West Hartford, Conn. ? It’s a routine for Vladimir Ouchakof: Wake up early, pack his bag with a towel, swimsuit, a swim cap and goggles, go to the pool.

Stretch. Place a plastic-wrapped note card at the end of the lane, so the black-inked workout plan won’t smudge. Ease into the water.

Swim the distance of the black line at the bottom of the pool 120 times, the equivalent of 3,000 yards.

Two hours later, the 80-year-old is finished.

“I have enough energy, and I have enough stamina to endure fatigue,” he says. “That is why I swim.”

Ouchakof is one of hundreds of elderly swimmers nationwide who swim competitively. Some were swimmers from youth. Others swam in college or picked the sport up later in life. Ouchakof began competing at the age of 65.

In August, he was one of only a handful of competitors older than 80 at the United States Masters Championships held at Rutgers University.

Since competing in his first race about 15 years ago, Ouchakof has traveled to six countries and several states for competitions. He competes about 20 times a year.

At some competitions, he swims every event offered.

The sport has become his life. The license plate on his station wagon reads, “I SWIM.” He has countless T-shirts with swimming logos. Taped above his desk, a hallway mirror and on a night stand in his home is a typewritten slogan: “Swimming is the only sport where everybody comes out clean.”

“When we go on vacation, what do you think he tries to find out first? Where is the pool,” said his wife, Josephine. “He’s a compulsive guy.”

A German-born Russian who grew up in France, Ouchakof attributes much of his success in the sport to having a second chance.

He started smoking during World War II when food rations weren’t enough to feed his family. Four decades and hundreds of cigarettes later, he was sitting at his desk at Windsor’s Combustion Engineering when he was gripped by chest pain, and he began to jolt uncontrollably.

“My body was as white as a sheet of paper,” he said. “The doctors, they told me, ‘Your lungs are black like a coal.”‘

Afraid of dying, he knew he had to exercise. He stopped smoking and got into the pool. He knew nothing about the technicalities of swimming and was only able to orchestrate a flailing dog paddle.

A fellow swimmer saw him and told him about a swimming program for adults. He joined and began asking how the competitors around him did their different strokes.

Soon the awards came. Medals, ribbons, trophies and engraved silver plates. A designation from United States Masters Swimming that he was an All American in the 200-meter butterfly.

“Swimming is my medicine,” he says. “I can survive, but that is not enough. I have to know how to improve myself, and know what I can do.”