The day she said she wanted to quit
A significant amount of time and money has been spent on my daughter’s swimming lessons. She first started when she was barely two years old and by now has had about five years of formal instructions. For me, it was a mandatory life skill she had to learn; it just so happened that she loved the activity anyway. She has become a very, very, very good swimmer. Her techniques are by-the book. Her form is gracious and her endurance is impressive. Unfortunately, being at level 9 of the 10 level program, she is near the end of her training at the age of 7! There are rescue techniques and strength training she can sign up for, but she must wait a few more years before she can continue to lifeguard certification. (A 7 year-old simply does not have the physical strength to attempt real life rescues). She’s at a crossroad because even in her regular classes, she has very few peers who have progressed with her. That means her instructions have become even more specific as there are only 2 or 3 kids in her class and the expectations are heavier. The lessons are also physically demanding. She told me one day that she wasn’t enjoying it anymore and wanted to quit.
I told my daughter that she shouldn’t quit something because it is hard. She also shouldn’t quit because she feels discouraged. Quitting should only be an option when one loses the ability to do it or it doesn’t serve them anymore; and even then, walk away with one’s head held high proclaiming that they gave it their best.
I understood exactly what she was talking about, because I was at the exact same spot years ago. I told her that, back when I was at school, I used to swim competitively. Our coach would start the morning training at 6am. This meant all the kids had to get up before the sun and arrive at school to be in the pool by 5:55am. Winter was the worst. We all worked on our strokes. We were timed and yelled at for being lazy and sleeping in the water. It was horrible. We all wanted to quit. But what kept us going were each other. We each had our own specialty. Some guys were full of muscle and their butterfly and breast strokes powered through the water like a chainsaw through a log. Others had excellent streamline which propelled their front crawl at speed. For me, it was backstroke. Nobody had more flexible rotator cuff that worked backwards than I did! I also learned to perfectly time the underwater flip-turn after seeing the dreaded backstroke flag! I was not the strongest swimmer, but my stroke and technique was almost always better than anyone else’s; it always gave the rest of my team a 3 to 4 stroke lead right from the start. As we repeatedly stood to receive our ribbons and medals, we were always thanking our coach for pushing us to be the best we can be. She was fascinated with my stories.
I told my daughter that she shouldn’t quit something because it is hard. She also shouldn’t quit because she feels discouraged. Quitting should only be an option when one loses the ability to do it or it doesn’t serve them anymore; and even then, walk away with one’s head held high proclaiming that they gave it their best.
The next swim class was a make-up class. She had no peers and was grouped with 4 adults. The usual instructor wasn’t there so the new instructor made my daughter work on full laps employing various strokes while the adults worked on half-length laps and treading. Impressed with 45 minutes of laps, the new instructor took time out to teach her a new rescue technique (stride jump) while the adults looked on. Even the main coach who usually walks around the pool with a clipboard was particularly impressed with my daughter’s endurance that day and barked out a few praising words. At the end of that one hour class, my daughter got out of the pool, walked over to me and said she had a headache and wanted to puke.
I smiled sympathetically and told her to take a nice hot shower and then we’ll grab a steak and eggs breakfast. I watched her inhale her high protein meal in minutes. She felt better. It was the toughest class she had ever had. Her main coach confirmed it and said that he was very impressed with the day’s effort. It was high praise considering he used to train Eastern European athletes. And my daughter learned a new rescue technique and realized that there was much more she didn’t know. She said that the next class, they begin butterfly stroke. I groaned. She smiled, recalling my stories. But she was nowhere near quitting.