Cold Water

“Morning practice,” I would justify to a friend. “5 a.m. and back home before the sun comes up.” I refused another opportunity for a night out. Swimming was my life. For nearly eight years, I spent three hours a day or more pushing myself to the brink. Underwater, my head amplified every thought. With goggles fogged up, the lyrics of my least favorite songs repeated themselves in my mind, the beat matching the rhythm of my strokes. Drowning all sound, that eternal whshhhshshoosh of the water ceased only to be replaced by the voice of my coach explaining the next set. The pool was a harsh place, but I loved it.

            Oppressive and demanding, that cold water created me. I learned patience through the drill and the repetition. I gained self-confidence from conquering the nearly impossible practices thrown at me. I was taught that whatever I do, I should do it well. My coach regularly lectured the team before swim meets with the phrase, “Hard work beats talent when talent doesn’t work hard.”

            My determination came with the knowledge that every day had to be the best. I pushed myself, because under the water there wasn’t anybody else. Success wasn’t winning the race. Instead, success was found in the arduous fight for accomplishment. By struggling through those blurring tears, I consequently realized my goals to swim at a National level. Swimming helped me perceive that the reward is only attained by perseverance and effort.

            After a serious illness last winter compromised my training for weeks, I came to realize that although swimming made me who I was, swimming wasn’t what I was. I observed that while I wasn’t one-dimensional, I had become one-directional. During my illness, I filled the vacuum of my time once devoted to swim practice with music and art. By nurturing these elements of my being, I began to understand that I was more than just a swimmer.

I ultimately retired from swimming to reassess my appreciation for other aspects of my life. The decision was frightening. Ending my swimming career entailed a turnabout in my persona. I had been perceived as an athlete, dedicated to his training and racing Olympians. Without swimming, I risked losing my identification. Six months later, I thankfully watch that resolve permeate into all my pursuits, and I am equally characterized by other endeavors. Although the decision severely altered my daily schedule, it didn’t transform my character: I carry the discipline of the water with me.

These lessons from the pool have been incorporated into all my endeavors. I try to outshine myself by applying my determination to my studies and papers. With patience, I devote more time to a piece of art, expecting an improved finished product. I have confidence while performing an oboe or piano solo.  Although I am not swimming, my head is still underwater, vigorously blazing a path through the travels of life. The same endless songs drive me forward. The cold water will always feel good.