Swim Team

Joining my high-school swim team is hands down the hardest thing I have ever done. 

I had never been a very strong swimmer. I usually struggled to pass the summer camp swim test every year. I sort of knew breaststroke and freestyle but had only done them at a leisurely pace to swim around in the local pool. I never joined the swim team as a little kid and had never in my life swam in a pool with lanes. I had only learned how to dive a few years before I started on the swim team. 

Having that said, somehow my friends on the swim team (who were all those kids who had been on the local swim team since they were 5) convinced me that it would be a ton of fun to join the team! They had me all gung-ho about trying this new competitive sport. It was the middle of my sophomore year. Classes weren't too challenging and I needed something to do. Hey, maybe it would keep me from getting fat over the holiday season! 

Our team was pretty fantastic at the time I joined. We always won the local conference title by a land slide and had a lot of swimmers regularly advance to the state championship. As a whole, the team was FAST. I was not. 

I remember my first practice pretty vividly. It was a nightmare. I was sort of guided by my friends into the so-called "slow-lane". It was the slowest group of swimmers on the team but it was still too fast for me. I distinctly remember the panicky feeling of drowning when my leg cramped up in the middle of the lane. I considered myself pretty athletic but I had never had a cramp like this before. I thought I was gonna die. Then I realized the lane pool is only 4 feet deep or so. So I hobbled to the end of the lane, sat on the side of the pool and massaged my cramping calf. 

The next few practices were a blur of exhaustion, nausea, and chlorine but somehow I stuck with it. I slowly progressed as a swimmer over the three years that I swam for my high school team. I steadily trimmed a second or so off my 50-free time during each successive swim meet. I felt a little less nauseous after each practice. I started perfecting my stroke during practice and could get going in a steady pace. I was proud of myself even though I was still probably one of the slowest on the team.

My proudest accomplishment was my completion of a 500m freestyle event at a meet. If you don't swim, a 500m is like the marathon of swimming events. I sort of dared myself to do it and I told my coach I would do it if it meant it was the only event I had to swim at that meet. He agreed and I made my first attempt at practice jsut to see if I could even do a 500m all at once. It took me a long time but I finished a 500 in my own lane during practice while everyone else was doing the team workout. At the meet, I was pretty nervous. They had lumped all the male and female 500 swimmers together into one event. Not many people swim the 500. Usually just one or two from each team. I think this was probably because most teams only had one or two insane people who loved the feeling of burning pain in every muscle. 

I got on the block and prayed to God that I didn't come last. The whistle blew and I dove in somewhat clumsily (I hadn't known how to dive very well until I started swim team) and started my event. I knew I had to set my pace slow or I'd burn out before I got halfway. I had a friend of mine counting laps for me. They ticked by agonizingly slow. It didn't take very long for the burning sensation to come over my whole body and I was struggling at 3/4 of the way done. I could see when I came of for gasping breaths that the other guys on my team had already finished. Great. I'm pretty sure the only reason I actually finished is because my team mates gathered around the end of my lane and started cheering me on. I could hear them yelling for me every time I came up for a breath. It really meant a lot to me and actually makes me tear up a little just writing this. I think the friendly people on the team is what kept me swimming for the last three years of high school. I hated swimming but I loved the people. 

Anyway, I was limping down the lane for my last few laps and just giving it all my body had while most of my team was cheering for me. I had to finish now or my whole team would see me fail. So despite the pain, I somehow finished and I even beat one person! I didn't come last! ...never mind if it was a girl. I had so much spent myself that I actually couldn't press out of the pool. I had to have someone pull me out of the pool. I then flopped down into a puddle on the pool deck, gasping for air, not unlike a fish yanked up into a boat. I was exhausted but happy and immensely proud of myself.

I had never considered myself a very good swimmer, and still don't honestly, but I had a lot of fun on the swim team and I think it was mostly due to the awesome people who talked me into it and the easy going coaching style. So thanks to those who made one of the most exhausting times of my life also one of the happiest.

-Me, the Swimmer

Bike Accident

I used to bike a lot. Everyday after school during my 8th grade year, I would change into my cycling outfit and hit the trail. A 15 mile ride was pretty average. I wore glasses to protect my eyes from little gnats and stuff but I never wore a helmet to protect my head. I had a little bike computer that told me how fast I was going and how many miles I had covered. I used my dad's old 10 speed road bike so I could get going pretty quick, especially in this one part of the trail where there was a long downhill section. It was a nice bike, even if it was old: quick release front wheel, quick adjust bike seat, racing handlebars, etc.

