TEN YEARS. A piece of reflection on my May 8th, 2004.

Hi there, friend! Well, if you have read my blog ever or talked with me in the last eight months you probably know I am training for triathlons. In fact, I am signed up for my first one for the season and I am beyond excited. Like, I just want to squeal. I know I could have done many things better to prepare for this season and I don't have a lot of money or time but goddammit, I am still excited as all get out to go race! Its amazing, the last few months I feel like my life has structure and training has allowed my soul to smile. I am having fun again, like I did with swimming, and I have been able to identify with something deep inside myself in a way I haven't been able to do in a long time.

What's a long time, you ask? I know, I'm only 26. One year? Absolutely not. I swear I was 24 just yesterday. 5 years? Meh, I was in school and went out to the bars about four times a week and a lot has changed since then (for the better), but relatively speaking it doesn't seem that long ago. Its been ten years. TEN YEARS.

Ten years ago. I was a smiley and relatively annoying and energetic 16 year old. I was in Drivers Ed, felt relatively invincible and weighed about twenty pounds less than I do now. I wore jeans and sweatshirts all the time, no makeup, smelled of chlorine and was pretty much cold twenty four hours a day (nothing has changed). I ate a ton of food, crushed on boys that I never talked to and loved my portable CD player (along with my huge case of CDs). I did well in school, history was my favorite, and had many friends (but few close ones). I loved eating ice cream, enjoyed the quiet mornings (although waking up was the hardest thing ever) and lived on a farm 40 minutes outside of town. I was strong willed with a loud personality, but blushed with shyness when people asked for an autograph. I loved the outdoors and camping and despite heavy training and focus, my parents still snuck my brother and I off to the mountains a few times a year for a long weekend. I was feisty and funny and dreamed big. My goal? Win a bet with my mom for a 4-Runner (my all time favorite car at that age) for getting a full ride swimming scholarship to a big Division I college, win Trials at the ripe age of twenty and go to the Olympics. I dreamed of living the pro athlete life. I clearly believed in destiny and thought being an athlete was mine. And it was just starting. There was something big waiting out there for me.

Ten years ago on the second weekend of May, May 8th to be exact, I was a bright eyed hard working 16 year old just two short months away from the biggest meet in my swimming career. After a 3 hour long swim practice, we did some dry land training. I was the strongest I had ever been - 3 hours of training and I finished feeling exhausted but strong. My endurance was high, my stroke was refined and I felt fresh and excited. My coach invited a parent to play, the parent got aggressive, I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, blah blah blah. BAM. Shoulder was hit so hard, bone broke off. Career over. Dreams dashed. And at 16, I learned the world is a ruthless place and nothing is certain.

The next two months were a blur of depression and tears. I went to doctors but knew I was going to do what I wanted to do anyways, no matter what they said. They said I wouldn't swim. I couldn't swim. I went to Trials. I swam. I was going to that meet no matter what. My coach ostracized me, teased me. He shamed me. He left me at Trials because he was embarrassed. At Trials my coach whispered in my ear 'I hope God forgives you for what you've done.' I felt humiliated and embarrassed for being a failure. I was lost, struggling to grasp what was going on around me and why I felt so much loss. People either told me they understood how I felt because they once had to have knee surgery in their mid-thirties or told me I had no idea what loss was. Either prompted deep sadness; that someone thought they understood my deep feelings of loss or my sudden dis-trust in the world and its people. I wanted to hold on to anything supportive, anything constant. Looking back, while I can't remember much about this time, it was small things that kept me busy. Words couldn't express my sadness, so I didn't really talk about it. I mostly cried alone in my room.

I remember that morning. The practice, my times, the way the water felt, the way I felt in the water. I remember feeling confident and excited for my future. I remember the game. I remember the faces. I remember collapsing to the grass with the sun beating down on me. I remember snapping at the parent (Russ was his name) who touched me, I remember cussing in my head and outloud. I remember the ice bag. The swelling. My mom's hopeless look on her face. The ride home. I feel bad for that little girl, I really do. There wasn't a support system set up for what she was going through. There wasn't anything anyone could say or do. There wasn't a way to comfort a person who had their world, all of their efforts, snatched away. There wasn't a way to prove that, despite this loss, hard work and dedication were still good things to invest time in. There wasn't a way to show a bright side to the situation because there wasn't one. There wasn't anyone who could tell her it would be ok, because no one knew if it would be ok. And for a really long time, it wasn't ok. For a few years, I clung to this dying piece of me, and the eventual loss of myself and the life I knew felt like death. It was a mourning process and while I can look back with perspective, the most important things I learned and appreciate because of this 'incident' were only things I learned after finding strength within myself.

So, with ten years of growth under my belt and a completely different life then I had ever imagined, here are a few things I would never change. And keep in mind, the actual event itself was but a blip in the overall picture; what I have taken away and learned is the true focus and gift from this experience.

I wouldn't choose it, but I wouldn't change it.

Thoughts and changes:

My anger. As you might have hoped, this has definitely changed. At first, I was an angry girl. I was lost and filled with a lot of hate for things that I couldn't necessarily express. I hated certain people, HATED, but had a lot of anger for the situation in general. I internalized the anger and since no one took the blame, I felt I had no choice but to blame myself. For the first few years, any time I saw my coach or the jackass who hit me, I would either shut up like a clam or become extremely and emotionally angry. I couldn't watch my own event, the 100 back, for a few years. Gradually, as I realized I was stronger than I thought and my life went on (because it had to) the pain subsided and the anger became less and less. It just became a lot to hold on to and it was overwhelming. Why be angry when it serves no purpose? Plus, I no longer identified with myself the same way I did when I was 16; I was changing and finding new things to define me. Do I still hate the people responsible? Meh, hates a little strong but... I wouldn't mind if Karma stepped in while I was there to witness it.

My sadness. Again, as you might have hoped, this has changed as well. YAY! I know I was really sad at first. So sad that my mom gets emotional when she talks about that first year or so. I don't think I knew how to come to terms with anything, and it all just came out as pent up anger and sadness. All things lost their joy and I rarely found true happiness in anything. I was a sad girl. I think I remember smaller things from that time period that were supposedly devastating, but I think it was just a little scratch on top of this huge wound. And the sadness just got worse and worse until I left USC. When the doctors told me I wouldn't swim again, and needed a shoulder replacement surgery, I felt like I hit bottom. I was nineteen and totally completely devastated. I was torn apart, and no one could make it better. I moved home, started pretty much everything from scratch and began reinventing myself. It was hard learning a new identity, especially in my hometown. But gradually, slowly, I found or rediscovered new passions. I found that people didn't see me as a swimmer anymore, which helped me. If I didn't see myself as a swimmer, I didn't feel like I failed. It took a while, but gradually, I came around. The biggest thing I had to overcome was that, while I wanted to move on from this past life, I was still going to Physical Therapy and undergoing treatments and MRIs for the same shoulder issue. But somewhere in between all of this, I realized I was pretty damn strong, and despite all the sadness I was finding ways to be happy. While I never actually competed in swimming again, I felt that I had overcome this tragedy and sadness because I dealt with it; I finished it and saw it to the end. I actually took pride in my strength and ability to overcome. Hell, I had four shoulder surgeries, two of which were really serious. It takes a lot of mental strength and patience to have so many surgeries and go through so many intense recovery periods and I appreciated that. When it takes you an hour and then a nap to get showered and fully dressed for the day, you learn patience. After the third surgery, my entire gait and ability to walk and run was lost, and I had to actually learn how to do these things correctly again. Over time the sadness, as well as the anger, turned to a weird sense of pride. I was proud of my ability to become the person I am now while having such a negative past that pushed me to grow. I realized I couldn't be scared anymore. I couldn't fear loss and commitment; I knew I could do it on my own. I even moved down to South America for a winter to both prove the point to myself that I could do it and also to have a kick ass time.

