Late Monday afternoon I brought Nell to theYMCA for swim team practice fully intending to kiss her goodbye and head out for a run while she swam.We had just survived our first full day of home schooling, which was lovely and exciting, but I was talked out, worn out and craving an hour to myself.

The pool deck was teeming with little kids and their parents. This was only the third practice for kids under 10. With so many new swimmers this year, the warm up deck still feels jazzy and chaotic. The assistant volunteer coach, Nancy, was doing her best to get the kids organized into their preswim land drills. The head coach, Amanda, had been called to assist at a medical emergency in the weight room.

I didn't leave immediately. I watched as 20 kids of every size and build repeated three sets of out-of-synch jumping jacks, popcorn style. My heart warmed as they attempted push-ups. I saw lots of little bottoms wagging up and down from the hips, but not much arm bending, and forget about plank position.

As Nancy started herding the kids to their lanes I finally, somewhat reluctantly, stepped forward. “Nancy,” I yelled, “what can I do?”

Moments later I found myself standing in my running clothes at the end of lane 3, eight eager, wet faces, one of them belonging to my daughter, looking up at me for the next instructions.

Suddenly the kids didn't look so hapless and cute. They looked like real people waiting to be dealt with in a calm and professional manner. “Take charge,” I told myself. “You can do this.”

I have, in fact, swum on teams in my youth and competed in triathlons in my 20s and 30s. Iam no stranger to creating swim workouts. But standing there above all those bright and mostly unknown faces, my brain emptied.

“Um, OK,” I said, squatting down to be heard, “this is my first time coaching so bear with me. Let's start with 100 yards freestyle. Streamline off the wall and remember to flip turn. Ready? Go!”

And miracle of miracles, off they went, one at a time, each kid in turn looking back atme and pushing off the wall as I yelled, “Go!... Go!... Go!”

I loved it. I learned everyone's name and age. I put them in proper order so they weren't swimming all over each other, and I gave out a few tentative style tips. Our lane started to gel. The kids looked great. I felt like a real coach.

We did a few more hundreds until Coach Amanda returned. She thanked me for stepping in and moved to take over my lane. “No, no,” I said. “I'm here. I'm happy to help.”

“Really?” she asked with a hint of a smile.

I think Coach Pam might be here to stay.

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