Two weeks ago, I returned to the pool. I’d like to say it had nothing to do with the swimming in the Olympics, but as is hinted in my post from August 11th, watching the Olympics reminded me of my swimming days.
Granted, there were reasons I quit the swim team way back when. I didn’t enjoy the competition, but mainly I didn’t enjoy the girls I was swimming with. I got along with the entire varsity team, but as a newbie, I was on JV, with only three other freshmen girls. These three other girls had tormented me throughout middle school, so I’m proud to say I survived even one swimming season with them, considering how they pulled at my ankles when I swam laps in front of them. But high school was different than middle school. I learned to ignore them, practice with the people who were my friends when I could. And, honestly, I’m proud to say that I was the best of us four, or, at the very least, improved the most—despite the way they treated me. But there’s only so much one person can take and in that way, I understand why I quit so long ago.
But a couple weeks ago, I realized what I missed about the pool. I missed the feeling of cutting through the water, the silence when I was underwater, being able to only hear noise when I pull up to breathe. I missed doing kick turns off the wall and the feeling of accomplishment after a good long workout, every muscle being used.
So, I took to the pool again, steadily increasing how many lengths I swim every time I jump in the pool (nearly every day). This time, I practice with my boyfriend. We encourage each other to push ourselves, to swim another lap. And, sure enough, I’ve found that the reasons I used to love to swim all still hold true, and I can’t see myself ever getting out of the pool again.