Perspective. Well, yeah. As a 16 year old my world seldom included anyone else. My actions, my goals, my drive, everything was centered around me. I was selfish; I had a strong personality in addition to pursuing a promising athletic career made me this way. I knew there were worse things in the world than not getting the new suit I wanted or having 20 pairs of goggles, or not getting a brand new nice car. I knew that. I knew that there were worse things than camping at a swim meet or staying at a friends because hotels were too expensive. But, I didn't really care. I still wanted all of these things. Same with being injured; I understand I didn't actually lose my life or anything. But I felt bad for myself, I pitied myself. Who else has this happened to? Who else has had so many serious shoulder surgeries? Who else has lost their entire identity before they even really found it? How can someone explain to me how I deserved this? What did I do? It was relentless. But, so was the problem. Shoulders are persistent little buggers, and I learned while I could run away from the lifestyle some things just weren't going to change. So, I dealt with it. And in learning to face a problem head on, fear be damned, I gained a broader perspective on life. My viewpoint on life changed; I no longer took pity on myself. I began to see it as unfortunate, but also has an opportunity to challenge myself to grow above and beyond the hand that I was dealt. I think our perspective on life is always evolving and changing, but I am happy for the way that the shoulder incident changed mine (eventually for the better).

Apologies I never got. This is hard for all of us to come to terms with. Remember when your best friend when you were seven stole your toy? Or when your brother ate your snack when you were so hungry you felt as if you might just collapse to the ground in a heap of hunger? And more seriously, when you boyfriend of a year cheated on you... and just let you drift off into the world, sad and confused to find your own way? Sure, sometimes we get apologies but they are too little, too late. Or we don't get them at all. While its only human to make mistakes, apologies (or lack there of) seem to really have a hold on us (or at least on me). When I was young, I was head strong and always felt I deserved the most heart felt apology, and when we are young we normally get them. 'Ian, say you are sorry to your sister' and the problem is solved. But, the real world doesn't work like that. Shit happens and there isn't a person who calls your phone and says 'Hey, we are really sorry to hear that your coffee spilled all over you in the car this morning/someone hit your dog with their car/someone dented your car in the parking lot/you were the victim of credit card theft/that jerk broke up with you.' And it makes us angry that when we are wronged we don't feel validated. We don't feel we got the closure or the sincere emotion of an apology from that person or situation. Hell, I am still angry about the first person who hit my car - how can you NOT say you are sorry when you slam into a parked car at 40 mph? But, I didn't get the apology and it took almost 10 months for the insurance claim to even go through - too little, too late. There are people that have been in my life that have completely rocked my world in the worst way, shattered any strength I had in that very moment, and I haven't gotten an apology. And I never will. The shoulder, my first handful of pathetic less-than-worthy boyfriends, people who I thought were friends and even the lack of support I had during my chaotic years. And those situations with peoples with faces you can't remember but that seem to hurt so bad you'd just rather not remember at all. I have learned we don't always get apologies and we shouldn't expect them. We can't make people come around to see our side. I can't make you be sorry for hurting me. But for a really long time, I dwelled on the fact that no one owned up to making a mistake, to ripping apart my shoulder and apologizing over and over for ruining my life. It kept me from healing or moving on. Was it me? Why couldn't someone at fault just offer up that simple comfort? But for so long, and even now a little bit, that remorse and sincere emotion of an apology was so important to me. I want someone to actually sit with the pain or trauma that they caused, because that's what I always felt was fair. Alas, we all mature and realize that while it sucks the world doesn't apologize. People don't say sorry. People, for the most part, really just don't care. And its unfair to me to dwell on this as its really only harming me. It was a hard learned lesson, but sometimes people just don't say sorry. And sometimes, when they are, they just can't express it in the way you want. Or, it's delayed and has lost its appeal. Whatever it is, we can't let the lack of remorse on someone else's part hold us down and keep us from moving forward.

Appreciation for health. Even though sometimes I am really not that healthy. I totally learned to appreciate good health. Surgery sucks, and being laid up for so long is seriously the pits. Sitting on a couch unable to muster the energy or courage to move because you know it will hurt like the dickens is terrible. Having had terrible shoulders that caused me so much pain and grief, I am so thankful to be able to swim and do things once again! Health is a great gift, and those of us who have it need to be very thankful and do all we can to enjoy it.

Swimmer shoulders. A humorous takeaway, but yeah, I still have the things! They aren't as beefy as they might have been, but I wouldn't trade those puppies for anything. Not then. Not now. Wear your sport proudly.

I can look back on swimming and all the things it taught me with happiness. Seriously, I met some of the most awesome people ever during swimming. And I got to go to some pretty freaking sweet places. The appreciation for all that hasn't and never will change.

While swimming I learned about hard work. Not just 'finishing the task' but actual hard work. You would have been hard pressed to find someone when I was 13 who thought I could made it to the national swimming level, and I only made it to those big meets because I worked my ass off. It isn't just dedication, its passion and acceptance of the lifestyle and I feel so fortunate to have the skill sets to now apply the same passion and dedication to other aspects of my life.

I used to hate this time of year. It only served as a reminder of that difficult day that changed the outcome of my young life. But, now, I celebrate it because I am pretty proud of what I have been through. I know everyone says that, but its real. Its given me a great gift of experience and perspective that I didn't have before. I love the person I am now, and honestly don't think I would be the same without going through that fateful day. And I wouldn't trade my life now for anything - I am happy right where I am.

*Also, I know there are a lot of traumatic events in everyone's life - its life. This was one of my struggles and I hope that by being able to talk and share about how it impacted me - for better or worse - allows someone else to go through something traumatic with a little more ease. Life ain't perfect, and we should all support and help one another. 

The Time is Now

Well, I bet you thought I just disappeared, huh? Sorry, life's been busy and I have been happy and just forgot to sit down to write to everyone.

Me and my Joelybean snowshoeing.

I wanted to catch everyone up on what exactly I am planning for 2014. After a little bit of back and forth between desire and reality, I decided to train for triathlons. Committing to things has always been such a struggle for me since my swimming days, and I think I have finally been able to semi-adopt the mentality that what will be will be and to just go about my goals anyways. I knew I really enjoyed training and a regimented schedule and love to challenge myself, and with the support and encouragement from my family and Joel I decided to go for it. As I have said before many times, athletes like myself don't do well with just 'doing' or 'trying;' its an all or nothing kind of thing. I think I have the potential to do something awesome in the sport if I dedicate myself. IF. I have been working out the last few more months more than I ever have before, so I am in great shape but have a LONG ways to go before I will be satisfied.

