When I was in high school, I was a swimmer, and that was pretty much it. If anyone asked what I did, that was my default response. I swam year-round, practicing every day after school and on the weekends, doubling up with high school practices and meets when school swim season came around. When I needed to get a job, I started teaching swim lessons at the same pool that I practiced at. Most of my life revolved around swimming. That’s not to say that I didn’t enjoy it. Sure, I had days when I had no interest in going to practice or when I would swim poorly, but overall it made me happy. I liked the feeling of being in the pool, liked showing up every day and doing the sets, liked the feeling of racing in meets.
But all that practice and time commitment also meant that I was really limiting myself. I didn’t join any other clubs or groups—I didn’t have the time. When people asked if I wanted to hang out after school, I never could. And then, over time, something seemed to change. Lots of little things made me slowly less interested in going to swim, and I’d been going back and forth over whether I wanted to continue in college or not. Once I got into Kenyon, I knew that it was the school I wanted to be at. I also knew there was no way I could swim there; a lot of the schools I applied to had DIII teams that I was fast enough for, but not Kenyon. So, slowly, I stopped showing up to practice. And, as more and more end of high school activities starting coming up, I eventually quit.
Honestly, it was probably the best decision for me at the time. I wasn’t interested in going to practice anymore, and a lot of my friends had left the team at that point. I wanted to spend my last few months before college going to the beach or to get coffee after school, and I wanted to actually have time to spend with friends. I was excited to have a summer that, for the first time in almost eleven years, wasn’t going to be consumed swim practices. So, when the time came for me to pack up and leave for Kenyon, I didn’t think I was going to swim ever again. After spending the summer still teaching swim lessons, I was excited to not get in a pool every day for the first time in I didn’t know how long. My hair wasn’t going to be dry and damaged from all the chlorine anymore, I wouldn’t have goggle lines around my eyes or have to be so committed to one activity anymore. Just in case, though, I packed one of my practice suits and a cap and goggles. Maybe I would swim once or twice, I told myself.
But a few weeks being here freshman year, I found myself wishing I was swimming. I missed the structure of having organized workouts, and I missed the feeling of being in the water in general. I had put my name down for club swim at the activities fair, so I decided I would start showing up. I had my mom ship me my swim bag and the rest of my suits, and I started swimming again. Now, I only swim at most three days a week. It’s only for an hour, only ever at most about a mile, and I am significantly slower than I used to be. Sometimes, I miss the days when I could get in a pool and really race—have one of those amazing swims when you are working so hard, pushing yourself until everything sort of falls away and you are weightless, flying through the water. These days, when I swim at a race pace, it’s always a little choppy, a little too difficult to get going. I’m never going to be as fast as I used to be. But, I also love swimming in a way that I haven’t in awhile. I’m only ever in the pool because I really want to be because I’m not trying to train for anything anymore. I can miss practice if I have too much work or just want to spend time with friends. I can just swim for fun and to me, that is infinitely more important.