Surprisingly enough, it wasn't by the smell of chlorine or even the sight of a pool that I was taken back approximately one year to the end of my swimming career. What took me back was a college volleyball game, listening to my friend as she described liberos and setters and the strategy of 6-2 vs. 5-1. She had been a volleyball player for the majority of her life, and her skills could have taken her to places other than our humble university. She chose to leave it behind to come to school at Alabama; however, the pull of the game was too strong for her. Her itch to return to her sporting roots brought me with her to Foster Auditorium in order to watch the Crimson Tide defeat the Texas A&M Aggies in what I can only describe as the most hyped-up volleyball match I had ever seen.
Although my attention was focused on the sets and players in front of me, I couldn't help but look at her every once and a while to see her reliving her glory days, commenting on what shots and blocks were good and what she hoped for them to accomplish next. Watching her go back in time to her home gym transported me to the pool where I spent a decade of my life, and back to the last race of my career.
It was a relay. The 200-yard freestyle relay, to be precise, and it was placed in the middle of the meet. Save for one of us who had a breaststroke race later on in the day, we all were racing for the final time. It could have been a random relay thrown together out of my head coach Tim’s pocket, but instead, he decided to give it a little bit of meaning. The relay was composed fully of seniors, each of us having been friends for almost 10 years. When we saw the lineup, we quickly realized the relay wasn’t meant to score any team points or break any records. This relay was simply for us, and it was his gift to let us do one last thing in the pool as a family before we were done for good.
Getting up onto the block, all I remember was the girl ahead of me. As she neared the wall, I readied myself; and, as soon as she touched, I flew off the block into the water. I remember the blue around me feeling eerily quiet as I forced my way through the pool into a flip turn at the wall. I kicked like my life depended on it as I noticed the girl next to me falling behind, and threw my head down to finish.
Hoisting myself out of the pool, I hugged my teammate who had finished as we screamed our hearts out for the second half of our relay team. At the end of the race, we circled up for one big hug before walking around the pool deck to our coaches, who were waiting for us with some of the biggest smiles I had seen in our four years under them. Each greeted us with a hug and a "congratulations,” and in a fitting fashion, my head coach turned to me and asked me with a laugh where that time had been all season. Each of us had posted a best time, giving true weight to the idea that we were supposed to “leave it all in the water.” It all felt like a dream.
In reality, I was in Foster cheering Krystal Rivers and the rest of the Tide to victory. But as my friend and I left, I was still doing cool down laps in the pool where my lifelong hobby had come to an end. Although the sport was brutal and, at times, nightmarish, it was a part of me I would always have. Turning to my friend, I asked her if she ever wanted to see a swim meet. She agreed.