It was a typical summer day before my freshman year in high school. It was just me and my younger brother home at the time. I told him I was going for a ride and I'd be back later. I hopped on my bike and headed out like I always did. Biking shorts, biking jersey, sunglasses, pass on the helmet. I headed out on my typical route. I was feeling good and picked up some pretty good speed on the downhill section this time. I had gotten my computer to peak at 30 mph at this section before but today I didn't dare look down at the computer screen. I saw some raised cracks coming up ahead of me. When the trees lining the trail got big, their roots would lift up the asphalt, forming little speed bumps and that's what I was looking at. I pulled up on the handlebars to get over them instead of riding right into them and experiencing a sharp jouncing. Unfortunately, when I pulled up, the front wheel didn't come with me. I guess I hadn't closed the quick release tight enough on the front wheel. When I came back down, the wheel axle didn't meet the fork right and the wheel seized up. My bike went from 30 to 0 but I didn't. I flipped over the handlebars....and that's where things start to get fuzzy.

I've had a few concussions in my life. Probably more than is healthy. But this experience was the most severe. I really don't remember getting home at all. I'm pretty sure I can remember pushing off the pavement and touching my face and then pulling away a bloody hand. The next thing I remember clearly was sitting on the floor in the downstairs guest bathroom. My younger brother was on the phone with someone. He seemed scared. He handed me the phone and told me it was my sister, who's an athletic trainer so she was trained to deal with concussions. She started asking questions to see how I was doing. I knew my name, that was easy, but when I couldn't remember my address or where my mom or dad were at the time I was getting scared. I knew that was bad. 

"I want you to remember these words okay?"

"okay"

"duck, house, boot"

"duck, house, boot"

"yeah."

She kept talking and asking questions and after a couple minutes, asked me if I could remember those words she had just told me. I couldn't. I remember being pretty scared right then.

My older brother came home from work and came in to see what was going on. I was sitting in front of the toilet with my injured side facing away from the door. He asked if I was okay and I told him I fell off my bike. 

"Well you look okay."

"Really?" I turned to look at him and then he saw my scraped up side.

"Holy crap!"

He then proceeded to whip out his phone and get a couple pictures of my fresh wounds. I hadn't looked in the mirror because my nausea was preventing me from standing up. My dad came home from work when he heard I had an accident and as soon as he saw my face and tried talking to me, he knew he needed to take me to the hospital. He helped me up and I stole a glance into the mirror. I looked bad and another wave of "oh shit" washed over me. 

We got to the hospital with all of the contents of my stomach remaining in my stomach. I got admitted and received a cool bracelet with my name and some other stuff on it. I got some scans and some stitches in my face(the first of a couple times I've had stitches in my face). I had a pretty good gash in my right eyebrow where the lens of my sunglasses cut me. I was lucky it didn't go in me eye. They cleaned the asphalt out of my road rash and rubbed some ointment on all of my abrasions.  

Recovery sucked because most of the right side of my face and neck was all scabby. I couldn't turn my head or the scabs on my neck would crack and bleed. I couldn't lay on my right side (my favorite side to lay on) because it hurt my face and it would leave the pillow all bloody and gross. The gauze bandages would stick and I'd start burning and bleeding all over again. Conveniently, I received my injuries right before the the trip to see all of my extended family. Every aunt and uncle and cousin got a chance to say "wow what happened?!" and "well you should've been wearing a helmet!" Lesson learned. 


-Me, the Biker

A few days after my accident

Confirmation

I had a private, Catholic education from kindergarten to my senior year of high school (by my mom's insistence). I think the constant forcing of religion onto my life sort of explains my lack of faith when it comes to Catholicism. I was forced to take a religion class every year for 12 years. I appreciate that I was privileged to get the education I did, and I have nothing against (most) of my teachers, but the more I was forced to study the Catholic church, the more I realized it just wasn't for me. I came to this conclusion in the 8th grade which happened to be the same year that all of my peers and I were scheduled to be Confirmed, a flowery ceremony where young adults declare their faith in the beliefs of the Catholic church.

I knew I couldn't let myself go along with everyone else to be Confirmed because it would be a lie to my friends, my teachers, my family, and most importantly, myself. I was a baptized Catholic (again by my mom's doing) and had participated in all the customary rituals without question for a long time but I never really had a say in the matter until Confirmation. It was the first time I had any real input in my faith life.

The first person I went to was my English teacher. She had this sort of wise and understanding aura about her and she seemed like the best person to go to. I couldn't go to my mom because she was biased in the matter and I couldn't go to my dad because, even though I think he has similar religious opinions, he tends not to share them and probably would have brought my mom into it. I felt like I couldn't go to any of my religion teachers because, instead of being listened to, I would have been either A) reprimanded or B) gently pushed back into line and set on my way to get Confirmed regardless of my doubts. So that left Mrs. Saintsing. I am still grateful to this day for her guidance.

