s a good metaphor. If you think about the flowing river, there’s going to be the same features. So there’s going to be at ease where it’s something just like swirls. There are also going to be holes. So how do you dig yourself out of a hole?
“With whitewater, what you do is you curl up into a ball and try to sink down and swim underneath the water until you’re out of that spot. So you could read that a couple different ways. If it’s facing downstream, you could try to swim towards where it’s weak, like in the middle, and then swim down and then it’ll flush you out. If it’s facing upstream that’s impossible because there’s no weaker spots. If you want to get to the weaker spots you would have to swim upstream and that just kind of puts you back into where it’s strongest. I guess you could mix and match that however you’d like, especially if you’re going through the flow of life like the flow of a river.
“My whitewater advice on it is curl up into a ball, sink, and swim the hardest you’ve ever swam. Don’t flail.”
This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.
