I never thought I would be a swimmer. I don’t think many kids do, growing up. I mean, most parents put their kids in swim lessons — perhaps their instructor even tells them their child is a natural, and they dabble in swim team. But, eventually, they move on to basketball, to soccer, to sports that are just a little more fun. As a kid, I came to the same conclusion. I had not yet quit swimming, but hadn’t found much joy in it either. I would much rather have been on a basketball court (I did indeed play out my hoop dreams as a middle schooler) but as those aspirations faded, I was left with the sport of swimming, something I had monotonously been doing three times per week, struggling to find any enjoyment in the activity that had been a constant in my decade or so of life. It was, to me, something I just did. I didn’t really consider myself a swimmer, nor did I ever think specifically about what exactly I wanted out of this experience beyond learning its fundamentals.
As I approached high school, however, I found myself steadily improving. My required practices increased, my times dropped, and it was becoming harder and harder not to acknowledge this sport as a central piece of my identity. On a whim, I made it a goal, albeit without any framework of what it would take, to become the captain of the boys’ swim and dive team at ETHS. I don’t know exactly what caused me to shift my mindset in this way — perhaps I was bolstered by my improvement, or simply wanted a meaningful destination for a sport that had quietly but firmly intertwined itself with my life. Whatever it may have been, it was at that moment, as I stepped onto the ETHS pool deck for the first time, that I fully committed to being a swimmer. That was now who I was, an inauguration and acknowledgement of my new identity.
To call the years that would follow transformative would be an understatement. Now fully committed to being a swimmer, I began training like I never had before. I was introduced to 6 a.m. practices, doubles (practicing in the morning and afternoon), back-to-back meets, and spending most non-school hours in a pool or preparing to hop in one. High school was a harsh awakening for a fledgling eighth grader who had just decided swimming would be his thing. Practices were shockingly and often excruciatingly difficult; I soon realized that a “good practice” was one where you didn’t feel like you were on the verge of getting up, walking out, and never touching the water again. There would be times during particularly dreadful sets when I genuinely thought to myself, “Why do I do this sport?” I would dread morning practices, jumping into the cold water, performing near two hours of herculean physical challenges, and doing it all again in the afternoon. Through sickness, through jet lag, through aches and pains — days were seldom missed, for in the sport of swimming, one day missed takes two to get back. As my career progressed, I harbored more and more disdain for much of the sport itself, wondering how this was the path I had embarked on. At the same time, however, I berated myself for even thinking such thoughts, thoughts that so greatly countered my sense of identity with swimming. I was a swimmer. I knew that getting better would hurt, and I was indeed getting better. But as my times dropped, so did my love and appreciation for swimming. I believe, in fact, I know, that this is where my complicated relationship with the sport truly started. Because, despite hours of gruelling workouts, grinding towards a goal my auspicious middle school self set on a whim, and, more often than not, despising it, I found myself during these years creating some of the best moments and connections of my life. The people, the sense of community — I don’t think I will experience anything quite like the togetherness of the ETHS Boys Swim and Dive team ever again. Forever will I cherish the sport as a link to friends and memories that I will have for the rest of my life. But that’s just it — as my swimming career comes to an end, I’m not sure what my reaction should be. How do I reconcile leaving such a huge part of me behind, despite it being something I’m hesitant to say I ever loved in the first place? The arduous practices and long meets aren’t things I’ll dearly miss, but it feels like a betrayal to myself to say I never enjoyed them at all. I simply know that love is all too simple a word to use when describing my swimming career.
This is the harsh truth that I’ve come to realize over the past month: it’s okay to be glad something once integral to your life has now come to an end. On top of that, I’ve come to know that moving on is not a stain on what you’ve accomplished; rather, an honest assessment of your relationship with the sport. I’ve had teammates call me a “bum” and a “sellout” for not continuing for four more weeks to go to Nationals, or for not doing practices and meets this summer. And while the eighth grader in me wholeheartedly agrees with their sentiments, so used to putting more and more and more into the sport, the current me knows that, no matter how counteractive it may be to the ‘swimming-first’ mindset I’ve been following for the last four years, the time has come to be honest with myself about this closing chapter. There is no doubt in my mind that I am grateful for going through the last decade of my life in tandem with the sport of swimming. But I am unbelievably sure that I am ready to close this door in order to open new ones. Since finishing swimming, I’ve gotten back into basketball and found time to learn new piano pieces — things that do truly bring me enjoyment. If there is one thing swimming has taken, it’s time: time to explore these other hobbies, time from social activities, and time from plain rest. It is always difficult to recognize that you never truly loved something you spent a lifetime training for and eventually succeeded at. But this acknowledgement is the first step towards creating a future for you, one that faithfully represents the things that bring you happiness.
