When I was four, I started swimming. My parents put me through swim lessons and then immediately onto a swim team. I won the first race I ever swam when I was four, but everyone got a prize. As I grew up, I realized that my sport, my real passion, was being an equestrian. That was my thing. But regardless, I always did swimming on the side—mainly by force.
With riding, all the blood, sweat and tears was something I wanted; I needed it. I could write about the insane importance, and all the life that riding has given me, but it would take me a novel, and half of it I can’t even put in words. But with swimming, it was often more of a dread. The countless practices, the chlorine stained hair, constantly being wet and smelling like the pool. It annoyed me sometimes, but deep down, part of me loved it. I loved the sound of the buzzer, the smell of the chlorine and sweat, the long nights, the early mornings, and the full twelve-hour meet days. I loved the car rides with friends, laughing and listening to pump-up music, and nights spent in hotels fighting over the hair brush with my sister, still in our racing suits with tangled hair and goggles dangling from our wrists. I loved the innumerable sharpies we dried out from writing our events on our arms and our times on the programs.
There were times I nearly had to be dragged out of bed to go to a meet, or lured to practice. There were the amount of times that I yelled at my parents about how much I hated it, and part of me did. I resented it because it took time away from riding. I resented it because I knew that my older sister would always be better than me at it. But when it all ended my senior year of high school, I realized it was about more than that. It was about the feeling I got when I hit the water, unable to hear anyone around, like having earphones in, but better. Knowing that, even though I was on a team, and we were like a family in a way, this sport is every man for themselves. Sure, you want your teammates to do well, but you want to beat them. I wanted the feeling of winning. I wanted the adrenaline of knowing you can win and the muscle fatigue of straining yourself until your last breath.
I have to admit I miss it now. I miss the jitters at the block when I was up next and the weird traditions before every dive. I miss the handshakes and high-fives over the lane lines, the handshakes that felt best when you were the winner. This sport taught me to give everything you have to things that may not seem that important. It taught me that no matter how much you dread something, it doesn’t mean it isn’t good for you, or that it doesn’t feed a part of you that needs it. Every now and then I get this hunger to hit the water, a craving for speed. Even though parts of me hated this sport, I loved the feeling.