My mom is firm in her faith but the rest of my family is, to varying degrees, against the Catholic church. My mom wasn't happy when I told her I didn't want to get Confirmed but I think she understood where I was coming from. That didn't keep her from arguing the point however. With the help of my older siblings, I was able to convince my mom that maybe the Catholic church wasn't for me. I remember very clearly my sister telling me that she was proud of me for thinking for myself.

The next step was convincing my religion teacher that I wasn't going to be getting confirmed. I spent a lot of time writing the perfect email, mainly because I was too cowardly to confront her but also because it gave me the ability to pick what I thought would be the most convincing words to persuade my teacher. This is what I wrote:

Dear Mrs. Wilkins,

I regret that I couldn't have told you this face-to-face, but with you having parking lot duty all this week I could never get a hold of you after school to talk. Also, with the blessing of the candidates coming up this Sunday I needed to let you know before the end of the week that I don't want to or plan to get Confirmed this year.

If we had been talking face-to-face, this is probably when you would ask me "Why not?" and I would tell you that its because I don't believe that what the Catholic Church teaches is true. If I want to honor a God (which I'm not sure even exists at this point and time of my life) I shouldn't be told how to go about doing so. Perhaps that means I'm against organized religion. Also, I don't believe that Jesus was the "Son of God". I just can't bring myself to believe something that has no concrete foundation of fact or reason. There are a lot of things that require an almost blind faith-something I don't have.

If this is my "crisis of faith" as you put it in yesterday's religion class then so be it, but I can't and won't let myself be confirmed into a faith that I don't believe is true at this time of my life. If later on down the road I accept the teachings of the Catholic Faith then I can get confirmed then when I am certain that's what I want to do. Right now I can't be Confirmed into a faith I don't full-heartedly believe in for it would be a lie to my family, my friends, all those who are close to me, and most importantly, myself-and that is unacceptable.

Confirmation is the first real say in what I want to do with my religious life and only I can make the decision of what I do and don't believe. Don't think that this is some sort of snap decision because I've been thinking about this serious matter for the better part of a year and am absolutely certain this is the choice I want to make.

Even though it is my choice, I still felt that I should share my plans with my parents and I have already talked with both of them making clear my intentions and they approve-not that they like the idea of me not getting confirmed, but that its my choice to make.

I hope this doesn't make the rest of the year any harder for you or me. If you feel like we still need to talk about this then I am fine with us talking but if your goal to to convince me to be Confirmed this year I'm afraid my mind is made up and there's no changing it. This is not to say that I will never in my life be confirmed or believe differently than what I do currently, but it does mean that this year I will not become a full active member of a faith that I don't believe.

I hope you understand.

-Me, The Unbeliever

My Love

I met Her at a Christmas concert in high school.

Actually I met Her during set up. Somehow I got dragged into setting up for the Christmas concert again that year. I wasn't even in the orchestra that year but I had volunteered to help out in the percussion section. Inevitably, I got guilted into setting the stage the night before the concert. I had been in orchestra the last two years so I knew what was in store. There would be a lot of moving heavy, dirty risers and instruments across the length of the school for hours. Everyone involved would be tired and sweaty and grumpy and then once we were almost done, someone would make us rearrange everything for the third time. It wasn't something I was looking forward to.

I walked onto the stage, resenting the evening that lay ahead. I went to greet an acquaintance. He was talking to girl I had never seen before. She must have been an underclassman but She didn't look it. Something about Her pulled me in. It could have been Her grey-green eyes or adorable dimples (I'm a sucker for dimples) but something captured my attention and wouldn't let it go. I introduced myself and She did the same. She was easy to talk with and I could tease Her like I'd known Her for years. I stayed with Her the rest of the night. We sort of ditched the group and went back to the music room where I tried to impress Her by playing the piano. I don't think it worked. She left shortly after but I thought about Her all night.

The next day I passed Her after practically every class. I was dumbfounded that I had never seen Her before. I thought maybe She was going out of Her way to cross paths but I'm sure She wasn't. We'd exchange flirty glances every time we passed and I couldn't stop thinking about Her during classes. I wasn't sure I wanted to get romantically involved, especially with someone two years younger than me. In high school, two years difference might as well have been twenty. I didn't like the stigma that went with dating between grades, but it was hard to forget Her. After seeing Her on and off for about two months, I finally asked Her to go steady with me and She agreed. Why it took two months for me to muster up the courage, I don’t know. We’ve been seeing each other for about two years now and I’ve loved every second I get with Her.

I don't believe in destiny, I think it’s a load of shit, but I do look back at the events that brought me to Her and I feel damn lucky. I wasn’t supposed to be there that night setting up. I wasn’t even in that class. I had considered not even going, but for some reason I went and I’m so glad I did. What a mistake it would have been if I hadn’t. It’s not the most romantic, fairy-tale story but it’s our story and I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

To Her: I Love You and I’ll never stop.

-Me, The Romantic