I adopted a training schedule and have religiously stuck to it. I'll even go as far to say I don't feel like I am doing enough; I want to push myself even more. I am always tired and more often than not I am hungry, but I know I could do more; the balance is hard. I sometimes wish I could train like I used to, with food provided to me and no jobs to do other than get my homework done and write some slinky three page paper by the end of the week. However, part of the challenge of being an adult athlete is making it all fit and working everything in. It's been really fun training in three sports that I enjoy individually and seeing improvements in each. I have been swimming about three times a week, and have noticed drastic improvements in how my shoulder is holding up. I'm not swimming great yardage or fast times, but I am swimming better and longer than I have since my initial injury (10 YEARS AGO!) so I really cant complain. I just feel lucky to swim after four surgeries. Cycling has been hard because I have a huge fear of cold or wet weather, so most of my rides are on the trainer. That being said I am stronger than I have ever been so every week is better than the last. Running is still new to me, but the more miles I run and more workouts I do, the stronger and more confident I feel. Combining the workouts and doing doubles during the week while working is actually really fun; I love the feeling of pushing myself to the limit and being so tired I could sleep sitting upright with energetic five year olds screaming around me but going out and running one of my fastest and strongest workouts ever. There is no doubt I am excited about what I will do this summer.

However, I'll be the first to admit that I don't really know what I am doing. My race schedule seems to change on a weekly basis, I try to base my training on various people and plans and normally feel in over my head for the goals that I have. I constantly wonder if I am doing too much or too little and if this is right or wrong. I look to others for goal shaping and training help, and flounder without my friends and Joel to provide me with input. Right now, I just don't feel like I am to the point where a coach would be useful - they don't know me, I don't know them and neither of us will know what I am capable of until I race. Plus, they are expensive and unless I find someone willing to take me on as a charity case I have better use of that money each month. I have only done two triathlons and felt like I barely finished so 'triathlete' isn't a word I would use to describe myself yet; I'm just in good shape. I daydream about signing sponsorship deals and running insanely fast times in effortless form and crossing a finish line to find myself standing on the top of a podium shortly after. Meanwhile, I sometimes struggle with a four mile shakeout run and just want to phone a friend to pick me up and get a milkshake (or beer). The whole effort, the work, isn't something that is new to me; its something familiar and feels like a hug most of the time, even when I am so frustrated I want to scream. The sport is what's new and hard to trust; I don't know my ability yet and I don't understand the sport as well as I want to. I am learning.

I have big goals for this year; I wouldn't be me if I didn't. I want to try a Half Ironman distance, to see how I like it and how well I might do. It's sustained effort for over five hours, so it might just be that my body rejects the whole thing. At first it seemed almost impossible (like my first half marathon did), but now that I have been training more I'm confidant I can do more than just finish. Other than that, I just want to race fast in the Olympic distances, kick some ass, and be fast enough to be in elite waves. Why? Because I know I can be that fast. Committing to much more than that is well, overwhelming. Plus, my comeback story isn't the worst I have ever heard.

Ok, nap time.

HAVE A GREAT WEEKEND!

Born a Swimmer. My Story: Part III

I know, I am so sorry for the depressing news at the end of my last post. Don't worry though, the story does have a happy ending I swear (its a compromise, but that's life).

Leaving Trials 16 totally beaten down and sad was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. Everything felt so up in the air; we didn't know how anything would work out and if I would get to swim my Senior year (or ever, little did we know). I was so embarrassed by my finish. I couldn't comprehend how something so special and well deserved had been taken from me, and why. I knew at that meet I could have easily swam a 1:01. I KNEW I could have done that. Sure, doubt me. I can't prove it anyways, but its comforting to know with confidence what I could have done had I not had a shoulder in a million little pieces.

Me and some of my mom's family at my graduation.

Ill keep the story short, because no one likes a long story. After Trials, if college coaches I had been talking to hadn't noticed something was wrong then I seriously question their ability to watch and read swims. I came forward with all the coaches, told them of the incident and what my plans were (surgery) and if they wanted to reconsider their offer, I totally understood. A couple of big schools backed out. I don't blame them, that was a risky deal with a very uncertain future. My search for schools was narrowed down. I attempted to swim High School swimming as a last ditch effort to avoid the inevitable, but after about 500 yards I gave up. Off to the Magnetic Resonance Imaging machine I went (our first of way too many encounters). Yep, torn. We thought it would be an easy fix and trusted the doctor. Surgery was scheduled for Friday of that week (three days later). I cried when my mom told me. My life as I knew it was falling down.

Surgery sucked (or what I remember). It was short and sweet and to the point. I couldn't move much at all, was in constant pain and felt drunk on meds. My first week or so at high school was a mix of tardiness, leaving early, doctors appointments and sleeping in class. Surgery was a success! Yay, everything is back where it is supposed to be, they said. Give it two months of intense rehab, and you'll be back. I was going on college recruiting trips, planning for the future and had in the mean time joined Tacoma Swim Club for training.

Fast forward two months, I committed to USC. I was super excited to train co-ed outdoors at an amazing program with an amazing coach. Mark Schubert took a personal interest in me, my training and my shoulder and truly believed I still had something amazing to offer up to the swimming world. His belief in me was something I cherished, and still do. I still wasn't really able to swim at all, but was told to be patient (yeah, right) and it will come. I traveled over to Tacoma a lot to swim and train with the team, but found myself odd man out kicking most of the time. It was also really intimidating to be around such a solid Senior group with so much depth; I hadn't ever had that kind of experience before. I struggled with swimming, and it showed. I become a very withdrawn person with a tad of a crazy side. I still struggled with processing all of the changes and differences in my life.

Freshman year. Ill spare you all the details in the name of keeping the story of short, but freshman year was a whirlwind. Much to my dismay, I couldn't swim. I met with the top Ortho surgeon at USC who was short on words but promised he could fix it. Mark was an amazing coach; he was frustrated with the situation - we both were - and with great sadness scheduled surgery for Winter Break. Mark waited for me all surgery out in the waiting room to hear the good word, and had the nurse call him the minute I was up. I stayed with some family friends for a few days and was then shipped home in a wheel chair. That was one of the longest most painful trips I have taken - so much that a newly ripped apart and screwed back together shoulder isn't built to take. I recuperated at home over break. While most friends from high school were getting together for holiday parties or discussing life over coffee, I was at home either sleeping or trying to keep my spirits up with a book.

Some of the freshman class...

Homecoming football down on the field.

Team photo. Cyber high-five if you can find me.

