Many of the lessons I’ve learned in life have been in, on, or around water. I swam from sixth grade to my senior year of high school (a very short time in comparison to most swimmers) and though I was by no means a good athlete, I loved the water, the competition, my teammates, and the thrill of getting stronger.

There are countless indescribable moments that I experienced in the pool and at the end of a lane, cheering on my swim sisters until my throat was raw. In many moments I felt like a practice might last forever, like I might be trapped in an endless cycle of sprinting, snapping my legs over my head in a flip-turn, and pushing onward for yet another lap, all of course, without breathing so much (guilty…).

I think I took for granted all of the idiosyncrasies that made up my swim career: shower surfing, goofy bus rides back from meets, cackling on the tube at our lake swim practice, counting as loud as we could during stretches, cheering for our divers, practices where we got to swim the board, and the days where we practically begged to play water polo.

It still feels strange to go to a swim meet and to not be in my sweatsuit (but in all honesty, I only ever wanted to be wearing the jacket), doing cards for someone swimming a distance event, or to not be on deck nervously listening to pump up music in preparation for my next race.

It’s odd to watch from afar what was once so central to my being and to all I did. Some of my strongest moments have been when I felt like my lungs were going to burst, when my temples pulsed with the rhythm of my heart, when my legs no longer had feeling yet fluttered behind me nonetheless.

They were when I pulled through the water, mind forcing my hands to reach further and to push a little harder, and once again, to stop breathing so much. They were when we surrounded a teammate who just got a PB or made a state cut, jumping up and down, hugging, cheering, and celebrating.

I miss the water. There was a sense of such tranquility when I was the first one at practice, the pool deck silent, water, smooth and glassy. When I got to college I tried swimming on my own in the mornings, but it’s so very different without my lane mates beside me pushing me to the next set or swiping my toes just to irritate me. So I guess rather, I miss the world of high school competitive swimming.

I miss carbo loads the night before a meet and visualizing winning a race.

I miss complaining about practice but secretly loving it.

I miss messy buns that worked after practice, in the morning, and all hours in between.

I miss practicing relay starts, seeing how far we could fling ourselves.

I miss the nervousness that filled my body standing behind the blocks and its transformation to power and tension when I stepped onto the block. The moment where I could only hear my breath and my pulse, reaching down, gripping the block, body tense, ready to leap on the start.

So, those of you still in the swim world, don’t forget to remember how truly amazing it is. Take in all of the flip-turns, stroke counting, reverse IM sets, relays (good and bad), cheering, tears, and joy. Treasure hearing that one coach whistling for their swimmer in a race (we all have experienced that coach… heck, maybe he’s your coach).

Laugh about not shaving your legs and then revel in how incredible it feels to shave them just in time for a big meet. Love the pain, because it makes you so much stronger when the time for your race rolls around.

Value the dropped time, even if it’s one one-hundredth of a second. It’s not about beating the person in the lane next to you, simply the one in your own: yourself.

Competition is great, but when it comes down to it, we’re only racing ourselves. We are striving to get better with each and every event, so that if and when the time comes to hang up our cap and goggles, we can do it with the respect and love for all that we have swum.