My Experience At High School

“Get up now,” My mom yelled down the hallway. “Hurry or you’ll be late!” My brother and I dreaded waking up early to swim, but we had chosen to commit. Even though I’ve competed every year since first grade, I still struggled. That summer swimming taught me to have stamina, the ability to not quit even though it was hard.

The frosty morning breeze snaps at your ears and nose as you step away from the warm aroma of the bus, so you rush inside to the sports center. As you scurry in, you are stopped abruptly, meeting a large crowd of strangers gathered in the main entrance. There is barely room to squeeze past anyone, as every swimmer in New York who qualified for States, was in this one building. You finally find your way to the pool. After walking past several team banners, you finally see the banner labelled “Auburn Stingrays” and you spot your mom and dad off to the side, setting up a blanket for you to sit on. You toss your bag down and hug your parents for a final good luck before the meet. After you part from the hug, your hair is tousled by you dad, and they turn to go find a good seat before it gets filled up. “Ten minutes until warm up!” shouts the head coach of the team. You realize that you haven’t even had time to put on your swimsuit yet. You zip open your bag and grab your sleek swimsuit with a blue swizzle to resemble a stingray tail and run to the locker room to get

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.

Okay, picture this it’s the beginning of summer, it was a little before eight a.m and I had just arrived at my first swim club practice at the pool. It was my first year and I had no idea what I was doing and I was a little nervous.

Meanwhile, 17 year old Jake was training his life away. Every day he went straight from school to the pool to do some insane workout which included dry-land conditioning and swimming. He had only started swimming at the age of 13 yet was faster than some of the kids who had been swimming their entire lives. The training was so time consuming that Jake almost never went home. The times that he was pulling in were insanely fast, and his goofy demeanor easily made him the coach’s favorite. The YMCA

It was the day I had been waiting for all season; the ultimate test of my swimming career thus far. Sections day one had finally rolled around. I had just finished my brief warm up, and I got ready to rest before my crucial race. I threw on my blue, nylon warm up and wrapped my bulky parka around my body. I nestled on the bench next to my friend Liberty, and we began playing music to pump us up before the race ahead. I sat lingering patiently in the yellowy-lit University of Minnesota-Morris pool area as the musty smell of chlorine filled the air. I leaned back and shut my eyes to visualize my upcoming race and let the music pacify me. I was frigid as I sat anticipating the race.

“For these first few practices, we’re just going to work on your swimming” the coach told us. I braced myself; swimming was not what I wanted to sign up for. Still, I had come this far, I had to at least give it a try; I jumped in the water with the rest of the team. We started doing sets. It soon became clear that I was, by far, the slowest person there; on each set the rest of the team had to wait for me to finish. What they saw as an easy 50 meters, I found extremely challenging. Not just physically, but mentally. I kept thinking to myself why am I here, I’m not good enough, I’m just humiliating myself. With all these thoughts running through my head, I began to quietly cry as I swam.

RING! RING! RING! I wake to an alarm clock that reads 5:15 AM ringing in my ear. I swiftly get out of my bed, and put on my bathing suit. I dash downstairs, grab my quick breakfast, hop in the freezing car and prepare for the 2.5 hour ride to the swim meet. Gazing out the tinted window, all I see is towns with usual Saturday morning traffic, followed miles of farmland. When we arrive at the pool, we need to walk through a thick snowstorm into a half-heated pool

After roughly 30 minutes of sleep, I decided to go for a swim. The pool was nearly 58°F. I’m not a “pre-lunch” person; therefore at approximately 7 o’clock in the morning, I wasn’t a happy camper. Pulling on my super “attractive”, yellow hippo-covered, one piece, I was feeling my normal morning grogginess. Walking lackadaisically through her house, I passed her dad’s room to find that he was still asleep.

The morning winter sky was painted with an overcast of dark, gray, clouds. The air stung my cheeks with the sharp coldness as I stepped out of the dark gray car and walked away from the pleasant heat that was circulating inside. I waved goodbye to my friend’s mom that gave us the ride, and ] pushed the car door closed. I sighed tiredly began to walk to the new Milpitas High School pool for my swim meet with my best friend, and also crush, Kaleb. We entered the pool deck that smelled strongly of chlorine and was full of frustrated coaches, nervous competitors, and families searching for someplace to sit that was warm. The pool created a big vapor cloud of the warm chlorine water vapor that was battling the cold misty air. It was my first swim meet that was in the 12 year old to 17 year old division and I was the youngest swimmer in all of my heats, or groups. I

Arriving at Thompson Rivers University, we stepped off the bus and looked at the pool. The stench of chlorine burned our noses as we entered the pool. The interior design of the sport complex was amazing although it seemed like a jail. The pool reminded me about the same pool during Frasers swim meet. The vast pool was filled with swimmers diving in and climbing out of the lanes. We had a bit of time to rest before the first event started so we made use of the time to practice. Luckily, the individual medleys were the first events to start off the 2015 High School Swimming Provincials swim meet and I didn’t have to swim until event 29. I had a few hours before I had to get changed and swim so I laid back and started to doze off.

The swimmers, my second family, saw another part of my personality; however, that side connected to the empowered self more than the vulnerable one. After school practices allowed me to escape the terrors I faced at home, and I desperately needed them. Unfortunately, avoiding home came to an end as soon as swim practices ended and as soon as I stepped foot out of school.

"Kerry! You have to try again. You got this, Come on!", Wendy exclaimed as she tugged on my arm at the edge of the swimming pool. Even though I knew I needed to pass this swim test in order to race at regattas, I also knew there was no way I would pass this fourth time after failing the last three attempts. I dread the taste of chlorine and the weight of the entire pool on my head dragging me down. “Whoo, Good job!”, the girls on my team congratulated yet another teammate that successfully completed the four laps and four minutes of treading. That’s when I realize my teammates’ hard work would go to waste without a coxswain in their boat; my teammates are counting on me. “I’ll go next!”, I boasted before anyone else can come forward. I just

Finally, I climbed down into the pool and started swimming. Then the problems started. The people in front of me were too slow. A huge jam formed and stayed like that for the swim. I panicked, I couldn’t breathe. I thought about getting out of the pool but I did not. I kept swimming and finally reached the edge of the pool. I jogged outside on a black mat. Anthony was there and he took my swim cap and goggles. There was also a race official. “Good job, keep going,” she said

When I spot palm trees appearing as I’m coming down south from the north, that’s when I know I’m in the Rio Grande Valley. The sight of the palm trees reassuring me that I’m close to home. Weslaco, Texas is a town close to the border that separates the United States and Mexico. The region where people fill the air with the Spanish language. The schools that I’ve attended from the Weslaco Independent School District has provided me great lessons academically and in the real world. Throughout my elementary, middle, and high school years, I've learned the importance of becoming successful.