I started back at SC with a very dedicated group of therapists and I honestly think I spent HOURS in that room either rehabbing, icing, socializing or seeing the doctor. I thank the USC Physical Therapist team for putting up with me - I know I was annoying. I started swimming again, and was thankful to be able to share my struggles with Mark, Lindsay Mintenko and her husband Mike. I had developed one hell of a kick, which wasn't one of my strong suits when I was swimming. Mark loved to push me, and I often kicked sets people were swimming. I even got to train with Mike, who I can still remember beating on one particular kick set with Mark smiling down as he watched the beat down take place. So yeah, I had some good times. And if there was a kicking race I definitely would have taken gold.

Towards the end of season, we started seeing coaches come on to the premises. This shocked all of us as we were certain Mark was there for the long haul - something we all discussed with him before we committed. He was our coach, our fearless leader. We knew coaching took a lot of time and we was a highly sought after individual in the swimming community for many things, so it came as a shock to everyone when he stepped down as head coach and accepted a position with USA Swimming. Enter Dave Salo, a SoCal coach who had had a lot of success in the club program.

Now Dave was a good coach, and I continue to hear wonderful things about him from people who have trained under his program. But my experience with him was much different and left a very sour feeling in me. Had he been a little bit more compassionate in getting to know me and understanding my situation, we could have had a very different relationship. In our one on one with Mark, he said he understood the situation I was in and would honor all that Mark and I had discussed - he was happy to have me on the team. After this meeting, and without Mark around, Dave told me to either swim 10k a day at the end of the summer (which I was spending at home) or I was off the team sans scholarship (no, he can't do that). Now, if Dave had actually considered that he was offering this ultimatum to a freshman swimmer who already suffered one life altering injury with two corrective surgeries to date and still felt it was appropriate, power to ya. But, to me, you came off as a jack ass. No check ins over summer - I got it. I was written off. I tried to come back, to be part of the team and swim to his standards, but he wouldn't have it. To him, I wasn't worth the effort. I went to weights, went to practice, met with the coaches. Maybe my memory is failing me, but I don't think he ever spent much time with me at practices at all. Swimming wasn't going well (surprised?) and I was in a lot of pain. I worked harder and harder, and the more I worked the worse it all seemed to get. I had reached my bottom, but every day just seemed to keep digging deeper and deeper.

Unfortunately, there isn't a how to book on how to deal with this exact situation. Nor is there a lot of understanding at how much pressure it seemed like there was. Everything just kept falling apart, including my shoulder. I went in for another MRI (another really expensive nap) and had it confirmed; the shoulder was worse off. Everything had come out, which sounds not fun, but when a repair falls apart it tends to cause a bit more damage and a significant amount of pain. USC didn't know what to do, so they reached out to a friend Ortho doctor, and head USA Swimming and Giants football shoulder specialist for help. The suggestion they told me was to first off, walk away from swimming. I had the good ol' 'listen kid, it just ain't happenin' talk and was told to look into a more severe form of corrective surgery - a one of a kind and new replacement surgery that could hopefully help my shoulder. In complete denial that this is what my life had come to, I said no. USC offered to honor my athletic scholarship to allow me to stay at the school and finish out my schooling but the thought of staying at a school I came to swim at and continue on as just a student was too painful. So, I left.

This period of my life was riddled with a lot of other problems and struggles, some of which I might shed some light on later because, hey, life's shitty and everyone has problems and we don't need to treat them like secrets. Long story short, I moved back home, figured out how to stand on my own two feet, started working and went back to school with some new found zest for life. I repeatedly hurt my shoulder, but really it was always 'hurt'. It was never stable, moody, and always seemed to pop out. I dislocated both shoulders skiing and ended up in the hospital. Eventually, my shoulder just started popping out in class and during sleep. Reluctantly, I started looking for a doctor who wouldn't suggest joint replacement as a solution and found my shoulder angel: Dr. Lawrence Holland of Seattle OPI. The guy is a freakin' rockstar.

I went and met with him with my parents, and he passed the bedside manner test real fast. He was a USC alum and fan of athletes, and we hit it off. He was sure he could help me and had consulted with another top Ortho shoulder guy on my case; while the specifics would have to be left to the operating room, he believed he could fix my shoulder with some creativity and hard work. He promised me I would swim - actually swim, and enjoy it. He promised me I could lift things over my head, ski, climb, anything I wanted if I let him operate. I was hesitant, obviously, but was intrigued. The thought of once again going into surgery and once again going through rehab brought me to tears, but I liked Holland. He wasn't covered by my insurance at the time, but was the only doctor in the US that seemed capable of fixing my shoulder, so we worked out a compromise. We would use a different hospital with an operating room that was covered by insurance, move all the necessary equipment over to said room, get an assisting Ortho doctor that was covered by my insurance and work out a payment plan with Holland. In short, this guy WANTED to do this surgery.

So, at another very trying time in my life, I went in to surgery. I was down and out for the count. Surgery went well. I loved his team. I woke up in post op screaming (gas mask clogged, choking on breathing tube) and quickly realized, HEY, the nerve block I wanted to watch you shoot into my spine hit the wrong thing. Instead of completely and temporarily paralyzing my arm, it hit my face. I could completely feel the cut and it was TERRIBLE. I didn't have much in the way of pain killers in my system yet, and I totally understood the pain Harry Potter went through when his scar burned... times like a hundred. They quickly called the head anesthesiologist who walked in (doughnut in hand - jerk), took a look and gave me a drug cocktail via needle. Whatever it was was amazing, and I was out like a light. Later, I woke up, challenged the whole hospital to a thumb war (come on, easy win!) and fought the saran wrap that held me in a tight cocoon. I then threw crackers all over myself before passing out again. The next time I woke up I demanded something to drink - GINGER ALE - and chugged. Chugged like I hadn't ever chugged before. See, drugs make you thirsty. They also make you sick. So its a constant battle to keep stuff down.

 

With my k9 companion soaking up some sun post surgery.

They ask you to mark your shoulder. This is how I marked mine. The nurses found this funny.

Ready to go.

After surgery. Nice face huh?

A walk... to the end of the driveway.

Making Hugsy, my goodluck bear!

Excursion a few days after surgery.

See? Nerve block hit the face. Talk about frustrating.

After two weeks I got to finally take off my bandages.

Eventually I was discharged into the care of my loving father. He was very cautious with moving or touching me and just wanted to get me to where we were staying in Seattle safely. They wheeled me down to the car, and I got in, no problem. This is easy guys, give me something challenging to do! Then the wheels started moving. Uh oh, dad. I don't think I can stay awake. Oh sure you can Megan, keep those eyes open. (See, the problem with passing out is you lose the ability to sit up straight, and with a shoulder that you just had staples, pins and loops put in its not a great idea to slam into a door). Dad, dad, I think I am getting sick. Dad, I have to throw up. Dad, pull the car over. Megan, we are getting on the freeway, I can't! (I frantically try to open the door without success). Megan, here's a bag, hopefully free of holes. Don't worry its ok. He stretches a supportive hand back and comforts me. Then our challenge was to keep me awake so I didn't crash into the door and also continued to hold my bag. Hardest staying awake I have EVER had to do.

