Personal Narrative-Swim Analysis

Whether it be through an arduous practice or a race with an intimidating competitor, I constantly seek to remember that by allowing myself to consider that I am less than my ability, I am giving the opposition the right to overcome me. At the National and State meet of my sophomore year, I competed along side of a teammate whom I deeply respected due to her ability. Through the realization that we both train together and that she has no major advantage over me in the races, I was able to convince myself that she, in fact, did not have the right to beat me. This epiphany resulted in an increase of my self-confidence, which led me to a State Title and a new feeling of self-sufficiency.

I refused to ever let someone replace me on the track again. Not only did I earn that respect, I demanded it. My workouts were no longer a social hour, but a boot camp. I was the hardest working undersized athlete in the program. My junior track season finally arrived, yet once again I would not have the chance to compete for a junior varsity district championship. No, this year I competed for a varsity district championship. My efforts in the offseason led to a promotion on the team. The lingering emotions of anger and disappointment were replaced with gleaming pride. My previous failure had propelled me to success within a single

There is a quote by Henry Ford, “Coming together is a beginning, keeping together is a process, working together is a success”. As a newcomer athlete on the Aquahawgs Swim Club, I was very cautious and weary of my behavior on the first day. Show up, do the practice, keep quiet, and go home. This mindset got me through the first 3 months and were by far the worst months of my entire athletic career. I was isolated, forced to create my own motivation and be my own critic. I hated the sport. For some reason that I still wonder about, I stayed, but enthusiasm was not present. I truly believed that I was a liability to the team because of my lack of performance in meets. That was truly my dark time. My saving light came in the form of 4, awkward,

I woke up nauseous, too sick to eat. The whole drive there I was praying it would be cancelled. The fear consumed me; I couldn’t move. I just wanted to be home in my warm, comfy bed, instead I was diving into an ice cold pool. After warm-up my coach gave me a pep talk, but I was too nervous to listen. Sometimes I got so nervous I’d throw up, right before my event. To this day I still don’t understand why I got so anxious at swim meets. For the past several years, I have had a love hate relationship with swimming. I always struggled with swimming, and many times I wanted to quit. The time commitment and the physical requirements have always been a little too much for my mind to handle and it all comes to a crescendo when it is time to compete. I often wondered why I continued to put

When I was five I joined a swim team, District of Columbia Parks and Recreation (DCPR). At the time every swimmer was Black, which was an anomaly even in the chocolate city. For all intensive purposes this made the team special, because swimming is a predominantly white sport. It was and is a rarity to see 95 plus Black children swimming. Of the hundreds of swim teams in our region, only two were made up of Black swimmers. As Black swimmers, we come in all genders, ages, and sizes, but the one thing we collectively hold in common is the color of our skin. We do not look nor could we begin to replicate the stereotypical swimmer, the hipless, silky haired, bird-liked framed white males and females that are iconic in the sport. It is simple to

The clamor of a gunshot resounds amongst the silent crowd; your feet bounce off the starting blocks, and with a sense of vigor you have never shown before. You soar toward the finish line, only to come in last place. At the end of the track meet, you are bequeathed a medal as a testament to your participation, and a reminder that although you lost you still get a trophy. As the year continues you accumulate a multitude of these awards; you decide that you should stop trying to improve your performance, because after all you still get rewarded when you lose. The track season comes to a close you're given a varsity letter for your participation, and from that moment on you begin to believe that even if you fail you deserve a reward. You go on to live a lackluster never reaching your full potential, and what more could someone ask from you especially since you participated. Toward the last years of your far from spectacular existence, you begin to question where your award for barely living life is, because after all you’ve been taught you always get a prize once you finish a race.

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.

During the swim season of my sophomore year I was at the peak of my swimming career. I was swimming great times and had a very successful season. Prior to the regional swim meet I was qualified and all I had to do was swim my qualifying times to advance to the 1A/2A state swim meet. Exactly one week before the regional meet I broke my foot in two places. I was heartbroken because for a swimmer this is what you train for all year long. I felt like all my hard work and hours in the pool were for nothing. I immediately began physical therapy and told my parents I wanted to try and swim the following Saturday at regionals. My foot was not in a cast, but in a boot. My physical therapist even told me there was no way I would be able to swim at regionals.

Every time I compared myself the Rachel Cannons of our team and others, I got discouraged and down on myself. I learned that to be happy and feel successful, I had to compare my times with each other and measure my personal growth, not my growth compared to the fastest girl in the state. This can be applied to life. While a little healthy competition never hurts anyone, constant comparison does. Through cross country, I was reminded daily to not compare my weakness to someone else’s

“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

As long as I can remember, I have always felt passionate about swimming. Whether I’m playing around, going to swim practice, or racing at a big swim meet, I’m always at the pool. Since I spent so much time around the water, becoming a lifeguard looked like the obvious job choice for me. After about a year of guarding, my supervisor asked me if I would be interested in starting to teach swim lessons. I was apprehensive at the thought of it, because I hadn’t worked with kids much before. It sounded like a cool opportunity though, so nervously I agreed.

“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.

I have never been an athletic person. I was never very fast, or skilled in athletics, and I always preferred reading to running. But during the winter of my seventh grade year, a close friend talked me into joining swim team, and in the spring, several of my other friends talked me into going out for track. As it turned out, I still wasn’t good at athletics, and I still didn’t enjoy most of it, but I think it all ended up being worth it in the end.

My parents tell me that I took to swimming like... a fish takes to water. It is a safe place where I can float free of worries. Driven by passion and dedication, I decided to begin swimming competitively. Competitive swimming requires an intense level of determination and discipline. Forcing myself to get out of my warm bed at 5:30 in the morning to put on a still-slightly-damp swimsuit and stand in 40-degree weather waiting for practice to start. Putting up with limited lane space and irritating swimmers who think they are faster. Making a conscious effort to work on my stroke form, turns, touches, and techniques. The water becomes a whirlpool of injuries, losses, wins, friendships, enemies, and sickness. The water becomes home.

Sports were never one of my strongest points. I could barely make it above average in physical education class so I was perplexed when my housemistress selected me as one of the athletes to represent my house in the annual inter-house competition. Apparently the house was running low on athletes and no one was willing to volunteer for the javelin throw. I grudgingly went ahead with it since there was no way out of the situation: then began the most stressful weeks I had ever experienced. Since my experience in the sport was non-existent, I had to invest double the effort put in by the other athletes. Every morning, I woke up at four o'clock to meet the coach while my fellow mates enjoyed the comfort of their beds. Majority of my time was spent on the school field. After weeks of seemingly endless training sessions and aching joints, the day assigned for the event was finally here. The competition was very keen since most of the athletes were adept in the sport. I watched on as each athlete took her turn and I could not help but envy the speed with which they ran toward the sector and the finesse they put in their posture as they threw the javelin. Each time an athlete made the mark, my self-confidence dropped a notch. The previous quietude inside me was suddenly gone. In its place was an overwhelming feeling of apprehension. I felt a strong urge to back out and it did not help that there was a little pesky voice in my head that kept on