Swimming world has sucked me in

Today is All-Stars. This swim meet is no joke.

I know that now. But back in March, back when I wasn't yet a Swim Mom, I didn't know squat. I had no clue that watching a swim meet required the same time commitment as watching the Ironman triathlon.

I showcased my naiveté by bringing only two towels and a couple of sandwiches to the Dolphins' first meet.

Early that morning, I watched dads roll gigantic coolers across the pool deck. Systematically, they erected canopies and unfolded captain's chairs complete with leg rests. Settled into their temporary pads, they produced breakfast burritos and Thermoses of coffee and portable cooling misters. Children dug through activity bags stocked with coloring books, dinosaurs and Rescue Heroes.

I sat uncomfortably on my towel, baking in the sun.

I took my cues from the seasoned Swim Moms and penned, in marker, "Eat My Bubbles" on my 5-year-old's back. I ushered her to the team cheer ("Gimmee a D!") and absorbed the hastily erected refugee camp as we stood still for the national anthem.

A Dolphin mom standing near the race postings noticed the look of confusion on my face. She possessed both an air of authority and a clipboard. A button on her chest bore a photo of her prized swimmer.

"Hi," I began awkwardly. "I don't really know what's going on here."

"Sokol, right? OK," she said, placing her finger on a sheet of paper posted on the brick wall.

"Looks like she's in 8 and under free and back, races 18 and 52. Heat2Lane5officialback, Heat1Lane3unofficialfree."

I stared at her.

"We'll just come and get her," she assured.

We made it to All-Stars, and today I'm prepared. I'm still just a rookie Swim Mom, but now I have a cooler. I have an extra pair of goggles in my bag. I carry sunscreen and swim caps and anti-chlorine shampoo.

I've accepted that during a five-hour period my child will actually swim only for a total of a minute and a half.

I have served two stressful tours as a lane timer. I know what the ready bench is and that mean judges will callously disqualify well-intentioned swimmers. Even an adorable miniature Dolphin, like the one in Heat2Lane5officialback.

Because I am now a full-fledged Dolphin Mom, I dispense words of wisdom prerace, like, "Stay in the middle of your lane" and "swim to the end of the pool."

The Swim Moms embraced me, a clueless mom of an 8-and-under swimmer. More accurately, they sucked me into their world, one swim meet at a time.

And today, I realize I'm done with swimming. I'm ready to put this season to bed, perhaps encourage my child to pursue a sport that actually stops when the clock runs out.

As I pack up the cooler, the head coach stops by my blanket.

"I heard you were a swimmer," she announces.

"Well, back in the day, I suppose," I respond, taken aback. "I peaked at about 9."

"We could really use you on the coaching staff next year."

My mouth opens, but fails to produce any actual words.

"Super! I'll give you a call in the spring," she says enthusiastically, heading toward the pool.

Go Dolphins.