The Parapan American Games are held once every four years. In August of 2007, the games took place in Rio de Janeiro.
That year, Brazil hosted 1,150 athletes from 25 countries.
When the team landed in Rio, security hurried them from the plane to the terminal because of gang shootings across the runways. They arrived early for swim training and to get over jet lag.
Beth’s coach, Peggy, led the U.S. Paralympics Swimming Team as Head Coach for the first time. The team of 14 swimmers voted Beth Co-Captain. Julie O’Neill, promoted to the top spot in U.S. Paralympics, told an Ohio reporter, “Beth just has a great personality. She’s dedicated, intelligent. She’s got all these pieces, and she’s one of the athletes we look to for leadership.”
“She’s an incredibly positive person,” Peggy added, “and it rubs off on people she comes in contact with.”
Peggy led team-building activities, a few repeated from Beth’s high school and SAK teams. Out of the pool, one involved dividing into groups and picking one in each to chew the most gum as quickly as possible. In the pool, Beth grabbed the ankles of a swimmer ahead of her as they raced a lap. The team played water polo in the deep end while Beth bobbed and treaded water. They also raced with funny strokes. I followed the trip in email newsletters from U.S. Paralympics. They included quotes from the athletes, including Beth.
“I am really excited about being here, and I am very honored to serve as the captain for the women’s team. It is a great learning experience for all of us.”
At the Paralympic Championships in Vancouver, Canada, Beth excelled in the 200 free. Distance events tapped into her ever-increasing stamina and allowed her to find the best rhythm. They also translated to her top spots in the World Rankings and high odds of earning medals. However, the 100 free event for S3 women at the Beijing Paralympics would be dropped, leaving only two events, the 50 free and 50 back. One length of a long course pool, both sprints.
Not one distance event.
Eliminating all except two shortest S3 events for Beijing would carry forward, by precedent, to the next Paralympics, where they might be cut again. At least 90 percent of all Paralympic swimmers carried classifications with higher numbers than Beth. They had opportunities to qualify in many events in a wide range of distances and strokes.
Firmly closing the door on distance events, Peggy and the Harvard coaches shifted the focus of Beth’s workouts.
They eliminated circle turn practice and added more sprint sets. She wouldn’t race again in the butterfly, breaststroke, individual medley, or 200-meter events. I suggested she reset her first slow American Records, including the 200 back. She also could easily claim more records in other strokes and distances. Beth chose not to reset slow records, or swim other events just to get her name in the records more often.
Beth’s forward freestyle progressed to surpass the speed of her double-arm backstroke, making the 50 free her best chance for a medal in Beijing.
The freestyle also placed her higher in the World Rankings. She aimed for the 50-meter freestyle American Record, the most difficult in her classification. Beth also shared her newest goal: a small tattoo on her leg when she made the Beijing team.
Next: Wrong Moving Address!
Beth’s second trip to the Paralympic World Cup in England fell conveniently during reading period, Harvard’s open study time before finals. I stayed home. Peggy flew to Manchester as a Team USA coach. Aware of Beth’s earlier solution for the high bed at the same hotel, Peggy placed the box springs along the wall and left the mattress to sleep on. Beth brought home a bronze international medal.
In Ohio, the two-story Tiffin home we bought in 1984 for $39,000 appraised 23 years later at $105,000. In the midst of the housing crisis, home sales had slowed nationally and even more in Tiffin because of factory closings. We listed the house for $99,000. On a lucky day, a young couple requested a second showing of our home. We told them we would accept an offer of $90,000.
The home where we raised our children sold.
An early closing date forced us to rent a Tiffin apartment for two months. I turned in my notice at the nursing home and sold our second work car. We left our old house and garden walkways on an emotional day. So many memories. I wish I had kept the seeds of the flowers we called 4 o’clocks. They thrived in the dirt of a front window well. Over decades, the colors blended into one-of-a-kind blooms, each flower unique.
