While I was on the ferry home from Provincetown to Boston after a gloriously relaxing 4th of July weekend, I spent a good amount of the trip watching the U.S. Olympic swim trials. Like a wavy fever dream a la Wayne's World I flashed back to the summer of '87 when I had aspirations of donning a speedo and frolicking in the water with a bunch of half naked boys.  Sadly it never came to be and my dreams of becoming an Olympic hopeful went down the toilet in a wad of tissues.

Growing up I was far from what you would call athletic but there were a number of sports that I dabbled in throughout the years.  My brothers and I all raced BMX for the majority of my youth; I like to think it was because I loved the sport but really it may have had something to do with my love of BMX Bandits (hey Nicole Kidman) and RAD (ah, dreamy Bill Allen circa 1986).  Who can tell. 

One year I participated in two separate training camps, one for lacrosse and one for swimming.  Lacrosse was intense and nearly killed me.  By the end of summer, I would have done anything to avoid lacrosse.  If Clueless had come out a good decade earlier I totally would have pulled an Amber: "My plastic surgeon doesn't want me doing any activity where balls fly at my nose."  Alas, I didn't have a witty screenwriter to rescue me so I toughed it out day after day even though I absolutely hated it.

On the flipside was swimming; much like roller skating, in my mind I was a natural born swimmer, destined for greatness.  I would have traded my Holly Hobby Easy-Bake Oven (oh yes, I actually had one... yet another sign) to swim every day. When I wasn't pouring Sun-In on my already way too blonde hair, the lazy days of summer were all about being in the pool and trying to master the dog-paddle my stroke. 

As the summer was coming to a close and the upcoming school year was fast approaching I decided to try out for the swim team.  My stepdad took me to the big scary high school for the initial meeting and once I was seated on the bleachers breathing in the chlorine from the huge Olympic sized pool before me, I was in love.  I was surrounded by all these boys that were just as into the breast stroke as I was and it felt great.  As the Coach gave his schpeal my excitement grew and I couldn't wait for our first practice to begin.

Now, there are a couple things I never thought about when it came to swimming and that's because all of my swim lessons were at our local outdoor pool so I either rode my bike there everyday wearing my suit or was dropped off by my Mother.  It never occurred to me that I would need to get naked and shower amongst other very naked, very healthy boys... honestly, it never once crossed my mind.

I kid you not when I tell you that I only made it through three practices before I quit.  The fear of dying from shame and embarrassment drove me to stop trying to be something more than a recreational swimmer.  I wasn't worried about how I measured up while doing laps or in the showers, I was deathly afraid of the feelings I would have if I was forced to be in close proximity to all those plums and bananas while in the showers. 

The reality of the situation when I look back on it is plain and simple - I was afraid of this...

...and how seeing that bulge made me tingle inside.  In just those couple days of practice, I found myself trying to steal glances. Whether we were in the showers or just changing into our suits, I had to sneak a peek and I felt out of control because it honestly wasn't even a conscious decision... it just happened.  I wasn't sure if it was innocent curiosity or if it was something else but I knew for sure that it wasn't going to be good for me at that point and time.   

Obviously I should have realized that this fear stemmed from something deeper than just not wanting to be naked with other boys, but I was young and being gay was the farthest thing from my mind so I rationalized it the only way I knew how.  I convinced myself that I wasn't good enough to make the team and that the schedule was going to be too hard to keep so I quit. 

In 10th grade I started attending our high school swim meets and I became semi-obsessed with a Junior named Joe M*#^%ski.  Joe was almost god-like with his perfect swimmers build, chiseled jaw line, adorable dimples and The V.  You know what I'm talking about boys... He had me at The V! 

At 17, Joe was already a silver fox!  His hair had turned this grayish silver color from always being submerged in chlorine and I wanted to run my fingers through that hot mess.  He had these piercing pale blue eyes that just sent my little Sophomore heart a flutter.  He was friends with my swimmer pal Kelly and I went out of my way to make sure I was standing with her if there was even a possibility we might pass by his locker or run into him in the lunchroom.  I was in love but I wouldn't and couldn't admit it. 

So while I regret not sticking it out and facing my fears head on, I understand why I didn't and I can't fault myself for not wanting to accept that I was gay before High School even began.  Growing up is hard enough, I can't imagine what it would have been like to have realized why I wanted to be friends with Joe M*#^%ski or what would have happened had I continued to shower with those boys.  What I do know is that to this day I can tell you the exact page numbers he appears on in my yearbook and how damn fine he looked in that speedo.

Speaking of looking fine in a speedo, here's to Michael Phelps and Ryan Lochte for giving us some homoerotic swim meets to look forward to once the Beijing Olympics begin in August...