"What Swimming Taught Me" by Evelyn Titus

Photo by Malik Skydsgaard on Pexels

“You don’t need to worry, you know,” my mom says. Sometimes I think she can read my mind.

“Yeah, I know.” I stare down at my tie-dye crocs. Then I look up.

“You’ll do great.” She smiles at me.

I smile back, actually feeling better. We pull up at the side of the facility and I step out and close the door. I wince as the brisk February air bites at my bare skin. My mom rolls down the window.

“I’m gonna park the car.”

I nod, turn, and force myself to walk forward until I can wrap my fingers around the cold metal handle. With a sigh, I throw open the door and step inside, artificial heat blasting in my face. I’ve been to this YMCA before, so I know where to go. My feet move quickly and involuntarily as I walk toward the women’s locker room and continue through to the pool. The pool deck air is familiar, moist, and unbearably hot. I unzip my warmup parka as I walk toward my team.

Fletcher sees me and smiles. Fletcher and I have been friends since we both started swimming a few years ago.

“Cap me?” He holds up his bright red Canoe City cap.

“I’d love to.” I smile and grab one end of the cap.

He holds one end to his forehead and I flip the other over his long blonde hair. He pulls on his goggles and sticks out his tongue. I laugh. By the time I’ve put my cap and goggles on and undressed down to my uncomfortably compressed swimsuit, it’s time for our warmup.

We walk down the pool deck and get in line behind one of the more empty blocks. I line up first, followed by some of my teammates and a few others that I don’t recognize. I look up at the timer mounted on the wall and wait for it to hit 00:00. I dive in and feel my muscles tighten in the freezing water. I sprint down to the other end and see the clock read 15.21. Not too bad for practice. I finish the meet warmup in about twenty minutes and then head back to my bag. I begin to take off my cap but someone taps me on the shoulder.

“Hey, Ev, there’s no point in taking that off because the 200 back is first up.”

I groan and turn to face Taylor.

“Heat one, lane eight.” She bops me on the head with the heat sheet.

I walk up to the block and wait in line for my event to be called.

The moments between the lineup and my race are stressful. They always are. I try to clear my head, jumping up and down, shaking my arms, and cracking my knuckles. I have a stretch routine that I do before every race, and it helps me calm down. It’s not really working this time, and I close my eyes waiting for the announcer to call up my event so I can stop stressing and just swim.

I hear a loud voice overhead say, “Event one: 200 backstroke.”

I sigh, open my eyes, and step closer to the block.

A whistle sounds. First whistle: last call to the blocks. It sounds again. Second whistle: jump in. I do. The water is cold and uncomfortable. I take another deep breath and grab the metal bar.

“Swimmers, take your marks.”

I pull down hard on the bar and press my shoulder blades together. I curl my toes around the underwater wedge and push my hips out of the water.

The buzzer sounds.

And nothing matters anymore. Nothing matters except for the way I push off the wall, the trajectory my body takes when I throw back my arms, the way I break out of the water, and the number of strokes I take into the wall before I turn onto my stomach. It’s freeing really, the way my mind is completely turned off and I’m free to just be myself.

Wait, was that 100? No, that must be 150. Yeah, 150. Okay, 200 now. I hit the wall and turn to face the clock.

Crap.

No, no, no. This is not happening. That was only a 150, not a 200. I start breathing heavily and look at my coach on the sidelines. She looks confused. She mouths “go” and I push off the wall again.

Wait, did I just push off on my stomach or my back? To push off my stomach would be an automatic disqualification, and I’ve never been DQ’d before.

My breathing is fast, too fast. I should stop, there’s no point in finishing. No, I have to finish. I hit the wall for the second time and quickly glance at the scoreboard. Three dots take the place of my time.

Disqualified.

Tears burn behind my eyes. I’m breathing even harder, and I don’t know what’s happening anymore. I have asthma, but it’s never been anything like this. Is this different? I push out of the water, my arms shaking. I go to Taylor.

“Ev, it’s okay-”

“I-I can’t -” I try to talk but my throat catches and tears stream down my face. “I can’t breathe.” Suddenly I’m coughing and everything around me is blurring.

“Ev, sit down. Where’s your inhaler?” I sit down with another team.

“Front-front pocket.” I’m sobbing now.

She disappears, walking quickly over to my backpack, and I’m left alone. I’m hyperventilating and I can’t take a deep breath. Suddenly Mom is in front of me. Or I think it's my mom but nothing makes sense right now.

“Evy, you need to breathe. Take a deep breath.” I try, but it's not working. I’m scared now and I’m getting lightheaded.

“Evelyn Marie, you need to take a deep breath.” It’s definitely my mom.

I force myself this time. It works and I can breathe a little easier than before. Taylor comes back with my inhaler and I use it quickly. I feel the adrenaline rush and I can breathe normally again.

“Ev, you should step outside.” This time it’s Taylor. She walks me and my mom out to the front lobby and I sit at one of the tables.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“Ev, I’ve got to go send up Fletch for his 100 fly, okay?” I nod. She leaves.

“Evelyn,” my mom says, “what happened?”

I tell her. I feel a little better. Mckayla, a senior on our swim team, walks in.

“It’s okay, Ev. We all have bad meets. There’s no point in being upset about it because it’s not gonna change anything.”

I realized something then. I realize how insignificant I am. Not in a bad way, but in the sense that maybe the things I worry about are out of my control. I understand that I can’t change the past, but maybe I can do something about the future. I wipe my face.

“I know I missed my 100 fly, but is it too late to swim my 50 free?”

She looks surprised. “You still wanna swim?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, yeah, let’s go find Taylor.” I stand up and follow Mckayla back onto the pool deck. She tells Taylor what I said.

“Okay, get your cap on.” She laughs a little as she says, “Heat six, lane two.”

I put on my cap and goggles and hustle over to the blocks. I watch a few heats until it’s time for my own. This time I’m not worried. This time will be different.

The first whistle sounds. I take a deep breath. This is it.

The second whistle sounds. I step up to the block, plant my right foot toward the top and curl my toes over the edge. I place the tip of my left foot on top of the wedge at the end of the block.

“Swimmers, take your mark.”

I push my head down and pull up on the front of the block. My shoulder blades push together and my leg muscles tighten.

The buzzer goes off.

Evelyn Titus is 13 years old; she lives in Orono, Maine and attends Orono Middle School. Evelyn has a German Shepherd named Berta and three pet ducks, her favorite place to be is the ocean, and she is a competitive swimmer who also plays softball. Evelyn said she wrote about this experience “because I learned a lot from it, which is all that matters. I hope people who read this know how important it is to be kind to yourself even when things are hard.”