So you're a non-swimmer? Well... welcome. On this page, you're going to have a sneak peak inside a swimmers head. I'll take you into the swimmer's world, just far enough for you to know what you're dealing with. Ready?
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Do you have a hobby? Something you like to do in your free time? Is there something that means the world to you? Something you think you'd give everything up for? Something you've wanted so damn badly you would've done anything for it?
Yes? Well, everyone does, right? So I guess you're thinking, hey, don't say I don't get it, I got something I love too. I understand you.
Well, no. You don't. And that's the first step you have to take if you want to understand. No matter what you think, swimming isn't comparable to anything. Other competitive sports? Maybe. But let's take soccer:
An elite soccer player I know quite well, a boy my age, trains five times a week, about one and a half hours. Every other weekend he sacrifices 4 hours of his Friday morning for a match. He wakes up at 6 am once a week for morning practice. His training sessions: some jogging, some workout exercises, and then an hour of running around a grassy pitch kicking balls to his best friends. I'm not saying it's not tiring. You need a hell of a condition to play soccer, and you gotta be fast. But now, how does that sound in comparison to this:
A swimmer, same age, trains at least 8 times a week, and at least for two hours. Every second weekend we sacrifice our entire weekend to sit at the poolside for hours on end and race every now and then. We wake up at 4 am at least twice a week for morning practice, and at 6 am for weekend morning practice when there isn't a competition. Our training sessions: some running, some "dryland" workout exercises, and then 2 hours of swimming up and down the same lane, staring at a black line at the bottom of the pool. Sounds easy? Well, why don't you get down to some pool now and swim one length of butterfly. That's 25 meters. It would take you at least half a minute, if you even get to the other end, and you'd flop down beside the pool breathing hard and thinking, damn, ok, that's quite exhausting. Now take that times 2, that's 50 meters, a quick little sprint for a swimmer. Times it by 2 again and we get 100 meters, every swim coach's favourite distance for aerobic sets, where we sprint through 100 meters until we've hit the limit, get a maximum of 10 seconds rest, and then do it again. 16 times. Now, take the 100 meters and times them by two again. 200 meters. Of butterfly. A crazy race even for swimmers. But all of us have done it, and the fly swimmers under us, like me, have done it hundreds and hundreds of times.
You have no idea what exhaustion really means until you've swum 200m butterfly. Or done an iron man race, in which case, respect.
Yes? Well, everyone does, right? So I guess you're thinking, hey, don't say I don't get it, I got something I love too. I understand you.
Well, no. You don't. And that's the first step you have to take if you want to understand. No matter what you think, swimming isn't comparable to anything. Other competitive sports? Maybe. But let's take soccer:
An elite soccer player I know quite well, a boy my age, trains five times a week, about one and a half hours. Every other weekend he sacrifices 4 hours of his Friday morning for a match. He wakes up at 6 am once a week for morning practice. His training sessions: some jogging, some workout exercises, and then an hour of running around a grassy pitch kicking balls to his best friends. I'm not saying it's not tiring. You need a hell of a condition to play soccer, and you gotta be fast. But now, how does that sound in comparison to this:
A swimmer, same age, trains at least 8 times a week, and at least for two hours. Every second weekend we sacrifice our entire weekend to sit at the poolside for hours on end and race every now and then. We wake up at 4 am at least twice a week for morning practice, and at 6 am for weekend morning practice when there isn't a competition. Our training sessions: some running, some "dryland" workout exercises, and then 2 hours of swimming up and down the same lane, staring at a black line at the bottom of the pool. Sounds easy? Well, why don't you get down to some pool now and swim one length of butterfly. That's 25 meters. It would take you at least half a minute, if you even get to the other end, and you'd flop down beside the pool breathing hard and thinking, damn, ok, that's quite exhausting. Now take that times 2, that's 50 meters, a quick little sprint for a swimmer. Times it by 2 again and we get 100 meters, every swim coach's favourite distance for aerobic sets, where we sprint through 100 meters until we've hit the limit, get a maximum of 10 seconds rest, and then do it again. 16 times. Now, take the 100 meters and times them by two again. 200 meters. Of butterfly. A crazy race even for swimmers. But all of us have done it, and the fly swimmers under us, like me, have done it hundreds and hundreds of times.
You have no idea what exhaustion really means until you've swum 200m butterfly. Or done an iron man race, in which case, respect.
![Picture](/uploads/1/5/0/7/15072654/1422113854.png)
So yes, we are insane. Because through all of it, we love what we're doing. Really, we do.
And now there's the other part. The sacrifice. To all friends of swimmers, no, we cannot just "miss a session" to come to the mall with you. No, we cannot "leave the meet early" to come to your birthday party. Why? Our first answer will be, our coach would downright kill us. Murder us. And kick us off the team. "Oh, come on, he can't be that bad?" You're right, maybe he's not. Maybe he's actually nice. But none of us are willing to take the risk and ask, because that's way too close to suicide. But that's only reason one. Deep inside, we don't want to. Yeah, we love you, and your birthday's a big day, and hey, we want to party too. But we also want that one extra second we need to make nationals, that one perfect turn we need to break a PB, and to win that one big race.
So we say no. No to going to the mall, no to going to a party, no even to going on a date with our big crush. No to eating chips and drinking alcohol like all the other teenagers. No to staying up late. No to everything.
Sacrifice. Give it all up. Doesn't sound all that hard. Well, hey, next time your friends want to go out, how about you say no? And then call off the date with your boyfriend this weekend. And everything else you had planned. So? Was it easy?