Recovery from this shoulder surgery was tough, mainly because I knew what it entailed and lets face it, it loses its fun factor after so many times. But, it went well. I started swimming - yay! - and Holland gave a very good prognosis. Yes, he said, your shoulder was completely effed, but I fixed it. He said that what happened, and what the other doctors had missed, was that my bone had actually fragmented and broke into a bunch of pieces. Now, with the tendons all torn, that really sucked. Basically, the front part of my shoulder didn't exist. When the other doctors when to pin the tendons all back together, the pins would pull out because the bone wasn't whole and would shred the tendons further. Holland had to sew some things back together, screw bone back in (delicately), and then find new and good places to anchor the pins for the constructed tendons. He then overlapped and stapled the muscles for good measure, just to keep things cozy in there.

I was content. And 4 months later I was doing well. Happy, hell yeah! I am fixed. Now, when you have surgery, often your whole body loosens up because during rehab you aren't able to do much. For most people, this isn't a problem because laxity is great - you can stretch! For me, and my shoulders, not so good. So my left shoulder was weak, and without that built up muscle to hold it together and with the added stress of doing everything the right shoulder couldn't it finally collapsed. During the first week of my summer job, the baby popped out while assisting a person into their canoe. After assisting the arm back into socket, I called my mom about to have a breakdown. NOT AGAIN. Work dismissed me, and wouldn't allow me back on the premises until I had a note from my doctor saying it was ok to work. Really, it wasn't ok that I worked, but I HAD to. After filing and LnI suit, things got underway. Holland saw me again way too soon for his liking, and I had surgery a few months later.

It went about the same as the one before. Holland did some extra precautionary work on the shoulder for good measure, and I got to rehab once again. 4th time and its like a walk in the park (no, its really not). But, even though I have had many scares and set backs since then both Holland and I are confident in saying surgery, while maybe in the future, isn't needed right now. And anyways, isn't it that when you pay for 4 you get the 5th free?

So, things I have learned.

Stay away from angry fat guys living in their own ego obsessed world.

Bikini tops are a girls best friend after surgery - easy to tie.

Wash clothe bathes are not glamorous.

Use of only one arm is a pain in the ass. Seriously, you have no idea what it does to a person. I started walking with a certain gait and had to relearn how to use it for balance when walking and running EVERY time.

Having a bed full of pillows will still not keep you from moving around. If you can, sleep in a lay-z-boy chair for a month and be, well, a lazy boy (girl).

Best time in your life to watch all the TV and movies you ever want. I flew through 7 seasons of Greys Anatomy and a couple other shows.

Let people come visit you and cheer you up. Seriously, it helps.

Don't be afraid to eat stuff and gain weight if you are committed to losing it later. And yes, whether I wanted to or not I tubbed out. I'm an emotional eater and I ate all those damn feelings.

Get someone to take care of you. You really can't do it (well) alone.

Wear the freaking sling. Its better than trying to open a door, reach for a falling dish, or hold it out in front of you when falling. Ouch. Lesson learned.

Don't try to even look pretty. Just resign to the fact that for the next month, you will be a couch potato. Be proud.

Respect the scar. I used to hate mine, probably because it was bright purple and represented the thing I hated most about my life, but I came to accept it and now I am proud of that freakin' thing! Yes, you may have ran a marathon, but I had 4 shoulder surgeries. Different kind of fight, but one to admire nonetheless.

You can drink on meds, I just don't suggest it unless you want to be very very drowsy.

Set a goal with rehab; it makes it way more entertaining. In fact, this just applies to life. So, set goals for life. Its way better that way.

Read books. Read a lot of them.

If you can, have someone get you out of the house. They can take you for walks, drives, the market. Its just good and healthy to get out.

These photos go to show that life after losing your life isn't that bad:

I got to play in Ecuador with this girl.

I get to hike. Oh boy, I get to hike.

I climbed a volcano in Chile with my dad.

I still get to swim open water and dominate my division in triathlons.

I got to cheer on my brother at his Olympic Trials in 2012.

I spent a winter (there summer) in South America.

I ice climb.

Yeah. Beaches.

Snowshoeing is actually really fun!

Playing on ice.

I get to compete and FINISH triathlons. It's fun.

My life is some kind of wonderful.

And lastly, do not live in the past. Sometimes things don't last that long, so enjoy who you are and what you have in the moment. Don't ever be ashamed of something that played some sort of role in your life (cheesy, I know) and don't waste time pitying yourself and what could have been. It could have, yes, but what happens next and for the rest of your life is entirely up to you. If it changes you, that's ok, let it. Don't spend your life crying over your losses and looking back on your life with regret; be happy with what you have (because we all have something, even just memories) and find comfort in the fact that while times might be trying (really trying sometimes) now you know what kind of strength you really have, and there isn't a single soul that can strip you of that in the world.

Born a Swimmer. My Story: Part II

Part II of the story that ultimately defined who I am.

If you haven’t already, I highly suggest reading my previous post before diving into this one (see below). Believe me, it will make way more sense. Don't worry, we will wait for you to catch up. 

Me, my dad and my brother in Montana

Ok, good story huh? I know, its the same story as most kids in sports at the same age. The next part of my story is the clutch part. So pay attention.

At about the same time I choose swimming I was moved into the afternoon training group on my swim team, which was a pre-senior group for kids in that in-betweener awkward phase of any sport. We wanted to be good, had the strokes and drills down, but lacked the ability or desire to train much. It was just a group to allow our bodies to catch up to what we WANTED to do. I HATED IT. I was always last in the slowest lane. I attempted to stay hidden and out of people’s way, which was pretty easy because of how small I was. I had no desire to ever finish a set. I would get out of the pool and go sit in the women’s hot tub in the locker room. I was too slow to keep up, and getting passed and knocked around by the bigger kids was discouraging. I wasn’t very good friends with anyone my age – they were all so much faster and showed so much more promise. But still, I kept doing really well at swim meets dropping time and qualifying for regional meets. I am sure this perplexed my coach, Shawn, as he saw this wimpy little girl who did her best to not be seen at the pool still qualifying for meets with some of his hardest training younger kids.

 

 

Back when hats were cool.

 

This would be a great time to explain the dynamics of the team at the time. As with most teams, it’s really hard to explain JUST what it’s like for everyone, so please understand that this is only my personal account. My coach, Shawn, had had a few good swimmers come through his team. He had been there for about ten years, and had the privilege to coach some really promising people. For one reason or another, they all seemed to implode on him. Ever the egotistical coach, he wanted to have a stand out star and stuck behind anyone who showed any promise. Unfortunately, his attitude to other less promising swimmers was less than stellar. I was never one of his favorite swimmers, most likely because of my sour attitude towards his coaching tactics of playing favorites or his weird personality - the guy just LOOKED creepy to me. Towards the end of my career I can think of plenty of run in’s that he and I had, not to mention the issues my parents had with him. This was probably one of the first people I ever comfortably talked back to, mainly because what was he going to do? Dislike me more? Pick on me more? Simply stated, the guy was an ass. But, my parents felt there was no other choice but to continue to swim on the team and closely monitor both my brother and I.

