Short Story On Swimming

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

It was sometime around 6:00 p.m. on a Thursday night in the middle of January 2016. There was a swim meet going on and it was just about to start. The teams were warming up and getting ready for the meet that was due to start in the coming hour. I was warmed up and concentrating on the race listening to music in my newly acquired platinum studio beats. The music was loud and the nerves were setting as I walked into the locker room with my friend and teammate. As we passed I said good luck to our teammate who I was racing against in the 200 free style. Then out of know were he pulled my friend to the side and whispered something in his ear. I didn’t hear what was said as I had continued to walk. My friend came over to me and I asked what he had said and he told me. He told me

“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.

When I was five I joined a swim team, District of Columbia Parks and Recreation (DCPR). At that time every swimmer was Black which was an anomaly even for the chocolate city. Diversity eventually came about three years later when an Asian and a Croasian swimmer joined the team. However, fact that the team was for all intensive purposes made up of Black swimmers is what made this team so special. Swimming is a predominantly white sport. It is a rare to see 95 plus member team of Black children. Of the hundreds of swim teams in our region, only two were made up of Back 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, like the

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

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

When I was five I joined a swim team, District of Columbia Parks and Recreation (DCPR). At that time every swimmer was Black which was an anomaly even in the chocolate city. For all intensive purposes this made up of the team so special. Swimming is a predominantly white sport. It is a rarity to see the 95 plus member team of Black children. Of the hundreds of swim teams in our region, only two were made up of Back 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, like the stereotypical swimmer, the hipless, silky haired, bird-liked framed white maleness and females that are iconic in the sport. With

Proposed by Joseph Campell in his book A Thousand Faces, there is a certain archetype that stories seem to follow. This framework is called the Hero's Journey. Elements of his theory are evident in The Swimmer, a short story written by John Cheever about the journey that Neddy Merrill takes to find his way back home. Campbell was studying myths when he came up with the theory, but it is applicable to most, if not all narratives today. The Swimmer is a short story where we see the protagonist, Neddy Merrill, go through the Hero's Journey.

My life was changed this summer after my winter swim team received unexpected news. We were told that we would no longer be able to practice at the same pool as before, leaving all of the swimmers without a place to practice. Unfortunately, this meant that my team, the Tiger Sharks, would no longer exist. I was devastated and now forced to bring myself upon a new team with unfamiliar faces. On my new team the head coach, Coach Bill, was able to assist me in making this transition easier and he was also exceptionally inviting to me and the other new swimmers. His unique training allowed me to immensely improve my swimming.

“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

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.

We were all swimming around for a while to get used to the water. We were also getting squirted with water from my sister's and Katy's water guns that they found lying around in the pool area. For my twelve year old sister, she sure acts like she's eight, and she's the same height as me.

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 narrator states that maybe there would be a pool in the next town. There was a pool, but with the turn of events, maybe the fact was not so fortunate. First of all the pool was closed, but because her children were so hot and tired of sitting in the car the narrator begged the lifeguard to allow her children to swim. After the lifeguard consented, she dressed her children in swimming suits and then went to find a drink for herself. When she felt a mother's intuition for her children she ran back to the pool and at first did not see her youngest daughter. Her daughter had fallen into the deep end of the pool. Although the little girl did not drown, the mother was still shaken.

     "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.