This article is from Swimnetwork.com and Mike Gustafson
When I was 11, I wanted Swedish goggles. Looking back, I wasn’t prepared for the heavily-discounted $3.50 cheek-bone-altering I’d endure - a back-alley operation to modify my face to perfectly conform to a piece of plastic. As a young, impressionable swimmer, Swedish goggles represented the good things in life. Speed. Manhood. Masculinity. Power. The slightly older (post-prepubescent-but-not-quite-there-yet?) kids on my club team wore them, with the exception of one guy who wore a big mask-like thing, but he was odd and strange and aloof. Even at 11, I knew not to follow in the footsteps of The Masked Kid.
I bought Swedes.
First time I put them on? PAIN. Like Mr. T staring at you and knocking his gloves against your gloves, ice in his eyes, coldly stating: “PAIN.” Pain and confusion: “Wait. Are these goggles? How do these work? You just press them to your face?” Yes indeed, unfortunate little kid. You press them to your face until they gouge Grand Canyonesque grooves deep within your eye sockets. (The plastic package forgot to mention that small detail - “For ideal fit, redistribute your cheek bones!”)
You know the scene in Kill Bill when Uma Thurman trains inside a coffin to practice “one-inch-punches” and slams her fist against the top of the coffin until her knuckles deteriorate into a bloody mess of Bone Goo? Slightly worse than wearing Swedish goggles.
I had to sand my goggles down just so they wouldn’t cut up my face. Did anyone else do this? At big meets, without a file or sandpaper, I’d take them and rub them on the pavement to get the inside contours smooth. “What a great discount!” I’d say, sanding down my goggles. “And I look really cool!”
The kids these days have options. I see them wear big rubbery puff goggles. And I watch them happily tickle-n-slap up and down the pool, big smiles, perfect bone structure, and it makes me sick. Where’s the dedication to faster swimming? Where’s the Rocky-style “I’ll do anything to get faster - even if it means weeks of bone readjustment.” These days, kids have zany “eye-friendly” models like “Socket Rockets.” These offer similar drag-reducing results versus conventional goggles (read: goggles your mom would wear - no offense, Dara Torres) minus the hard-plastic bone-altering consequences. Please. What does that teach you? The 1.618 ratio?
Walk around any crowded shopping mall, store, or urban area. It’s easy to pick out the Swimmers Who Wore Swedes. We stand out. We’re the ones with the faint hint of “goggle mark” around our eyes. We’re the ones with the strange raccoon eyes whenever even the slightest bit of UV Rays hit our face. We’re the ones spending $600 on swimsuits with all the money we’ve saved on goggles. In high school, I had my “lucky reds” that lasted four years. That’s roughly $.0002 per practice (I retired them only due to respect).
Maybe it’s all a conspiracy. Maybe Swedish people want all Americans to restructure our cheek bones and don uneven facial tans. Maybe they’re waiting for the opportune moment to level to us that it was all a hoax, that the hours of painful torture endured under the guise of “faster swimming” actually caused severe brain trauma and we only have a few weeks left. I don’t care. At the bottom of my swim bag rests a pair of blue Swedes - my “Big Blues.” It cost a bagel sandwich. Had them since 2004. They’re as much a piece of me as anything, and that’s fitting, since they had to be, to fit.
Still, despite the pain, anguish, and hardships, there is love. Most professional swimmers love their Swedish goggles, probably because most professional swimmers are like me - broke and broken-in. You don’t see this kind of love in other sports. You don’t see Jeter playing baseball with a $5 mit. You don’t see Tiger Woods playing golf with $15 clubs - well, actually you don't see Tiger Woods playing golf these days, but that's neither here nor there. Swedish goggles have the formula. The painful, hard-plastic, this-works-for-you-or-you’ll-make-it-work-eventually formula.
And now, years later, I’ve found one last scary revelation: I don’t even need straps. Fifteen years of Swedish goggle facial vice clamps have allowed for a perfect fit. So what if my one eye now hangs mysteriously lower than the other?
So go ahead Swedes. Begin your uprising. But before you do, I have one modest suggestion for a follow-up invention: “The Swedish Jammer.” Plastic. Indestructible. Five bucks. Just no bleeding this time - the consequences would probably outweigh the benefits.