I was always just getting by in practices. I would whine as my mom drove me to the pool that I didn’t want to go to practice, but I didn’t want to stop swimming either. I still laid awake in bed dreaming of the day I would stand on top of the podium (it didn't matter much which one it was at that point) and all the good things that would come my way. Really, I think I just hated the atmosphere but I didn’t know how to articulate that at that age. Shawn was a truly terrible coach, and that was one of the first times I really felt out of place and disliked for no reason I could see. I just remember watching the Sydney Olympics in 2000 and just getting this feeling. I felt so inspired just like the millions of other kids watching TV. Suddenly, you want to do triple sow-cows and high jump with the best of them. But I just remember feeling like, I am wasting my time. I’m not even applying myself and it’s just such a waste. I so badly wanted to be the next amazing story that the swimming world fell in love with. So I made the atmosphere I once hated work for me. You doubt me, and I will prove to you that you shouldn’t ten times over. I struck a deal with my parents that I was to attend at least 3 practices a week to stay on the swim team. I gradually moved out of the slowest lane and started finishing practices. I started sticking up for myself at practices; if people weren’t going to give me respect, I would make them. I was a little firecracker, too. I started liking hard sets, and really started to see and feel improvements after a short amount of time.

A coach I actually liked working with, Todd.

And then, I started making meets. Sectionals, US Open, Juniors, Nationals. I started making finals. I still didn’t stand out with my times, but coaches would approach Shawn to ask what he was doing with me – my stroke was beautiful and while certain aspects of my racing were awful (note: start, turns, kick), I was still racing relatively fast ESPECIALLY for how little training I was doing. While most kids my age were involved in a dryland program a few days a week and in the pool for at least 10 hours a week, I was lucky if I swam for 7 hours and hadn’t ever attended a single dry land practice. I was also so tiny that I was shadowed by girls my age, but was racing as fast if not faster than them. Had I done anymore training than what I was doing, I would have most certainly fallen apart. To be honest, I don’t know why I swam so well. I had always had a good ‘feeling’ of the water and understood each aspect of making contact with the water. And, I had a lot of fire. I wanted everything. Short course swimming was still really hard for me – my walls were something I always struggled with being so NOT powerful in the water. Even though I was so small, long course was still better for me because it was all swimming; no one had anywhere to hide.

I remember qualifying for Zones FINALLY the year before high school started for me. I finally felt like I accomplished something; all of my friends had made it and I finally got to go – and it was to Hawaii! What an awesome meet it would be! And yet, this was the first time I knew I was better than what I was doing. Everyone was still so much faster than me, I felt really left out, no one knew who I was, I swam on ‘F’ relays racing breaststroke and was so forgettable they even forgot me during the annual award ceremony. Well, at least I got to go to Hawaii.

My freshman year at Districts.

My first year of high school swimming was uneventful. Swimming in Eastern Washington is pretty sparse – a few teams here and there but all really far apart. Dual meets were fun – I actually enjoyed being a part of this team and liked the fact that even though I was a freshman I had taken a leadership role with some of the relays. I could offer advice or calming words to nervous swimmers.  My mom was my coach, which many found weird. While I think it offered our mother-daughter relationship some challenges, she allowed me to find some confidence in swimming that season. I actually found happiness between swimming high school and club and practicing for both teams. I was part of two winning relays at districts on top of winning my two individual events, which I would go on to do the following two years as well. My freshman year at state was a little overwhelming – it was all so orchestrated and there were girls that I was competing against that normally wouldn’t have been in my age group! Still, high school sports receive far more recognition than club sports (especially for swimming) so the glamor of being featured in the local newspaper was enough to make me blush, but it was a good thing for both the sport and my career.

I think I made my first Juniors at the age of 14, the summer after my freshman year in high school.  It was in Boca Raton, FL and I was so excited that I made finals. I started having some great swims outside of taper, too. I don’t remember the order of the meets I attended or any of the results I had, so let me just talk about the meets as I remember them. Sectionals was always fun, and still a pretty big meet for me. I only really excelled at a few events, so I wasn’t one of those swimmers that swam EVERY event. I started making finals and getting a bit faster. I won Juniors my second time there and later defended my title at Short Course Juniors the following spring. I was a member of the Junior National team, meaning I got to attend some international meets representing the USA. I made some super close swimming friends while on this team that I could pen pal with and see every so often at meets. Funny enough, a lot of the kids I swam with on this team went on to be AMAZING athletes and swimmers in their own right; I feel honored to have been a member of such a cool team and experience. I also remember going to a meet the same summer in Eastern Washington where they had boys and girls race together. I was in one of the last heats with a bunch of boys who weren’t from the area and didn’t know me. One guy who was in the lane next to me came up to let me know that this was heat number whatever as if to say I didn’t belong. I informed him I was in fact in the correct heat after checking the heat sheet the timer had. I looked around, a bunch of towering guys and me. Happy to say I creamed the guy next to me, so of course I waited for him to finish to offer a sarcastic congratulations before exiting the pool. I was starting to get fast!

One of my mom's proudest moments. We definitely didn't think this would be the last one.

Some of the French National Team!

Wow, we are such babies.

My Junior year of High School was the best swimming year of my life, and also my worst. I really excelled. I mean, really. I was training hard. I was dropping time; lots of time. People were taking notice and it was all very exciting. I was working on things that could be improved upon. I won High School State with the second fastest recorded time in state history off of a three day rest and being sick with the flu or cold or something. I split a low 25 in the 50 back for the relay and was super impressed with my time. My splits rocked – I was consistently able to negative split. I felt good. I trained hard through the winter and had some pretty amazing sets (for me anyways). Somewhere at some meet around that time, I swam a few times that ranked even me internationally for my age group. I went to Nationals and while my coach didn’t really taper me, we did rest me so I could try to make Olympic Trials. Olympic Trials would be held that summer in Long Beach, CA for the Athens 2004 Olympics; I knew I could make it. I knew making that time standard was within my reach. At Nationals, I swam flat. So flat, I swam the exact same time for the 100 back three times in a row. I was so frustrated. Low 1:05 was a good swim at the time, but I knew I could swim so much faster. This meet was still really fun and a total learning experience for a wide eyed 16 year old girl. I even touched Michael Phelps butt! Yep!

Shawn didn’t know how to really bring me back from a rest after a meet, so we continued my taper for TWO WEEKS to Sectionals (I hated this so much). I felt over rested and worried about this as Sectionals was my last chance to make Trials. I felt so stressed out with how much people were pestering me about it – it would be a relief to either make it or not. I mean, I was 16 after all; I could barely drive, needed my parents as an alarm clock and called Mac n Cheese gourmet. This was just a trial run for what was sure to come later in my swimming career. Prelims was a good swim, and I felt ok. The time wasn’t what I knew I could do, but the swim was strong and I believe I negative split it. Finals was awesome. My future collegiate team mate and I swam next to each other and both went low 1:03s in the 100 – we made it! I was so relieved. I completely skipped any 1:04 in the 100 back and went straight to 1:03. Completely happy and a little out of breath, I gave my family hugs before getting into the pool and warming down. Good, I thought, on to the next goal.

