Our medley relay team was neck and neck with the lane next to us. I dove in slightly behind, anchoring the relay as usual. I powered through, stuck my turn, and somehow, I touched first. The rush of winning, the screaming cheers, and the celebration reminded me exactly why I love swimming.
Today, after the same race, I sat on the ledge for a few moments, staring at the hands in my lap. They'd touched second. It reminded me exactly why I love swimming.
The sting of defeat is still more vividly real and valuable than the tempered excitement of the sideline. It's the almosts, not the victories, that made me the athlete and the person I am today. And as I lined up later for my last race as a Kenmont Tsunami, I began to take stock of the 12 years of swimming that had brought me to the edge of that pool, at age 18, finishing.
What I take away from Kenmont is not the thousands of ribbons that line the bottom of my swim bag or the All-Stars t-shirts or the trophies perched on the edge my dresser. Swimming took a scrawny and shy seven year old girl and taught her she could be powerful. It gave her the opportunity to work with and watch girls--many of whom are now out of college and working and so far removed from those Saturday morning meets-- who were athletes and leaders take charge and win. It gave her the opportunities to be both a captain and a coach.
But I think the most important things I take away aren't the ones that propelled me in any sort of direction. It's the moments that meant nothing that mean everything. It was fear of the cold water on the first day of practice. It was countless cloudy morning practices and sizzling afternoons. It was playing and singing in the showers with my friends, figuring out how to inflate ours suits and learning the latest cheer. It was the winter evenings spent in humid natatoriums and frozen hair. It was B-meets that stretched far into the summer nights and the sleepy car rides home. It was the borderline inappropriate cheers and the face-paint and the signs. It's those flashes of memory that I'm keeping close.
After my last race I grabbed my towel, hugging and laughing and smiling. But after a few minutes a pack of seven and eight year old girls lined up to swim. Maybe they're discovering that they're good at something. And I hope they love it.
