Skip over the hooliganism and the social chatter that comes with friendship built through team bonding and the pressures of performance, times, scores and winning are very, very apparent! Initially, when my daughter mentioned she had nerves, I simply dismissed it as jitters and butterflies. Afterall, my daughter’s had loads of experience in front of music recital parents and school plays. What was so different at this swim meet?
Thirty minutes before her 100m breaststroke, she texted me from the pool deck to say she couldn’t do it. I never got her text. I saw occasional glimpses of her on the pool deck apparently being consoled by fellow swimmers and the lane couch. I later found out that she was in tears. I had no idea that her performance anxieties were this severe! I couldn’t help her or give her the usual father pep-talk. And in a way, me not being there may be a good thing as I can’t be her crutch every time she unravels. Eventually, I saw her take the dive block, dove in at the sound of the starter and raced. It clearly wasn’t her best and after seeing her swim for years in multiple heats; I can tell she was just looking to finish. She came in 5th out of eight swimmers.
As typical as we do, after the meet, we talk on the drive home. For her, it was a huge case of being overwhelmed. There were hundreds of swimmers and equally hundreds of supportive parents, probably more so post-COVID. The atmosphere, the oversized score boards, the loud announcer, the judges made everything so formal. With all that happening, there was a literal ton of anticipation and expectations on her shoulders. My daughter felt it. Lived it. Dreaded it. It took the passion and out of swimming; it felt sterile and performative.
I concluded our conversation with a sobering comment telling her that she was her own worst enemy. That actually made her feel better because it returned the choice to her.
“Let’s put things into perspective,” as I asked her to recall her Cello Book One Recital and how her piano accompanist and she had some awkward timing. How can I forget? “Well, regardless of what went on, you finished the piece and that’s what everyone remembered. You didn’t break down. You didn’t walk off the stage. You stuck it through and finished. That’s what people remembered.” In comparison, her in that particular swim heat wasn’t about finishing first—it was about just finishing.
“Do you want to know who your competitors were?” I asked. No. “Well, I looked it up. Three were 13 year-olds and one was 14. So out of the remaining four 12 year-olds, you came first.” Really? “Two years may not be a huge difference, but imagine if you were racing against 10 year-olds.” That’s a big difference. “Big difference in terms of muscular development, mental preparation, training and maturity.” Hmmmm, as she pondered. I comforted her in that her performance still placed her tops in her own age group. I concluded our conversation with a sobering comment telling her that she was her own worst enemy. That actually made her feel better because it returned the choice to her.
This isn’t to say that her initial anxiety was unfounded. It’s very real. But she also realized that it was she who worked herself up in the first place! These young athletes qualified. That’s an accomplishment in itself. They showed up. Through peers, they found strength. All of this affirms that they can and will do it. No better endorsement than those. And ironically, the more eyes there are in the spectator rows, the fewer that are focused on any individual athlete. In the end, through every adversity and every anxiety, we don’t always come out on top and place first every time. And that’s okay. But it is in our power to put in the best effort for that day and finish as best we can. That’s what it means by getting through it.
