Stepping into the familiar, chlorine-tinged air of the indoor pool at six years old sparked a moment of bewilderment at being enrolled in yet another round of swim lessons. I already knew how to swim, and goggles on, swimsuit ready, I was determined to show everyone what I could do. The moment the instructor said “go,” I exploded forward, my small arms propelling me across the pool, reaching the other side before anyone else, even the teacher. “You were faster than the teacher!” my dad later exclaimed, a proud declaration that ignited within me a love for the water and the thrill of speed. This early success propelled me into years of competitive swimming. At nine, joining the local summer team felt like a natural progression. Those sun-drenched days, dedicated to perfecting strokes, laid the foundation for years of competitive swimming. The satisfying rhythm of my body cutting through the water translated into a cascade of blue ribbons declaring “First Place,” a testament to my growing strength and dedication in a sport that quickly became central to my life. Year after year, I grew stronger in the water.
High school brought a new dynamic, where making the team was less about tryouts and more about perseverance. During freshman year, I embraced the challenge, exploring different races, and even making finals in the 200-meter freestyle at the Kansas Sunflower League competition – not my favorite race, but proof of my strength. However, the demands of balancing six weekly swim practices, two early morning strength sessions, school, and a pandemic social life led to utter exhaustion by my junior year. The joy I once found in the water was slowly being overshadowed by a gnawing sense of dread, a stark contrast to the effortless speed of those early lessons. The expectation of constant improvement became a mental cage. The demanding practices collided with mounting performance anxiety, and a persistent back pain, a consequence of my scoliosis. My beloved sport, now a source of immense mental and physical stress, left my quality of life to be nonexistent. Despite this, I made it to the state competition and swam alongside my teammates. But after, a question now loomed over me. Do I swim senior year…
Ultimately, I made the difficult decision to step away. While a part of me still considers the “what ifs,” reflecting on that period reveals the significant challenges I faced. My well-being necessitated a change, and unfortunately, that involved stepping back from competitive swimming, a sport I deeply loved and in which I excelled. This introspective process of writing this story has highlighted to me the importance of recognizing when a path, despite demonstrated aptitude, may no longer align with me. While I was and remain a capable swimmer, the demands required to maintain that level of competition then and now are not sustainable practices for my physical and mental health. This experience taught me that true strength lies in the wisdom to recognize when to yield to circumstances and prioritize self-care amidst overwhelming pressures. I am continually developing the ability to take a step back, assess situations objectively, and make conscious choices to release pursuits that no longer allow me to fully realize my potential. While I may hold a fondness for what was, I understand the importance of pursuing paths that enable me to thrive and become the person I am truly meant to be.
Swimming at State
Swam the first leg (50 yards) in the 200 yard Freestyle Relay at the Kansas State Competition on May 21, 2021. Time: 27.37 seconds. Team placed 9th. I am in the fifth lane with the black suit and black swim cap.