Swimming: Lots of Gain Despite the Pain

Guest editorial by Stephanie Wishmyer

ARLINGTON, Virginia, September 15. FOR a decade and a half of my life, I devoted my time, energy, passion, and body to swimming. It was an addiction, really; something that I did not particularly care to do (I spent most of my time dreading going to practice), but I needed it, and I craved it, both physically and mentally.

If I missed practice and did not swim, I felt incomplete, as if there was an atom missing in the molecules of my being and the only way for me to get it back was to immerse myself in cold, chlorinated water. It was a love-hate relationship for the most part, between swimming and myself.

It took up my time, damaged my shoulders, made my knee injury worse, broke my fingers, hurt my wrist, took the air out of my lungs, burned my skin, dried out my hair, took my energy, but I had no desire to break free. Yet, in spite of the high price I paid, swimming provided me with several positive benefits. In return for the physical torture swimming put me through, I received numerous lasting friendships; I learned how to set and achieve goals, and I experienced the satisfaction of being part of something greater than myself.

Most relationships involve both give and take. Just about anything in life that is worth gaining exacts a cost in return. I was indeed, in a complete and utterly consuming relationship with the water that I immersed myself in three times a day, 30 hours each week.

Every morning, after only five hours of sleep, I would get out of bed, dress, drive to the pool and swim for an hour and a half, putting my body through pain by pushing it to go faster, bending my muscles in unnatural ways, and stretching my tendons to their breaking point.

Each morning brought new torture, long sets, fast intervals, obscene amounts of yardage. I would emerge in pain, gasping for air, shower, and go to school, run off adrenaline through my first block and sleep during my second block. Then, after a mere six and a half hour break, I would return to the pool right after school and swim for three and a half more hours, leaping into the air, diving under the water, working on ankle flexation, hip rotation, up kicks, s-pulls and recovery positions.

I did minimal homework, I rarely saw friends, and I had very little quality time with my parents. Swimming kept me unable to get an after school job. The damage to my shoulders took me through three sessions of physical therapy due to rotator cuff impingement and displacement. The tracking of my patella was off, and the cartilage on the back was ridged, which caused it to against my leg bone. The muscles around my kneecap atrophied and the kneecap itself further slipped out of alignment.
And still I swam.

Despite the chronic pain I had in my knee and the weakness in my shoulders, swimming returned to me more than I could have imagined. I made lasting friendships, and aside from my faith and family, it was the one constant in my life.

Swimming got me through some rough waters out of the pool. I piled on the yards when a close friend was killed in a car accident on the way to school. Fighting through the water helped me struggle through the anger and frustration. When I discovered someone close to me, whom I idolized, engaging in self-destructive behavior, I drowned my disillusionment with even more yards in the pool.

I could not always talk with my parents about what I was feeling. Not many of my fine friends could relate to my inner pain; they had problems of their own. But the water-workout always welcomed me with its familiar smells, cool temperatures, smooth tiling, and the familiar, reassuring pain that my body would endure, allowing the emotional frustration to dissipate for a few hours as my limbs felt they were being drawn and quartered, rather than my soul. The water always had a natural rhythm, constant and fluid. I always emerged feeling reborn, hopeful and refreshed.

Things sometimes change. The agony of my shoulder giving out while swimming Butterfly during my freshman year of college told me however, that my days of the intensity and rigor were gone, that I was too old and if I kept going, I would be beyond repair. It's interesting how what saves you emotionally can destroy you physically.

And so I gave it up. My love, my passion, my vice, my sport, with one decision, was over. One swim too soon without proper training blew out my left shoulder to the point that even a 16 oz Deer Park water bottle was too heavy to hold.

Since I stopped swimming competitively, my shoulders have improved significantly. While I still feel the need to swim several times a week. I also have since had knee surgery, and I no longer have pain. The intensity is gone but the joy remains.

I now teach swimming to a group of wonderful kids. Those years of pain in the pool gave me knowledge and enthusiasm for this sport that I now am able to pass on. By coaching, I am able to live vicariously through my swimmers and know that my instruction helps them to succeed as swimmers and whatever positive influence I have will contribute in some small way to their success in live.

I have greater appreciation now for those who coached me, and for what I gained through them- and the pain. While my workouts that I give my kids are tough and challenging for them, I also try to make certain they do something enjoyable each practice.

They are just getting started and one day they will discover the necessity of persevering through physical pain to pursue their dreams. Along the way I hope they will meet wonderful people, learn to set goals, develop their ability to focus, discover the value of being part of a team and learn that while there is more to life than swimming, life would not be nearly as fun without it.

See you at the pool.

Stephanie Wishmyer is currently the coach of two groups for the Potomac Marlins. She graduates from Randolph-Macon with a degree in English and Journalism in May 2010. She had her swimming career ended in college after three rotator cuff surgeries.

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