At a tiny apartment across town, John and I carried a double mattress to the bedroom floor and a single bed on a metal frame for Beth in the living room. The only other furnishings: a TV, card table, and two matching chairs. And important things, like my African violets.
Beth’s sixth swimming summer began with my drive east to pick her up at Harvard and bring her to Tiffin for the last time.
She swam with SAK and Peggy at the outdoor pool and on her own at the YMCA. She researched her senior thesis. Always reading, Beth checked off more books on her top one hundred classics list. We both read Jane Austen books and watched movie renditions, always rating the books higher. She completed her Harry Potter collection with the seventh and last, “The Deathly Hallows.” The first 24 hours of sales set a new record with 11 million copies sold. She waited in a long line with Ellen and Lizzy to see the fifth Harry Potter movie, “The Order of the Phoenix.” A dinner in Sandusky with Laraine ended in a teary farewell, probably for the last time.
Beth started graduate school applications and made notes for admission essays.
“I have met many people with disabilities who are limited by inadequate health services. This stark reality has shifted my focus from a childhood desire to be a doctor to fighting for disability rights.”
Next: More Travels!
Newton, Massachusetts topped the list of the best small cities in New England.
The city shared a border with Cambridge where Beth attended college and Maria taught special ed. John applied to the Newton Public Schools and to a few other systems in the area. Two schools called him for interviews that he scheduled during his April school vacation.
To start spring break, we drove to Somerville and dropped off a carload of boxes and Beth’s cedar chest to store at Maria’s apartment. We visited with the girls between their busy work and college schedules.
John and I relied on our new GPS to find the Newton elementary school for his first interview. I dropped him off and waited for his phone call at Not Your Average Joe’s, my new favorite restaurant. He felt good about his interview.
Like Maria, John’s passion for teaching showed.
John accepted a second grade position in Newton to start in the fall. With crazy home prices in the Boston area, we viewed many apartments to rent. Our house payment in Ohio had been $475 a month including property tax and insurance. In 2007 near Boston, the rent for a nice two-bedroom apartment started at $1,900 a month, plus utilities. Slightly higher salaries did not begin to make up the difference, though it would be worth it to be closer to Maria and Beth. We paid a deposit on an apartment in Watertown Square with a July move-in date.
At his request, John’s friends hosted a happy hour for his retirement at a restaurant instead of a big traditional party. Gifts included an intricate scrapbook with personal messages from co-workers. The last day of school, he brought home a box of mechanical gadgets and science toys that he used to entertain his students.
We teased John about being a talented comedian—for second graders.
My efforts to anticipate and avoid problems failed during a Paralympic swim meet in Canada. I met Beth at the Montreal airport. She wasn’t a fan of flying but that didn’t stop her from getting on planes. Beth surprised people by traveling alone with a duffel bag on her lap and a big Harvard Swimming pack on the back of her chair.
I had no rental car reservation. The subway had been recommended, and it worked—if you could climb flights of steps. We decided on taxis instead. On the last morning, we rode through a heavy March snowfall to the swim meet.
One of Beth’s big wheels flattened during prelims, a first in seven years of air-filled tires. After her injury, I worried about many things, but a flat tire had been completely off my radar. Overly optimistic, we hoped a new inner tube in an odd size could be easily found at a local bike shop.
On a Sunday. During a snowstorm.
I left to save the day while Beth rested in our hotel room. I planned to pick her up with an inflated wheel in my hand before the last finals session. I hailed a taxi carrying the flat wheel and a list of bike shops; thankfully, Montreal had several. A friendly driver headed for the nearest one while I called others. Phone recordings said some were open though no one answered.
Beth called me in a panic when I left the third bike shop with the flat tire. She learned it was a big deal to miss a finals race at a championship meet, with paperwork required in advance. Time ticked away, and drivers acted as though they’d never seen snow before. Plows blocked roads and piled snow on parked cars.
Miraculously, the fourth bike shop had the right size inner tube. By the time they fixed the wheel, and I arrived back to the hotel, finals had already begun. The taxi driver waited while I ran up to our room with the wheel and flew back down with Beth who wore her swimsuit under sweats. Peggy called us from the pool. We might make it in time for her first race. A traffic jam tested our patience and dampened the beauty of the white wonderland.
