Reflection Paper On Swimming

Apart from the entertainment and joy doing them, they are imperative to my physical health. These sports have made me develop many friends and learn about different cultures. I was a member of a swimming club in my former school; here we travelled many places for competitions. During these competitions, I would try to make as many friends as possible. My choice of friends was always different races from mine, which made it a thrilling experience. I am a social and outgoing person, who always likes to learn about other people. Even though I have earned several titles as an individual in swimming, what I enjoyed most about these sports is the fact that I could meet people from different cultures around the world. Learning about these cultures also played a great role in making me study

For this essay, I am going to be discussing the short story “Swimming” found on the New Yorker, and written by T. Cooper. I have chosen this story for many reasons, and among those reasons is the personal sadness I felt when I first read the story, almost as if the universe was placing a certain theme in my life, that only the main character could possibly understand. I am talking about running, the god given instinct felt by all men, inherent in the nature of fear, and brought out in all who feel sadness in its full intensity. Though in my short life I can not compare the sadness I have felt with that of losing a child at my own hand, but if I had been placed in that situation, if fate had tempted my soul with such a sequence of events, I would like to think I could find the strength to endure and the courage to not abandon all I had previously known. Yet I am able to reconcile the themes of grief, the mode of recovery, and the longing to escape such a terrible tale. I think in this piece, as I will discuss in later parts, the author was able to put into words a transformation we rarely get to observe in closeness, the kind of transformation that turns a kind man into a “just man” the kind of death that turns this world from a beautiful and happy place into a world that is closing in on our main character, that is forcing him to surface temporarily and gasp for air, much like he does when he finds peace in the water, wading breath after air, after sea. I firmly believe that

As I mentioned before swimmers aren’t based on their ability to master the techniques but also in the values they posses. The values they posses are respect, honesty, fairness and courage. I had to learn and use those values everyday I went to swimming practice. There’s one thing that I needed to have to become part of the discourse community, which was being passionate about swimming and not giving up. At the beginning it was really hard for me not to give up when I was exhausted, but after becoming more passionate for swimming I never gave up. There were moments when I thought of giving up, but I knew that if I really wanted to call my self a swimmer I shouldn’t give up and I didn’t. For example, once I was in a Swimming Festival in my High School where I competed the four different strokes. I always finished second in the 50-meter freestyle race, but that day I decided I would end up first place. The race started and I jumped into the water and started pacing my self so that I would finish strong. In the first 25-meters we were all tied up and I was starting to feel tired. But I knew I couldn’t give up, so I took a deep breath and pushed harder. I pushed harder and was able to win the first place. After this race, I realized that even though I felt like giving up, something inside me was telling me to push harder and that thought led me to success. I was able to

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.

In The Swimmer a short story by John Cheever a man named Neddy Merrill decides to swim across every pool in the county naming his route the Lucinda River after his wife. As he goes on this journey some of his neighbors are nice, some show pity, and others show distaste for him. Throughout the story Cheever gives subtle hints that Neddy is disoriented as he doesn’t remember key details of things that have happened to his friends in the area. At the end of the story a disoriented Neddy reaches his home to find it empty, with his family gone. Cheever uses this short story to critique the way of life in the upper class suburbs of America that contributed to the social demise of Neddy Merrill

“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.

It is important to have deep and wholesome relationships with people in the community, unlike the relationships of Guy Montag in Fahrenheit 451. My swim team, and the people on it have given me a fulfilling,

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

At the end of the event, you wait in the water and you wait until the very last swimmer comes in and hits the wall and you shake hands. That’s sportsmanship that they shows in swimming. But at an actual meet, you don’t see them interacting too much. You are under your own tent and the other school is in their area. We are just getting psyched out to swim our individual events. Some of us have our relays and that’s a fun unit and you can see that team bonding in their relays. But, I don’t see as much interaction. The only kind I see is when they are looking at each other before they get on the blocks. But I do know that they are looking at each other under water when they are swimming or when they are taking a breath because that’s their

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

Central Idea: Swimming has a long and rich history that dates back way before our generations and is not always as beneficial as we may think.

I have been swimming since I was six years old. I have gone to practice after practice after practice for the past eleven years. At first, I was on the club team. Then, in 7th grade I could try out for the Oxford High School team and I made it. I loved high school season the most. I loved swimming with the older kids and I loved the feeling of being on a team. Then, with what seemed like a blink of the eye, I was the older kid. I was entering my second to last season and my junior year of high school. I was the captain and the younger kids looked up to me.

     "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.

Watching the screen, many children and adults are glued to the swimmers that race each other in the Olympics. The swimmers are young and strong, but many do not know who these swimmers are. Adding on to what they do not know contains the history of swimming in the glorified Olympics. The backstory of this sporting event shows the progression and improvement of swimming because swimming evolved through the Olympics. This includes the beginning, improvement, and modern Olympic swimming sport.

My hands dangle in mid-air, my googles snug against the border of my eyes, my mind empty as I stare into the sea of blue before me. The announcers voice echoes over the seemingly quiet deck. The faceless voice proceeds, “On your mark,” this sent the anxiety, and butterflies through my entire body as I gripped the rigged block. As my hands rest now on this pleated surface, I think of all the time and effort I had put in just for today. I knew that if everything went smoothly, I would drop a satisfactory amount of time. “Get set,” the changeless voice declares. My body now shifts my weight to my legs, my head moves into position, and my hands grip the block so bearish that my knuckles turn white. I repeat to myself, “two hand touch, it’s a