I remember clearly the four years I spent with sixty-four of my closest friends and four amazing coaches under the incandescent bulbs that line the metal natatorium ceiling. The awful feeling of driving to the pool on chilly fall mornings, knowing you will soon have to complete a grueling practice, as well as the joy that came with completing the test set or a difficult meet, are still ingrained very, very deeply in my brain.
The minute you walk into the East Grand Rapids “Butch Briggs” Natatorium, your nose is instantly filled with the intense smell of chlorine. You hear sixty-four girls laughing at the top of their lungs, happy that school is over for the day. You see girls getting their things out of the equipment closet, rushing to finish their ten pull ups on the metal pull-up bar hanging from the door. Turn right when exiting the locker room, and you’re lead to a group of girls stretching, an act that, much to our coach’s dismay, was prolonged in an effort to minimize the time we had to complete twenty 100’s. When you turn left, you meet coaches writing practices on the whiteboards, below a couple of large poster boards with inspirational quotes, which I made at the beginning of my senior season with my co-captains; my favorite being the one that’s blue with gold writing and says, “happiness is a choice; start today”.
To some, the pool might just seem like a small, blue, chlorinated body of water, but to me, it evokes feelings much stronger. When I think about the pool, I think about friends who have, over the years, turned into family. I think about how amazing my coach is and how, aside from my dad, I treasure my relationship with him more than I do with any other man. I think about shaving parties and taper and bus rides to away meets and crying inside of my goggles during hard sets.
They say “today may not be good, but there’s something good in every day”. Oddly enough, swim practice was that one constant good thing. I was happiest at the pool, with my team, and that was a well-known fact.
Although I have yet to jump into the freezing abyss of a pool and complete a serious practice since the end of the season a year and a half ago, the same smell of chlorine is still ever present on my skin. I can still hear the voices of my sixty-four best friends laughing and chatting. I can still feel the rush to finish my pull-ups, and just so happen to think about the inspirational posters every day. The pool has left a mark on me. It is me and I am it.