Finally, I paid the driver way too much, and we rushed to the pool deck where Peggy waved frantically. Right next to a starting block, Peggy and I stripped Beth’s coat and sweats off in seconds and literally dropped her in the lane. Another quick moment, and the race began. Her hastily donned goggles came off and floated in the water behind her.
We laughed about it later, but it wasn’t funny at the time. ;-)
In hindsight, we should’ve borrowed a wheelchair from another swimmer for Beth to get to finals with Peggy. Friends on the team with prosthetic legs sometimes traveled with wheelchairs. I bought a set of foam-filled tires the next day--the only kind she’s used since!
Over a long August weekend, John and I met Beth at the San Antonio airport for our first trip to Texas. Oppressive heat welcomed us. I bothered Beth with temperature checks and wondered who had the idea for a swim meet in Texas in August. Between prelims and finals of the U.S. Paralympics meet, I left a trail of sweat through the River Walk and the Alamo, monitoring Beth’s temperature often. John’s camera captured butterflies on bright flowers, thriving in the stifling heat.
Beth and the other National Team swimmers learned about lactate testing, an important element of competitive swimming.
Lactate increased in arm and leg muscles during races, a potential problem if the athlete had another event in the same session. A quick poke for a drop of blood right after her first race revealed Beth's lactate level. After she warmed down with leisurely laps, a coach tested her blood again. If her lactate level was not low enough, she swam slowly for a longer time. Through this process, repeated after other races, they determined the optimum warm down for each swimmer, so muscles would be at peak performance for the next race.
Beth’s swim times in San Antonio earned her a place on the World Championship team going to South Africa.
Unwilling to miss a month of college, she gave up her slot immediately to allow someone else to go in her place. However, the Beijing Paralympics would not be declined.
Her IPC World Rankings rose to fourth and fifth with the 100 and 200 freestyle.
As she finished her internship on Capitol Hill, Beth decided Washington, DC was her favorite big city. Losing the last remnants of her shyness, Beth accepted her first dates. She didn’t see her disability or her wheelchair as impediments to dating.
She thought about how her next years would revolve around finishing at Harvard and starting graduate school, so at her request, we sold her car to a Toledo friend who needed the hand controls.
I would always cherish our fun road trip memories in her little blue car.
Next: Career Change!
One of the few perks of being a group home manager was making the work schedule. I set up everything at work so I could be off for a long weekend in early December. Beth made her way to Boston’s Logan airport on her own. She traveled with a duffel on her lap and a full backpack on her wheelchair handles, and rode in an accessible taxi to the big airport. She stayed in her manual wheelchair until the plane boarded, when she moved to a small aisle chair to access her seat on the plane. Her wheelchair was tagged and put underneath with the luggage. She kept her duffel and backpack with her on the plane to avoid baggage claim later. After the landing, she was always the last passenger to deboard.
Beth was stuck on the plane until someone brought an aisle chair to carry her back to her own wheelchair.
I flew out of Detroit and met Beth at the Minneapolis/St. Paul International Airport. It was wonderful to reconnect with Beth since we had been separated for months, for the first time. I drove a rental car to our familiar hotel across from the university pool complex.
I had a cell phone, but no smart phone or GPS, so I had a routine for swim trips. I printed Google maps to navigate around a new city. By the time the two or three day swim meet in a strange city ended, I had just started to gain my bearings. In Minneapolis, I could relax, since I knew where to go from previous swim meets there. I had a good sense of direction. Ever since I grew up a few blocks from Lake Erie in Lorain, Ohio, I could usually find north, to the water, from different places around the state.
My lake sense, my true north, didn’t work in other regions, unfortunately. However, my real true north was my family.
