Descriptive Essay About Swimming

Imagine taking one step into a chlorine-filled arena. The humid air rushes onto your skin. An immense smile spreads across your face. This is because you know everything is about to change. In less than 24 hours you will be holding a glistening gold medal in your hand, standing up on the podium while the Star Spangled Banner blares for the whole world to hear and tears will stream down your face. Taking one look back at your coach, Teri McKeever, you realize if it wasn’t for her you would not be here. Graciously, you run up, swing your arms around her body, and embrace her in a powerful hug that says it all. Swimming is a very intense sport and consumes every second of a swimmer’s free time. However, putting in hundreds

The water was an icy shock. It made my muscles tighten as I began my eight lap warm up. Focusing on my arm movements, I struggle to keep up with the others in my lane.

You’re lining up now!” You turn and look at the whiteboard, and sure enough, a big 19 is spread across the top. Although it pains you to do it, you remove your heated, comfy layer of sweats, exposing your newly formed goosebumps, and head down to the pool. When you arrive at the table, a woman checks off your name and tells you to sit in the fourth chair down. It’s only been an hour, and the woman looks as though she has been working for three days straight. You don’t recognize either of the girls sitting next to you. It turns out that the girl to your right is from Watertown, and the girl to your left is from Cortland. You strike up a conversation with the girl from Watertown, and it turns out that you have a lot in common. Gradually, the line would inch forward, and you would be stuck sitting in someone else's chair, in which they had left a pool of water in, so you resort to sitting on the very edge of the chair. About two races before your own, your coach walks by, and starts talking to you, knowing that you are very nervous. “Don’t worry about it, you will do fine! Just remember, the faster you swim, the faster you’ll be able to dry off and get warm again.” You nod and laugh shyly and continue to anxiously wait for your race.

In this extraordinary book, the world’s most extraordinary distance swimmer writes about her emotional and spiritual need to swim and about the almost mystical act of swimming itself. Lynne Cox trained hard from age nine, working with an Olympic coach, swimming five to twelve miles each day in the Pacific. At age eleven, she swam even when hail made the water “like cold tapioca pudding” and was told she would one day swim the English Channel. Four years later—not yet out of high school—she broke the men’s and women’s world records for the Channel swim. In 1987, she swam the Bering Strait from America to the Soviet Union—a feat that,

During the spring of 2015, I missed all of the time cuts to make Speedo Sectionals, forcing me to compete in a much slower meet at the end of the season. There are few things I have experienced that are more crushing than trying my hardest and falling short of my goal. Despite the heavy disappointment, I used the opportunity to harden my resolve and use my strengths to my greatest advantage. Along with my coach’s help, I used my ability to think strategically and hone my technique through focus on the smallest details from how I would approach a swim mentally to how I would warm up. My coach had many important and useful suggestions and lessons from his past experience that required me to be an active learner that could apply his information.

A large number of swimmers don’t like it, whether that be because of the sheer difficulty, or because swimming makes them anxious, or because they’ve simply been swimming for so long that they are no longer entertained. The last option is the one that seems to hold true for most club swimmers who no longer find joy in the sport, the ones who have been doing it for five, eight, even eleven years. Those are the people who are simply tired of it. I, on the other hand, love swimming and the feeling of gliding though the water. People will tell you that no one, in any sport, really enjoys practices, but I can honestly tell you that I do. For at least the last five months I have looked forward to swim practice everyday. If nothing else, I know that I have an outlet for my anger, frustration, or any other emotion that I may have. At best, I know that I have a group of friends who are all working to achieve the same goal as I am and that I can always lean on them for support and they can always lean on me, if need be. The feeling of swimming a good race is one of the best feelings in the world. When you can tell that you're just flying through the water and you have everyone’s attention and you know that you're better than you were the last time you raced, better than you were yesterday. I guess maybe that’s the thing I like about practice, that everyday I’m

During my collegiate years of school, I want to make them my personal growth period. My academic plan includes an architecture major that will allow me to become a suitable urban planner/architect. In the pool, I will be a dynamic swimmer, as well as a positive and encouraging teammate. As I constantly grow physically and mentally through my college swimming career, I will become well diverse in freestyle events from the 50 to the 1650. Being a college athlete, I know the responsibility and commitment in which is expected of me. I will pursue to honor myself, teammates, coaches, and the school I attend, both on and off the

The school day ends, and while most students go home, swimmers still have one final practice to complete before heading home. In the time before practice starts, those who are participating in conference take a look at the psych sheet with all their times and competitors’ times with mixed emotions.

“If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.” Hearing the whistle, I immediately dove into the water. It was just a typical afternoon swim practice and the regional swim meet was almost here. We’ve been training and practicing all season for this event. Every afternoon after school we would go to the YMCA pool to practice. I’ve been working on long distance swimming, such as the freestyle 200 and 500. The night before the regional swim meet arrived, and I happened to get sick. I felt weak, stiff, and exhausted. There was no way I could do well in any event that was going to occur the next day. I took some medicine and had some tea to try and feel better. Nothing really helped. All there was to do was hope. The next day arrived… feeling sick

This paper begins with my own existing knowledge of swimming, followed by questions that I wanted to find out in my research that were answered in my paper. It then gets into my research and what I found out while conducting my senior paper. After that is

Since unprovoked attacks happen most often happen to those swimming alone, swim with a group, if possible.

It was a cold October day. The closer I came to the fogged up windows, the faster my heart would beat making my breath quicken. I step into the locker room to prepare for the pool. As soon as I step out the humidity hit me. I’ve been scoping out the competition for a few hours now and they are good. I say to my friend” I sure hope that I don’t have to race against them” . Then my name gets called and what do you know I have to go against a state winner and 6 more excellent swimmers. Suddenly my number gets called.”Swimmer's step up!”.My heart racing. Adrenalin pumping. Me trying to calm down so I can actually go. “ Swimmers ready?”...The whistle blows.

     "The Swimmer" by John Cheever describes Neddy Merril's "swim" home. Neddy is a husband and a father, he is also a drunk. The story encompasses about twenty years of his life of alcohol which ruined not only him but also his relationship with his family. One day after waking up with a hangover he drinks a little and decides to swim home. It is obvious he is a drunk because he is constantly searching for a drink on his swim home.

Your stomach is churning, while the butterflies inside are beating away. You feel like throwing up, but nothing comes out. You feel anxious standing on the block. Your legs shake with the fear of what will happen in the next few seconds, but for some reason you have never felt stronger. Your heart feels as if it will lunge out of your chest as you wait for the horn. You feel your feet leave the block. While the icy water cascades your body, feeling as if you had been shocked. Then all at once the butterflies leave, the shaking desists, and you feel nothing but power. Your body becomes one with the water, your thoughts hush to a silence. Each movement more graceful than the last. You turn your head to size up the competition with each breath. It only lasts about thirty seconds, but to you, it feels like an eternity. One wrong move and the lead is lost. One great flip turn and your lead is untouchable. Every second, every half second has never meant more than what it does in this moment. Then you finally touch the wall, turn to the scoreboard to see you qualified for leagues as well as first in your heat. This is the life of a swimmer.

Finally! I did it! I did something I never thought I would be able to do. I’m now able to do a flip turn for swimming. When I was younger, about third or fourth grade, I was in competitive swimming. At the beginning of each season, we would review basics, strokes, kicks, turns, and many other fundamentals. I was never able to do a flip turn against the wall. It wasn’t until I had gone off to the side with an instructor for a few days and worked at it until I got it.