I remember being excited but not overly so; I never really got nervous or anxious because everything was just really new. Making Trials at the age of 16 was something to definitely be proud of, but being from a town that really didn’t make a big spectacle of non-mainstream sports meant there wasn’t a lot of hype. Plus, I preferred it that way. Anything out of the ordinary was awkward. I started training, really hard. I had been doing some dryland and really enjoyed the extra (and different) training. I wanted this summer to be an awesome summer for swimming, plus college recruiting was starting and I had my eyes set on some of the Big D1 schools. I was so excited to see where all this was going to go – and couldn’t wait for some awesome swimming experiences for my Senior year of high school!

One Saturday morning I headed into practice as usual. After a good two and a half hour work out, we did some dryland. To make it fun, we played Frisbee. This was something we normally did as it was fun and thanks to swimmer coordination we got a lot of running in! However, this time Shawn invited parents to play to get more people involved. Enter one of the people who had the biggest impacts on my life, Russ. Russ was a swim parent to two age group kids who lived in his glory days. Your classic hockey parent, Russ heckled his children’s competitors and offered instruction to anyone who would listen, warranted or not. Now, my brother who is younger than me by a few years was a lot like me; really passionate and fun but just not that great at swimming in the early years. What can I say, we were late bloomers! He was a talkative and energetic little kid who probably more got into swimming because of his big sister rather than him actually wanting to swim (don’t worry, it worked out). At a local swim meet, Russ had taken it upon himself to offer me coaching lessons and even instructed me to watch slower men the same age as me for ‘technique tweaks.’ This paired with the fact that he had been harassing my brother left me a little pinched, and I politely told him that I was currently very content with my swimming abilities and didn’t need any assistance – I was doing just fine (AKA: leave me alone, ass). Russ had an air about him, even my parents picked up on it, that he was still out to prove something to a much younger version of himself, and he would do anything to get there.

So on this particular morning, he came along with his son who was a bit younger than me. I remember being a tad upset at Shawn for allowing this, as Russ was by far one of the most annoying parents on the swim team (personal opinion). Shawn and Russ were just two peas in a pod though; older men living in past glories who hated being talked back to by a young girl. The game started and without fail, Russ immediately began pushing and heckling other players. I mean, we are swimmers – not exactly a push and tackle kind of group - and here he was body slamming people to get to the Frisbee. Enough, dude. Stop hitting people. His response to me? Learn to be better. It’s all about winning. Ok Russ, I want to ‘win’ dryland as much as you do, but thanks for the lesson on how to be a grade A asshole. I will bring my pad and pen next time for a note taking session. I told my coach he was being inappropriate, and Shawn dismissed my claims. This part all gets a bit hazy, but shortly after that I was running to catch the Frisbee when I saw Russ out of the corner of my eye. Too large to actually run and catch the Frisbee, he took to body slamming me. Only problem was I had my arm outstretched to catch the Frisbee. His moving 250 pound body made direct contact with my arm and only my arm, and my shoulder busted out of my joint. Not just dislocated as we would learn much later; it broke out. I completely tore everything that held the shoulder together on top of actually breaking off bone. I crumbled to the ground holding my arm, unable to comprehend what just happened. The monster had the nerve to touch me gently telling me to shake it off, to which I am sure my eyes lit up on fire as I told him with my dragon voice to leave me alone.

Damage done. The next two months were a depressed blur leading up to Trials, in which everything collapsed on to itself. I hurt all the time, was unable to swim more than a few hundred yards and completely unable to comprehend why something like this would happen to me. My mom took me to a family friend who happens to be a rip roarin’ good Physical Therapist. He did some movement tests on me, and while maintaining a good mood around me instructed my mom that there was no way I could race or train. He knew I would go anyways so he didn’t try to stop me. Everyone was afraid of upsetting me; I went to practice without being asked to go, where I was met by a cold faced coach who had already given up on me and threw me in the pool with a kickboard, saying that there wasn’t even a point. Fellow swimmers stopped talking to me, took over my lane and ridiculed me in the locker room. Shawn was embarrassed; he didn’t want to talk to anyone about me and didn’t even want to go to Trails with such a pathetic swimmer. My parents weren’t sure what to do; as it turns out there isn’t a how-to manual for handling your daughters athletic demise at the age of 16. BUMMER. We did the best we could, and there was never really a question as to if I would go to Trials or not. I qualified, I earned it, and damnit I was going.

Don’t get me wrong though, there were some awesome people out there, too. Some of my best friends and their families were so supportive and offered encouragement and good words when I needed them. The Bernfelds even flew down and bought tickets to watch me (yeah, they rock). But to be honest, I was pretty embarrassed for myself, too. No, not the kind of ‘bad swim but ill brush it off’ embarrassed. I was a 16 year old who was always told and learned that hard work and passion pay off; I gave everything my little teenage self had to give to reach my goal. I couldn’t comprehend how someone could just take that away from me at such a special time, how someone could strip me of something I had earned. I couldn't understand how I was essentially no longer the person I used to be.

With Alicia and Skye at Trials.

Dinner the night before I swam with family.

My non-adult cheering squad. I have since cheered two of these kids on at their OWN Olympic Trials since this picture!

Family picture,

 

Picture with Alicia (and the backside of Rebecca).

 

Ill spare you all the details, but I went to Trials. Mainly because we had already paid for everything, but also because I deserved to be there. I had made that cut and damnit, I was going. My mom flew down with me and in an attempt to keep me away from the pool and feeling blue tried to do other stuff with me. We went to the beach with the Lorentzen’s (where I was stung by a jellyfish a few days before I swam – go figure). My grandparents flew out to watch too, and family from San Diego drove up to be there as well. All of this was great, and my mom did a good job of trying to keep me away from Shawn, who was doing the same thing to us. He disappeared for a few days completely off the grid. Phone off, no note, not checked in to the hotel, and then resurfaced for my swim for a few hours before going off the grid once again. For most of the meet, I liked being alone. I wanted to pretend it didn’t all happen, and being around my family reminded me that it had. I wanted to have the experience I earned, and I mourned the loss of that meet and time. I hung out in the swimmer area, ate a lot of the food, iced my shoulders and talked with friends.  I swam with Michael Phelps every day, which seemed to help if ever so briefly with my mood. The day of my swim was nothing special, and before I swam my coach pulled me into one of the athlete tents to tell me that he hoped I understood that this was my fault and that he hoped I would be forgiven for this. Confused, I marched out and I still remember the feeling of walking out and feeling the ultimate mix of emotional exhaustion, embarrassment, excitement and finality. This was it. The swim was terrible, I clocked the slowest time of the meet and almost collapsed after getting out of the pool. A little towel girl came up with an official and actually asked if I needed medical attention or assistance. Shawn said some rude words to me before leaving me alone, and I was done.

I was 16. That was the last time I ever swam a race.

Born a Swimmer. My story: Part I.

