By SwimSwam Contributors on SwimSwam
Courtesy: Hannah Lesly
The stench of chlorine hit me like a wave as I stepped toward the block, wringing my hands, breathing shallow, and my heart pounding. I was about to swim my least favorite event, the 200 free. Allowing myself to be put in the event by my coach was the first mistake. The second was not hiding in the locker rooms like I had planned. Lastly, my third mistake was making eye contact with my coaches and friends on the other side of the pool, ready to cheer me on. I had never felt so nauseous. I was on the verge of a panic attack, not because the race was particularly grueling, but because I had told myself so many times that I just couldn’t do it. As the final warning whistle blew, I realized I was standing on the blocks, checking my goggles and slapping my legs like I was really ready to race. How I got up there, I had no idea. The deck was silent (as silent as a pool deck with over 500 people could be), waiting for the official to start my heat. In this moment, I realized I had two options: a) Swim this two-minute race holding back and scared of failure, as always, or b) swim my hardest and find out what these past ten years of this sport were truly worth.
For over a year, I had avoided the 200 free like it was the plague. I was comfortable sprinting short distances and pacing myself for long distances, but for some reason, I had the 200 built up into my head as the event that showcased my incompetence. Every time I visualized swimming it, my hands would get sweaty, my legs would begin to shake, and it felt as if I couldn’t get enough air into my lungs. This particular meet had no significance other than being the meet I would break the cycle of avoiding the inevitable. I felt trapped. My fear wasn’t about the water, the distance, or even the time I’d see on the scoreboard when I finished. It was the possibility of proving myself right- I really was a failure.
The buzzer sounded, and my world narrowed to the cool shock of the water as I exploded off the blocks. I swam the first 50 yards in a daze, muscle memory and adrenaline pushing my body forward. By the 100-yard mark, my lungs wanted to quit and my legs pleaded for mercy. I saw my former coach, my mentor, cheering for me for a split second as I turned my head to breathe. At 150 I made a choice; I would not let the voice inside me that told me I couldn’t win. Though the entirety of my body felt like lead, I fired up my legs and focused on pulling as much water as possible as fast as possible. The last five yards were my favorite part of the whole event. Time seemed to slow down, I remember distinctly grinning ear to ear underwater as I fought to the finish, knowing I had given my all, holding not even an ounce of energy back.
I touched the wall and looked up at the scoreboard, gasping for air and finding the breath to laugh. Pumping my fist in the air and smiling, I turned to look at my coaches standing on the bulkhead, not because what I saw was perfection- but proof that I had swam every stroke with purpose. I shook hands with my fellow competitors in the lanes adjacent to mine and practically skipped to receive feedback from my coaches. As always, there were things to improve on. But finally, my mindset was not one of them.
Walking away from the pool that day, I realized my success wasn’t tied to the clock at all. It was about proving to myself that fear didn’t have to define me. For the first time in a while, I felt free of the expectations I put on myself, and from the voice inside me urging me to stay comfortable so that if I failed, I could say it was my choice. That 200 wasn’t just a race, it has become a reference point. When I’m fearful of classmates’ opinions, I remember the last five yards. When I’m not sure if I can balance all my goals and dreams that I’ve decided to chase, I bring to mind the choice I made at the 150. That race became a symbol of what happens when I choose to give my all, even when I feel like I have nothing left. I also began to see the race not only as personal growth, but as a reminder of God’s strength in my weakness. In tandem with discovering I had more inside me than I realized.
About Hannah Lesly
Hannah Lesly grew up swimming with Occoquan Swimming (OCCS) in Northern Virginia. She has since hung up her goggles and is on her way to becoming an ‘Age Group’ coach with the team. Hannah currently attends NOVA College as a freshman & is enjoying life as a college student.
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