The beautiful pool at the University of Minnesota bumped down to second on Beth’s list of favorite pools after Harvard’s Blodgett. She achieved an unexpected milestone at the winter meet: a PanAmerican Record in the 100-meter backstroke. She also added a brand new American Record in the 150 IM (backstroke, breast, and free), and reached an amazing fourth place in the IPC World Rankings in the 200 freestyle! If only the 200 free was an official event for her S3 disability classification. With an eye on the 2008 Beijing Paralympics, we hoped it would include at least one longer S3 event.
Beth set and reset American Records on the Harvard Women’s Swim Team and the U.S. Paralympics National Team, working toward the perfect freestyle, the ultimate 50-meter freestyle record, and Beijing.
Next: Moving On!
(This blog tells my family's story. To see more, click "blog" at the top of this webpage.)
Back home after our Norway trip, Beth bought the new Harry Potter book, The Half-Blood Prince. I didn’t need to wait long to read her copy. During a family trip to Columbus to see Ben, we watched Murderball, a documentary about the remarkable U.S. Paralympics quad rugby team that competed in Athens, Greece. Rugby was an aggressive sport with frequent injuries, and caught Beth’s interest when a friend invited her to use his special rugby wheelchair at a Columbus practice. Ben volunteered to pick her up off the court floor when she got knocked out of the chair. I loved to hear them laugh.
Coach Peggy vetoed Beth's plans to participate in a rugby practice, and also the sit skiing she wanted to try. Peggy reminded her that broken bones would derail her freestyle and Beijing goals. Beth technically could swim with a broken leg, with no cast, but the increased spasms would slow her down.
“Peggy is immensely caring,” Beth said, “and she thrived on the challenge of coaching me in a new way.”
In late July, I flew with Beth and Peggy to Portland, Oregon for a rare national meet at an outdoor pool. Swimming under the hot sun meant the few with quadriplegia contended with fevers, since their body temperatures couldn’t regulate normally.
Despite a rising body temperature, Beth earned American Records in the 200 free and 50 back. She would’ve added another in the 150 Individual Medley (IM) except for an uneven touch at the ending wall. A disqualification. Beth’s right hand bent into a fist more than the left, so Peggy started the paperwork to apply for an IPC exception.
In Portland, no other S3 women competed. This meant Beth couldn’t see swimmers on either side of her during races, since faster swimmers with higher-numbered classifications quickly moved out of her sight at the start. After a race, a reporter asked about her decision to give up the spot she earned for the Athens Paralympics.
“I’m definitely not going to miss out on China,” Beth said, “and have put myself on a three-year training schedule to qualify.”
Between swim sessions, we drove the Columbia River Scenic Highway to picturesque waterfalls, with Mount Hood in the distance. Beth and I recalled the view of Mount Rainier where her swimming journey started. We wondered where we would be if we hadn’t gone to Seattle—where Beth set big swimming goals, and where we saw the unusual billboard with the caption, “Quadriplegia at Harvard: A+.”
Next: Back to Cambridge for Year 2!
(This blog tells my family's story. To see more, click "blog" at the top of this webpage.)
In Norway, we snapped pictures to add to our scrapbook at the Worlds End (Verdens Ende), a desolate spot on the water with many small, bare rock islands. The islands reminded me of stepping stones for a giant heading into the strait of Skaggerak and the North Sea.
The Worlds End looked exactly the same twenty-nine years ago, when I was as an exchange student.
In Denmark, we drove with Anne-Lisé past cows grazing on small strips of grass next to narrow rivers. We visited and stayed with Gretha and her daughter Belinda, who was an adorable little girl in blonde pigtails when I first met them in 1977. We saw the sights in beautiful Aalborg and spent lovely, relaxed evenings with friends before driving to Norre Vorupar on the coast. We carried Beth into small bathrooms where her wheelchair would not fit. One evening, Gretha treated us to dinner at a fancy restaurant on a North Sea beach. Our server and friends teased John and me about ordering only water—apparently a social sin! :-)
Back in Oslo, an airline called with unwelcome news. Our flight was moved up a day, so we boarded a plane after a heartfelt thank you and sad goodbyes with my second mom, Anne-Lisé.