I know I have mentioned it a few times that I was (am?) a swimmer, and I am sure I will continually make references to it in the future so I thought I would give anyone and everyone a little background as to where I come from. I think its a pretty good story and is at least entertaining, even if you don't know me. I feel like my stacked shoulders are a dead giveaway to my swimming past, or maybe it’s my bad coordination. Or perhaps the fact that I have had four shoulder surgeries and will no doubt have more. Whatever it is, I thought I would provide people with the story of my swimming career. But no, I don’t want to start where things get interesting, because then you would have no idea about the ten years before that!

My mom was a swim coach in her younger years and swam herself for training. While I was busy becoming a human, I swear she swam so much that I picked up on the soothing feeling of the water. After my incredibly late entry into the world (sorry, Mom) she started coaching another season of boy’s swimming. I went to my first swim meet at two weeks old. My dad sat with me all meet in a quiet room, but I am sure that I was throwing out butterfly arms and breastroke kicks every once in a while. I was always around water, and my mom said I always loved being in/around it. I guess I went off the high dive at the age of three, something I don’t know if I could do now. I was a little fish.

Just calculating splits in my tiny little head.

 

I take that back, I was comfortable in the water... unless it was cold.

 

Thankfully, my parents had a wonderful swimming fashion sense for me as a babe.

 

Setting records for my age group.

Ever the little active human, my parents had me in all sports I was interested in. Track, gymnastics, soccer, cross country skiing, downhill skiing, swimming. To be honest, I didn’t excel at anything. I am sure my parents thought they had a dud athletic child on their hands. I saw myself in videos and I know I missed the coordination gene. Even now, I would bet good money against me catching a ball. I can't dribble a basketball and walk at the same time. See, my parents were stud athletes in their own right (and still are). My mom grew up in the 70’s and really challenged the gender equality line when it came to sports. She ran like a gazelle all the way to Cornell, where she was a member of the collegiate track team and ran some respective times. After her collegiate career ended, she moved out west and quickly found cycling, triathlons and soccer. She had joined a women’s soccer league with some of her friends and upon showing up to the first day of practice saw this guy with his shirt off rounding up the ladies. Enter my dad, an all-around athlete who sharpened his athletic skills with any one of his five brothers while growing up and played rugby in college. He had also taken up cycling as a mode of transportation after moving out west from Delaware and enjoyed hiking, climbing, triathlons and clearly women’s soccer. While their first encounter was my mother slide tackling my dad, their relationship made some drastic improvements and their first date was timing at a swim meet (seriously, go figure).  Much of their early years revolved around racing (crits, triathlons, meets, etc.) and traveling. Even after having me join the Wheeler gang, they continued to train with me in tow. So when they saw this gangly girl with a ratty pony tail out there running around, I am sure they wondered if I would be better off as a chess champion (challenging in its own right, no doubt).

My soccer picture. Don't hate me for being cute.

My mom got a little excited when she found that I both enjoyed running and seemed to do well at long distances. Anything much shorter than a half mile and I would trip over my own feet (again with the coordination). She worked to expose me to her former lifestyle while I participated in all the other sports I could find. Downhill skiing was too much work – they wanted me to BREAK going down hills, which wasn’t my style. I would rather just go straight down like an arrow and have my dad catch (tackle) me at the end. And let’s be honest about gymnastics, it was all about the foam pit and trampoline. Cross country skiing was fun, but the two hour commute to be with the team every weekend was a bit killer for my parents. Soccer was basically just a swarm of kids running around a ball kicking eachother’s shins and maybe once in a while, the ball. I think one of my first goals was me scoring against my own team. And then there was swimming. While I was a natural in the water and totally comfortable, I definitely lacked talent. I was easily distracted and could have cared less about laps. I was so small and I am pretty sure I was in the first heat of everything for the first 7 years of my swimming career.

I joined a local swim team after taking some swim lessons at the age of 5. Like every other child but maybe a little worse I gasped for air every chance I got, clung to the lane line in the deep end and was confused at starts from blocks. Swim meets were more about the amount of sugar I could consume and carefully timed naps with intermittent gameboy playing, and practice was a fun time to practice my bobs and squeal with my friends before sitting in the hot tub. Swim suits hung off of me and I was so tiny I hardly excelled at any stroke; I even struggled with floating (I am still a sinker). I am sure I had some good swims in there, but I never stuck out to any one as a champion and associated being disqualified with getting Dairy Queen ice cream on the way home. I think I eventually made A-Champs, which was our regional championship for Inland Empire Swimming (IES). I remember that those meets were SUCH a big deal when I was little - prelims AND finals with actual medals! Our team made a big deal to make kids excited for championship meets with a pump up week leading up to the meet. I still remember my first Regionals meet at King Aquatic Center (KCAC). My mom drove my bony little butt all the way over to Federal Way in the spring for me to race two events: the 50 back and 50 free (oddly enough, also my best events years later). I was normally one of a few kids from the Eastern side of the state, and we normally kept to ourselves with our parents in the stands. I just remember being completely overwhelmed by the pool. It was THREE pools, and was so deep everywhere. The facility was huge! Coming from a pool that was 3 ft deep, this was a drastic change. KCAC was SO COLD for me when I was so small (seriously, my knees were the biggest thing on my leg and people thought I didn’t get fed enough). My mom would go out for a jog and bring me back a hot cocoa after warm ups to, well, warm me up. I don’t think I made finals my first Regionals, but when I did make a finals it was like woah, I am in the big leagues. My mom used to laugh at me on the blocks. No, not in a mean way! I was just SO MUCH smaller than all the other girls in my age group and I was so dang skinny! I didn't have any special racing suits because they were too expensive and I just didn't 'mature' very quickly. But, I was still always so happy at meets. I liked to stand behind the blocks and try to socialize. And seeing as how I was normally one of two or three swimmers that my team had taken to the meet (or none) I was totally oblivious to what I was supposed to be doing. I just liked snacking and swimming and snoozing. Swimming and snacking and snoozing. I honestly don’t think I broke a record ever and probably only ever made qualifying times in the 50 free and 50 back because I was so small and skinny I could snake through the water.

One of my first meets at Federal Way. Nice foam lined goggles.

Basically what I am saying is that I wasn’t that great. Even on a tiny team in Eastern Washington (where swimming struggles as a sport), I wasn’t that great. Had I been anywhere else, I am sure a coach would have talked my parents out of letting me pursue swimming. While I really liked the water I just didn’t show much talent at all. As I rounded the middle school age, I had narrowed down my sports. I liked running, but there wasn’t a club program anywhere, so I only did track on my school team. I excelled, but it wasn't the kind of challenge I wanted. Plus I had the worst bone structure problems being the growing weed that I was with size ten feet, so I rarely practiced anyways. I still look back on these days with complete envy: I never practiced, didn't train, and ran faster miles than I could dream of now (5:32). I was really enjoying that, but liked swimming more. I also liked soccer, but didn’t want to sacrifice swimming and meets for far-away soccer tournaments. Also, I struggled with the all girl team aspect (funny, I still struggle with that same atmosphere). After all, I was the smallest girl on our soccer team and could often be found near the goalie just hanging out and kicking grass. I was kind of given an ultimatum; I had to pick one sport. I just couldn’t maintain all of them. So, I chose swimming.

And I immediately regretted that decision for a really long time.