When You No Longer Have a Championship Season

“If you could have anything you ever wanted in one moment, would you capture it? Or just let it slip?” - Eminem

I was about to swim in the biggest moment of my swimming career. My stomach was doing somersaults, and I tried to calm it down with some dance music and Gatorade. It wasn’t working. This was my last chance to achieve my life dream of winning YMCA nationals. I had already made Olympic Trials and committed to swim for Minnesota in college. We lined up to walk out for the A final of the 200im; I turned up the volume to my favorite pump-up song. All the work I had put in was for this moment. I could feel my confidence lifting because I knew that I had worked harder than anyone there and that I deserved this moment. I stood by the block going over the race in my head, ‘set yourself up for success with your fly, don’t lose ground on the backstroke, make up the difference in the breaststroke, and dig deep in your free.’ I stepped on the block, everything was silent, breaking the silence was the starter’s voice, “take your mark” BEEP. I rushed into the water, feeling rested, I was ready to power through this race. This is my moment.

I executed the race to perfection. I had 10 meters to go when I decided I couldn’t afford to take another breath. I buried my head and surged forward, giving it every last ounce of energy I had. I touched first, hoping, hoping, hoping the clock reflected what I thought had happened. When I looked at my name, I saw a “1”. I smiled after a race in the pool for about the 4th time in my life. My teammates came rushing over to me, hugging me, crying as I felt the tears well up in my eyes. At that moment, all the memories from the time I was 8 years old to that moment went rushing through my head, and I knew right then that it was all worth it. The sacrifices, the blood sweat tears, the early mornings, and late nights it was all worth it. I had just done something that I dreamed of and worked for for 10 straight years. And very little can compare to that moment, hugging my teammates, my coach, and my family, celebrating everything that win represented. I captured it.

When you’re an NCAA Athlete, and even an elite high school athlete, you spend about 50 weeks of the year training for one specific moment. From the ages of 12 to 20, 50/52 weeks of every year are spent sleeping, eating, breathing, dreaming of one moment: that end of the season championship meet. That time when taper hits, energy peaks, nerves run high, and everything you have put in during the year is on the line. There is a sort of adrenaline high that comes from the prospect of maybe reaching your goals in that one moment. We often called it “payday” or the day that you would ~ perhaps ~ see all of your hard work pay off. Sometimes it didn’t. But sometimes, just sometimes, you reached that goal - dropped that .49 of a second to make finals at nationals, Olympic trials, or the Big Ten championships. Being on a team made shooting for that goal even more exciting. You knew you had at least 20 other people on your side cheering for you to achieve greatness, celebrating you throughout the process, and supporting you no matter the outcome. What makes championship season so exciting is that you usually have exactly one moment to capture everything you have dreamt of and worked for in the last 50 weeks (or even multiple years on the Olympic cycle). As an elite athlete, frequently, your very living and breathing can be consumed by these incredible goals that are in your reach. You surround yourself with people that have similar incredible athletic goals and go through the same grind as you. It consumes you, and the prospect of not reaching your goal can break you. But the fact that you even have a CHANCE makes those entire 50 weeks worth it. Because the thing is, growing up in sports, if for some reason you give it your all day in, day out, year in and year out, and still don’t reach that goal, there is likely another season for you to learn, grow, get faster and stronger. Until suddenly, you’re graduating, or worse - your career ends because of unforeseen circumstances...and you’re out of chances. You no longer have one moment to chase a dream. And it is really, really tough.

This is my second year now without having a championship season to look forward to... without having my second family cheering me on and wishing for my success as much as I am. My second year without having a team surrounding me with similar goals, excited attitudes, and a passion for sport. It is really really tough to no longer have the build-up to one moment where you have the opportunity to reach your dreams. My career ended due to an illness, and not knowing that my last meet was my “Last Meet” means that closure has been difficult to come by. I am sure many can relate to this point...

I think of the utter high I felt when I qualified for Olympic trials, the tears that flowed from my eyes, my parents’ eyes, my coach’s eyes, and my teammates’ eyes. The feeling when I was falling asleep that night of “Mom, I really DID IT.” The swell of pride I felt that the sacrifices I made for years and years paid off in that one. Single. Moment. Without athletics, it is difficult to feel that high - that prideful - that accomplished again. I haven’t found it yet. Maybe I never will. And that is a difficult thought. It is even more tough to handle when you didn’t know the end was coming.

But, I know that sports have made me who I am today. I may no longer have that one moment or one goal I am shooting for, but I have a team of coworkers that I can inspire. I have bosses that I can show my commitment to and organizations that I can help improve. I have little swimming kids on my team back home that I can be a role model to because of my behavior in and out of the pool. Instead of having one opportunity to reach a ginormous goal, I have hundreds of opportunities every year to make impacts on people’s lives, to improve myself in different ways, to become better. 

Swimming will always hold a special part of my heart and soul. My swim families will always hold a special part of my heart and soul. The time and energy spent reaching goals will forever hold a special part of my heart and soul. But most importantly, the life lessons I learned from the sport are ingrained in me forever. Though I no longer have one exact moment in a year to put all of my energy towards, I now choose to feel grateful for my athletic journey instead of wishing to go back. Because we can’t wish to time travel to the past. We can only try our hardest to do our best at every moment we are given and be grateful for everything that has brought us to that point.