Personal Narrative: My Path With Swimming

When I first joined the North Attleboro Swim Team my freshman year of high school, I did not know what to expect. Prior to joining, I had never swam on a team before so it was a whole new experience to me. As the first week of swim started, I was apprehensive if I wanted to continue since I was not on the same caliber as my other teammates were. The practices were brutal but extremely rewarding, as I strived to prove myself and to my coaches. As my freshman season was under way, a couple of upperclassmen took

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.

During this positivity mission, one of the most memorable moments occurred at the Niagara LSC Championships. A few newer faces joined us this year, which was a perfect opportunity to get to know some of the swimmers in other levels. Following one of the new swimmer’s races, I turned to him on the bench and complimented his excellent race. I will never forget the smile looking back at me when he asked in disbelief, “You know my name and you watched me?”. My answer was simple, “Of course, you are my teammate”.

JP: What did you think when you emerged as the leader in the final phase of the race?

Joining a team with kids ranging from five to eighteen, it can be hard. It seemed as if everyone already knew each other. At first, I felt like an outcast, but not for long, once I proved I could swim fast. It took time learning names and getting used to the practices, but in the end my entrance into this group was easy compared to the practices I had to go through. The coaches, swimmers, the swimmers’ parents became my second family. We all believed in hard work, having fun, and racing when the time came. Our norms were putting in the effort when swimming and if you did, it would pay off in the meets. Slacking off was never rewarded and always sanctioned. Either the coach or your parent, or both, would yell at you, which distracted others, which could ultimately cause you to be kicked out of practice for that day. Although I never got kicked out of practice, I was given the infamous nickname, Snax. It was not necessarily a bad nickname, it came about because I had a habit of always having snacks. We all got nick names from something we had done or just because. My best friend was Yugi, because his younger brother had called him that, my other friend we called squid; it was just part of the culture of being on the

I thought to myself “What if I’m not good enough? What if I dislike it as much as I remember? What will the Lyman Hall kids be like?” These worries only lasted until I opened the front door of the school, because I was greeted by many familiar faces. I shook hands with the captains, Victor Jacome and Robbie Driscoll, whom I had known from my previous swim team. The first practice was very difficult; in years past, I would have considered it to be very mild and easy, but I hadn’t tried to swim in a competitive manner in a very long time, and even after a couple laps, every muscle in my body ached. This was a very foreign feeling to me because I hadn’t felt this way since I first started swimming when I was 10 years old. At the peak of my conditioning when I was around 14 years old, I could swim a full mile, or 66 laps at a competitive pace, without stopping, and I would feel fine. However, like riding a bike, there is muscle memory involved, and after a few more practices swimming started to feel more like I remembered it. Despite this, some things still felt different; I changed a lot in 2 years: I grew from around 5’8 to 6’1 and went from very scrawny to somewhat a normal amount of muscle. These physical changes were beneficial to my swimming of course, and I felt myself traveling farther in the water with each stroke, therefore being more efficient. When swimming

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

Joining a team with kids ranging from five to eighteen, it can be hard. It seemed as if everyone already knew each other. At first, I felt like an outcast, but not for long, once I proved I could swim fast. It took time learning names and getting used to the practices, but in the end my entrance into this group was easy compared to the practices I had to go through. My exit from DCPR was much harder, the coach’s said a few things about us at the award ceremony and then the team gave us a card and best wish in college and off we go. The coaches, swimmers, and the swimmers’ parents had become my second family. We all believed in hard work, having fun, and racing when the time came. Our norms were putting in the effort when swimming and if you did, it would pay off in the meets. Slacking off was never rewarded and always sanctioned. Either the coach or your parent, or both, would yell at you. At 12 I was given the infamous nickname, Snax. It was not necessarily a bad nickname; it came about because I had a habit of always having snacks. We all got nicknames, they were our folkways. It was just part of the culture of being on the team. Our more was practice; it started at 6 every day and had a set

I wake up barely dawn, when the early morning is still unpleasantly chilly and most of my peers are comfortably cuddled in their blankets. I, on the other hand, will dive into the pool. My weary limbs urging me to go back to bed, but my ambitious heart encouraging me to move forward. I keep going, training, and racing for the next two and a half hour; everyday, until my arms are too tired to lift my aching body out of the pool. Some days were easy. I had motivation and full of energy. Others, were much more difficult and I had to improvise, adapt, and overcome.

The journey of competitive swimming started at the age of eight for my local `neighborhood team. I exhibited great potential for the future, for I won nearly all my races. This seemed like the sport

When the day of the first swimming unit started, I felt scared, or perhaps that’s my present emotions getting in the way of my past emotions. We entered the locker room and equipped ourselves with our swimming apparel and exited to the room with the pool. I could smell the chlorine in the air. Everyone in my class was seated on a large steel bench and divided into groups; Beginner, Intermediate, and Advanced.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could spy them encouraging me to speed up during my races, their voices ringing in my ears as I surfaced to breathe. In the time not spent in the water, we would converse, discussing preferences and abhorrences, exchanging stories and light banter. We held random competitions in our miniscule team area, involving bottle-flipping contests or bets placed on who would win the ongoing heat. After each race, my coaches would approach and congratulate me, where they informed me of my various errors and techniques to improve my mistakes. Ultimately, they inspired me to overcome pain and difficulty in order to achieve my goals.

Towards the end of summer my parents- who are the president and secretary of my swim booster club- told me that we’d be getting a new coach for the high school season. I was a little uncomfortable with the idea of a new coach. When summer ended and school started we met our new coach and started practices. We even had optional morning practices as well as afternoon practices and voluntary morning weightlifting. I was putting in at least 3 hours of work every

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.

When practice ended, I slowly got changed and said goodbye to all my teammates. It was really hard to leave them, especially since I had played with some of them for almost 4 years. After I had said all of my goodbyes, I turned to my coach, whom I had known for the entire time I had played water polo, about 5 years. I took a picture with him, and started to turn away. As I was walking away, he called after me to come back. When I faced him again, he told me to remember this club, and to represent them well at my new one.