Competitive Swimming

I began competitive swimming when I was 8 years old and initially joined the squad to hangout with my friends Melanie and Sara, who both swam. I remember begging my parents to let me swim- I had given up on my dream of dancing because in my gut I knew they would never agree, but maybe this. Maybe swimming would work and I would get to hang out with my friends, so in my mind it was win win. 

They reluctantly agreed and signed me up, making sure I knew the commitment I was making and what it would mean. I eagerly agreed, excited to be involved in something with friends outside of the homeschool community and the church world. 

I cried a lot those first few years. Sometimes amongst the noise of the other kids in the water, I would miss the lengthy instructions from our coach on what we were going to be doing next. The panic would set in, I’d look over at my mom for reassurance, hoping she would understand me mouthing that I didn’t know what I was meant to do- she was a pro lip reader after all- she understood and would just tell me to raise my hand and ask. Nope. That is worse than dying a thousand deaths. The tears would ensue and sometimes I would be sick in the garden while my mom tried to encourage me to just ask. I didn’t want to get yelled at or in trouble for not hearing the first time. It’s just that all the conflicting noises hurt my head and it all would blend together- I understand this now and can articulate it but little Shae had no idea why that happened or why she felt so overwhelmed and scared. 

Regardless of the nerves, that over the course of my 10 year swimming career never really subsided, I was a natural and progressed quickly. I went from swimming for my Summer neighbourhood squad to swimming for a year round squad at 14. I loved it but it was intense and there were many times I wanted to quit. I remember times I begged my parents to let me stop, they would remind me of the commitment I had made and when it was time to sign up again I always had to convince them that I really wanted to swim, it was just- sometimes I hated it. 

I didn’t really hate it though and I never truly hated any of my coaches despite the amount of times I wobbled home cursing Cory Mosher’s name to the pits of hell as my sore body climbed into the bathtub after he put us through what felt like endless torture- treading water in the deep end with our arms in the air. 

I lived in the pool. Morning, afternoon, night, five to seven days a week. Thinking about it, I don’t remember too many weekends that I wasn’t swimming in a meet. I know it consumed a lot of our family's time, as well as resources. 

Although most of those years are a blur of meet rolling into meet, stacks on stacks of ribbons and medals, breaking records and setting a few bests for my Summer squad, there are a few moments that stand out. Some mundane and some more significant.

Kiwi Strawberry Propel was my drink of choice and an excellent option to rinse the taste of chlorine water out of my mouth before quickly dunking myself to the bottom of the pool to cool down in between sets at practice. The little things that became ritualistic like the way I would stretch, jump and swing my arms to warm up my body before a race or the way I would quickly rip my cap and goggles off at the end of a race and dunk myself to the bottom before launching myself out of the pool in a quick, smooth motion.

Then there was the  time I was swimming 200 breaststroke at the VCU campus. I was using a new pair of goggles (rookie error and 15 year old me knew better) that I wasn’t quite used to. I had used them a couple of times in practice but they were fiddly and had to be positioned just right to get the suction correct. As I stood behind the block for that race, I knew I should ask my coach or someone to go grab my trusty old speedo goggles but I didn’t want to be a bother and I was about to get on the block, so this would just have to do.

As I stretched behind the block, up next, I took a moment to dip my goggles in the water and popped them on, adjusting to try to get that suction just right. The whistle, shit, shit, shit. They didn’t feel right. Take your marks, then the buzzer and we are off. From the second I dove into the water I was royally fucked. The suction was definitely off and the goggles were now around my mouth & nose obstructing my breathing. “FUCK ME!” My mind screams, why is 200 meters so long? I try to keep my mind on track, pumping myself up and trying to breathe every time I would surface. 50 meters down, 150 to go. I feel my lungs burning and my eyes starting to well with tears. 75m down, “I don’t think I can do this. I need to stop but I don’t want to disappoint my coach or my parents. You also don’t want to see this time- take the disqualification”. I reach the wall and grab it with one hand, disqualifying myself as I rip the goggles and cap off my head, dunking myself to the bottom of the pool and releasing the biggest scream before climbing out of the pool to go face everyone. The scream was out of sheer frustration and disappointment in myself.

Or the weekend in Waynesboro where a bunch of my year round squad went out to eat at Fizoli’s after checking into the hotel unaware that we would all freeze in the outdoor pool the next morning and I would run out of dry pants and towels. 

Then there was the time I swam the mile for the first time and had “This Is The Song That Never Ends” stuck in my head the entire time. 

The time I got in my flow with the 500 freestyle and started shedding time and placing. 

Endless practices with my year round squad where we all felt shattered but accomplished afterwards. 

The times the heater in the pool broke in Winter and I’d be pulled out of the pool to go have a hot shower to warm up, only to jump back in the icy water and commence the nonstop swim. 

Skipping weight training because, well, I had aspirations to model one day and I wasn’t too keen on getting the “swimmers body” and in doing so I have always wondered how that impacted my swimming and how far I could have gone if I had only applied myself more and not been so vain. 

Becoming impeccable at getting changed discreetly out of my wet swimmers and into dry clothes in the backseat of the car. 

Or my final swim. It was the 50 meter butterfly at my Summer squads Championship meet. Fly never came easy to me and always felt like a struggle, like the flow didn’t quite click. This night was different though. My energy felt electric, this was it. My last swim and I was going to give it all or nothing. I was quick off the block when the horn went off and when I hit the water the electricity was released, I was lightning embodied and everything flowed so easily. 

It honestly felt effortless and like I was gliding through the water. I knew I was in the flow and I knew I was in the lead but I still didn’t dare look around to check. Stay in this zone, stay in this flow. Powerful. In that moment, I felt so powerful as I approached the wall and heard my coach's cries of triumph, there was that electricity again, driving me forward. I touch the touchpad with force, look over at my coach who is screaming her head off as the realization set in that I not only won but I won by a lot and it felt good. Not because I “smoked” everyone else but because the flow and energy of that moment, along with the support I felt, made me feel so incredibly powerful. All these years later my body still remembers that moment, that electricity and power. The way all the pieces just clicked and I finally saw how effortless butterfly was always meant to be. 

I cherish the memories I have of my swim days but I will always have one huge regret when it comes to this part of my life. I had been swimming with my Summer team the Stingrays for 10 years my Senior year of High School. It was the night of our awards ceremony and although my coaches had asked if I was coming, I decided at the last minute to skip it and go to my boyfriend's (at the time) soccer game instead. The feeling that set in later that night as my parents explained the beautiful words and mementos one of my coaches said before calling my name to present me with a special award. My heart broke into a million pieces. Why did I have to be so selfish? Why didn’t I stop to think about this night? Why did I disregard it so quickly to hang out with a boy?

It still pains me to think about. Those beautiful words being spoken about her time coaching me and my career. The towel, the personalized plaque and ten year mug that was being held with such love and my name reverberating through the room while no one stood to claim it. I felt my heart shatter in that moment as I knew my coaches would have as she stood on that stage. GUTTED. I am still gutted and if I could rewind time somehow and go back to that night, I would have gone. I would have told my boyfriend to fuck off and I would have proudly stood completely humbled and honoured by that moment in time. I would have cherished it. I should have cherished it more.