Uncharted Waters

Uncharted Waters - Alona Ding (Harker Middle School, 7th Grade)

The loud conversations and cheers of the crowd are like the rough edges of broken glass, cutting through my thoughts. Not that I have any — at least, not with the tight rubber band pulling my hair back, making my head pound and throb. Goosebumps form on my skin as the cold November breeze sweeps by, causing me to shiver. Wrapping my arms tighter around myself, I glance at the pool in front of me, teeming with swimmers who are unbothered by the cold. They look energized and strong, ready to take on a challenge, swimming lap after lap with steady determination. I, on the other hand, have been standing here for two whole minutes, cringing at the thought of entering the icy water. Looking around, I realize that I need to start my warm-ups sooner or later. With a sigh, I slowly lower myself into lane four, only to yelp from the shock of the cold—a sound closer to a whimper that draws the eyes of the nearest swimmers. Though I pretend not to notice, inside I feel like exploding from embarrassment. 

I get into a ready position, take a deep breath, and transition into my pulldown. After swimming a quick two laps, I pull myself out of the pool. I had just started to get warm, but as I step out, the freezing winds hit me, sharp and painful. I walk toward the stands but quickly realize, in my haste, I’ve forgotten both my towel and parka. There they lay on the ground, helpless. I wonder if I’m the same. I hurry back, a stinging pain shooting through my feet every time they touch the cold, hard ground. Quickly, I dry myself and fling on the parka with a sigh of relief. Suddenly, the loudspeaker blares, startling me. The person on the loudspeaker calls the event before mine—event thirty-three. A minute later, the whistle blows, and I watch as the powerful swimmers sprint the one hundred butterfly, my worst stroke, with all they’ve got. Could I do the same? I don’t know anymore. The pressure to impress my coach and parents and to prove to myself that I belonged here twists my stomach into knots. At this moment, I can only think about my shaky confidence and how my own arms and legs might betray me halfway through. 

Once the race finishes, the loudspeaker sounds again. “All swimmers for event thirty-four, please come to the blocks. Again, all swimmers for event thirty-four, heat one, please come to the blocks.” This is it. My heart begins thumping, loud and clear, as I make my way to the tents behind the blocks. My coach directs me to lane five, and I climb onto the starting block, staring down at the clear blue water. One horrible thought pushes forward in my mind: I couldn’t do this. I should never have signed up for this. But it’s too late. “Take your marks…” I get ready. At least I should try my best and not embarrass myself. BEEP! My arms fly forward and I plunge into the pool. Abruptly, my head clears. As I pull myself to the surface, a burst of adrenaline rushes through my body. I surge forward, feeling more refreshed than ever. I imagine that I'm just at swim practice, the one place where everything feels controlled, safe. A calm focus replaces my nerves. My arms and legs fall into a familiar rhythm—out, in, out, in—pushing me forward. Pushing me toward success.