There's two people inside a swimmer's mind. The swimmer, and somewhere, really small but still in there, the mortal. The one that wants to say YES! I want to go to a party! Just once! Pretty pretty please! And that's the person who takes the hits. The swimmer keeps going, keeps swimming, whilst the mortal keeps breaking. Try to make it easier for us. We already have to deal with teachers screaming at us for not doing our homework (after we come home from practice and 10 in the evening and have to go to bed for morning practice at 5) and falling asleep in class. You're meant to be our friends. Don't judge us for not being there, we really wish we could. But we can't, and you have to accept that.
And now there's the other part. The sacrifice. To all friends of swimmers, no, we cannot just "miss a session" to come to the mall with you. No, we cannot "leave the meet early" to come to your birthday party. Why? Our first answer will be, our coach would downright kill us. Murder us. And kick us off the team. "Oh, come on, he can't be that bad?" You're right, maybe he's not. Maybe he's actually nice. But none of us are willing to take the risk and ask, because that's way too close to suicide. But that's only reason one. Deep inside, we don't want to. Yeah, we love you, and your birthday's a big day, and hey, we want to party too. But we also want that one extra second we need to make nationals, that one perfect turn we need to break a PB, and to win that one big race.
So we say no. No to going to the mall, no to going to a party, no even to going on a date with our big crush. No to eating chips and drinking alcohol like all the other teenagers. No to staying up late. No to everything.
Sacrifice. Give it all up. Doesn't sound all that hard. Well, hey, next time your friends want to go out, how about you say no? And then call off the date with your boyfriend this weekend. And everything else you had planned. So? Was it easy?
There's two people inside a swimmer's mind. The swimmer, and somewhere, really small but still in there, the mortal. The one that wants to say YES! I want to go to a party! Just once! Pretty pretty please! And that's the person who takes the hits. The swimmer keeps going, keeps swimming, whilst the mortal keeps breaking. Try to make it easier for us. We already have to deal with teachers screaming at us for not doing our homework (after we come home from practice and 10 in the evening and have to go to bed for morning practice at 5) and falling asleep in class. You're meant to be our friends. Don't judge us for not being there, we really wish we could. But we can't, and you have to accept that.
![Picture](/uploads/1/5/0/7/15072654/4528720.jpg?131)
But why do we actually swim? Obviously, because we love it. Because one day we found something we're good at, and so we kept doing it, and now we're addicted. Literally. Take us away from water and it would be no different than taking a fish out of the ocean. We'd be helpless, flapping around on the ground and fighting to breath, struggling with all our might to stay alive.
The exhaustion and pain a swimmer experiences in a race cannot be put into words, nor even imagined by anyone who hasn't experienced it themselves. But neither can the feeling of beating the clock, setting a new PB, and winning that race. That's what a race is. Adrenaline and excitement, then fear that we push away to make room for more adrenaline, then the water, and the pain of each stroke you take, each breath you don't take, the exhaustion that takes you dangerously close to the edge of consciousness, and then, a roar of glory. Happiness, pure happiness, that subsides only when you climb out of your water and the pain in your limbs brings you crying to the ground. But who cares? You won. You won. That's all that matters.
You pushed your way through grueling training sessions, gave up everything, forced yourself through hours of gym work and pain so intense no human being could take it, just to take one hundredth of a second off your PB - Personal Best.
So when we come to you and say "I got a new PB!" that's not an achievement worth a "well done" and a pat on the back. That's a milestone, worth you baking a huge chocolate croissant ice cream fudge brownie strawberry crumble caramel vanilla cupcake praline gummy bear mixed berry pudding chocolate chip peanut butter whipped cream pasta cake (swimmers love anything with pasta) and throwing a party the size of the last football world cup and... and an oscar. Give the swimmer an oscar or something.
The exhaustion and pain a swimmer experiences in a race cannot be put into words, nor even imagined by anyone who hasn't experienced it themselves. But neither can the feeling of beating the clock, setting a new PB, and winning that race. That's what a race is. Adrenaline and excitement, then fear that we push away to make room for more adrenaline, then the water, and the pain of each stroke you take, each breath you don't take, the exhaustion that takes you dangerously close to the edge of consciousness, and then, a roar of glory. Happiness, pure happiness, that subsides only when you climb out of your water and the pain in your limbs brings you crying to the ground. But who cares? You won. You won. That's all that matters.
You pushed your way through grueling training sessions, gave up everything, forced yourself through hours of gym work and pain so intense no human being could take it, just to take one hundredth of a second off your PB - Personal Best.
So when we come to you and say "I got a new PB!" that's not an achievement worth a "well done" and a pat on the back. That's a milestone, worth you baking a huge chocolate croissant ice cream fudge brownie strawberry crumble caramel vanilla cupcake praline gummy bear mixed berry pudding chocolate chip peanut butter whipped cream pasta cake (swimmers love anything with pasta) and throwing a party the size of the last football world cup and... and an oscar. Give the swimmer an oscar or something.
Our life isn't easy. We take it with humor, we swallow down the tears, and we just keep swimming. But whilst the swimmer inside us is getting stronger and stronger, there's still a human in there, breaking and dying, day by day. So yeah. We need you. We need your help. We need you to stop ignoring us swimmers, because no one knows what it really is we do. Super humans. We eat. We sleep. We swim. Life? We've given it up. But we need you to help us to get it back. Let us live again. Laugh with us, and take us out. Take us to the mall, the cinema, just put a little more effort in so we can actually go and don't have to say, "sorry, we got practice then". No matter how strong we look in those skin tight suits, alien-like goggles and shiny plastic swim caps, we need your help. We need you to support us, every step of the way, every stroke of the lap.
"I feel most at home in the water. I disappear. It's where I belong."
- Michael Phelps