Our layover in Paris turned into a fiasco.
First, the staff acted like they had never had a passenger with a wheelchair before. After we landed and the other passengers left, we waited for a clunky airport wheelchair, then waited longer for a strange cubicle on wheels that raised in the air to meet the back door of the airplane. The four of us reluctantly entered the cubicle, which carried us a long way to a terminal.
Second, we learned our flight to Detroit had been delayed to the next day and the airline would not pay for a hotel.
Third, we picked up our luggage and waited for Beth’s manual wheelchair to be returned to us. And waited. At the customer service desk, rude airline staff nonchalantly told us they couldn't find her wheelchair. No big deal? How could a wheelchair be lost? We moved Beth to a regular molded plastic chair since her back hurt in the airline wheelchair, but she still wasn’t comfortable. We had to keep asking the desk staff to check again, until they finally made a phone call. Or pretended to. Tired and hungry, we were not happy campers. Beth’s wheelchair was lost for two hours.
Fourth, we boarded a crowded airport shuttle to a hotel. On the way, the driver pulled over for an unscheduled stop just to smoke a cigarette, while all of us had to stay on the shuttle, packed in like sardines. The hotel charged outrageous prices. We overpaid for a tiny room with one bed and two of us slept on the floor.
When we arrived in Detroit, we brought with us a new appreciation for U.S. airports.
(This blog tells my family's story. To see more, click "blog" at the top of this webpage.)
Twenty-nine years had passed since my summer in Norway as an exchange student. My former host mom, Anne-Lisé, invited us to stay with her for two weeks in July. With a new job in Columbus, Ben missed our biggest family trip. The other four of us boarded a plane.
The rugged beauty of Norway’s fjords had not diminished since my first trip.
We stayed several days at Anne-Lisé’s rustic summer cottage in Tjome. There was no road that reached her land, so she drove the car on grass and a dirt path. Huge boulders dotted the view, the landscape untouched except for a small home now and then. The cottage had been built next to a massive rock that extended from the main entrance and served as a deck. For breakfast, Anne-Lisé served tubes of caviar and chunks of cheese with heavy thin bread and wide crackers. Delicious, except for the caviar.
Maria and Beth decided to swim in the Oslo fjord, a short distance from the cottage through woods.
It was a difficult trek with a wheelchair and one of the few times Beth didn’t complain about being pushed. Massive rocks met the water, with no beach. I positioned Beth’s chair the best I could and lowered her to the rocks. The cold water (64ºF, 18ºC) nixed her plans to swim. Instead, I shot a photo of the girls in shallow water and complied with Beth’s request to return to her wheelchair. I should say, I tried to comply.
Maria and I slipped on the wet rocks. Beth laughed. Then all three of us couldn’t stop laughing. When we tried again, we fell again. And a third time. Laughing and lifting never worked. Finally, Maria and I accomplished the task after catching our breath and planting our feet in a less slippery spot.
We teased Beth, blaming her for our new bruises.
In Oslo, the new Nobel Peace Center made a lasting impression, as well as Vigelandsparken, a beautiful sculpture park built on a stunning scale and depicting every stage of life. In 1976 at the same park, I sat next to the U.S. Ambassador at a formal ceremony to celebrate the U.S. Bicentennial on July 4. After he spoke, it was my turn. I stood at the microphone in a stars and stripes top and skirt. I read my prepared speech, and Anne-Lisé gave me flowers.
Twenty-nine years later, we toured the Edvard Munch art museum with my second mom, Anne-Lisé, and her lovely granddaughter, Christina. At an Oslo pub with fresh flowers on our table, my teenage daughters ordered long island iced teas, their first legal drinks.
Next: The World’s End and Denmark!
I'm a mom on a mission to share a message of hope for those in crisis! For signed copies of my new memoir, click BOOK, and find it on Amazon HERE. It also will be available everywhere books are sold starting April 9, 2019. Thanks! ❤ Cindy
Follow my once-