Don't Stop Believin'

I have no idea how I found myself logged into my daughter's Google Drive account (no, really!), but I saw the title of one of her college Creative Writing assignments that she'd been mentioning for weeks.  She'd been telling me about the drafts and the feedback and the revisions, and on and on -- all that goes into the sausage of a short story -- for weeks.  So I read it.  And it was wonderful!

In a closely-related development, I got into super mom trouble for doing that, even though I was practically dragged to the screen by the electrons and waterboarded by the cursor to read on.  But if you have teenage daughters (this starts at age 14 and continues for the rest of both of your lives), you know how many ways you can get in trouble for being supportive.

One of the themes was how swimming broke her heart, when puberty hit her with a wallop and best times stopped coming when she was a freshman in high school.  Until then every season-ending meet was a lottery-winning, home-run-with-the-bases-loaded, I'd-like-to-thank-the-little-people triumph of glorious fireworks thrills.  While my husband and I were super sad to see her disappointed, I couldn't believe that she'd ever quit -- much less hate the sport. Isn't the point of swimming really the journey?  Is her journey really over?

I love the workouts with my lanemates, the crush on the fast guy, tent-bonding at swim meets, every single thing about racing, and the eat-anything-you-want lifestyle, and I wanted her to have that growing up.  I wanted her to learn that hard work pays off, that discipline makes everything in life easier, and that you get lifelong friends when you share the struggle.

She learned all that for sure, turning out to be way smarter than either of her parents, and basically orchestrating her entire college admission experience and four-year march to become an intellectual/dewey foundation expert who is enamored of tarot cards.  Aside from a couple of roommates, all her friends were swimmers who she met in her two years of college swimming in Chicago and a third year in London.  No matter where she moves for the rest of her life, she'll be able to go to a Masters workout and jump in holding her own, knowing how everything works.

But she says she's done.  Done-done-done.  She thinks so now, but I hope that one day the feeling will pass.

In the world of big-time swimming, no meet is bigger than the United States Olympic Trials.  In that pool everyone is a DI scholarship athlete or an amazing young protégée.  If you're a postgrad, you are probably a member of the USA National team, or an alum of the World Championships, Pan Am Games, World Junior Championships, or World University Games.  Everyone there is the best swimmer you will ever see in your lifetime.  And third place in that meet is pretty much the biggest disappointment an athlete can ever get, as only the first two make our Olympic team.

I have one swimmer now on my Masters team who got third, in 2012.  A few days later she got third again.  To say that I coach her would be a great injustice to the verb "to coach."  I make up workouts and speak them out loud while she is in my presence.  She is the best swimmer I have ever talked to who laughs at my jokes, reads my emails, and has owed me money.  She's also the nicest great swimmer I've ever talked to, though the bar is sadly low for that.

And why is she swimming again?  Well, most Masters swimmers like to do stuff they're good at, without having to learn an entirely new skill.  Lots of Masters swimmers are amazingly ungainly at land sports, and others just want to hang out with a team again.  I'm not sure about her reasons, and I don't really want to make her uncomfortable by asking (also, she could just think about it for a minute and say -- 'I know, this is lame!  I'm outta here!'), so I haven't.  But if she can get over the swimming heartbreak of heartbreaks and come back to the pool, I think one day my daughter will too.

Swimming has brought me so much joy in my life, it's just inconceivable that my daughter doesn't have a teensy bit of those I💙Swimming genes in her somewhere.  You just can't tell people stuff until the time is right for them to receive the message.  (I make an exception for my husband, who obviously enjoys when I tell him stuff over and over again.)  I'm grateful that I have a happy life, hanging out with my team and enjoying each day of workout.