Just Keep Swimming

Ella and I check the weather forecast first thing Thursday morning. It calls for rain. Of course, we agree, chuckling. After weeks of nice weather, it will rain for our first swim meet. Swimming competitively in the northwest? Expect rain. Bring a sleeping bag for warmth between events. Plan on a towel for each event because they won’t dry in the sun between events like most places.

But we don’t care. We’re excited. For me, the energy of the children and their parents is inspiring. For Ella, she loves to swim, to compete for a better time, to cheer for her friends – just the whole thing.  And there’s the baked potatoes the opposing team sells at the snack bar. Those are good too.

Ella’s practiced every night at 8 p.m. for weeks now. She’s not once complained. In fact, she’s surprised me by packing her swim bag with towels, cap and goggles without my instruction (i.e. nagging).

She hasn’t lost her goggles. It’s been three weeks. I’ll repeat that for emphasis. She hasn’t lost her goggles.

All milestones. My little girl is growing up. This is Ella at 11.

Before her first event, I stand at the edge of the pool, remembering. Ten years ago Ella was a chubby baby in my arms, just recently crawling, bald but with round, sapphire eyes that seemed to take up most of her face. I walked into the pool holding her tight for our first “Mommy and Me” swim class, expecting tears, kissing the top of her head that smelled like love and murmuring assurances. But when she felt the water, she wriggled, splashing with her hands and kicking her fat legs with such force she almost slipped from my arms. Then she laughed.

I looked at her face, shocked.

She was a serious baby. She’s a serious girl. An old soul, my friends say.

But in the water? She laughed. She grinned. She screamed in delight

This was a water baby. She could swim on her own by 2 years old. (And by on her own I mean with her mother hovering inches away with a pounding heart).

So it should not surprise me how passionate she is about swimming. The girl was born to be in the water. That said, she’s not a natural athlete. She doesn’t care for sports, either watching them or participating. But swimming – this she loves. And although she will never go to Olympics or probably even swim at the college level (watch her surprise me on this too) it doesn’t matter because she’s doing something she loves.

Our coaches emphasize competing against yourself and improving your individual time as opposed to worrying about what your teammates and opponents are doing. I love this.

I didn’t think Ella would be able to swim this year because of finances. But at the last minute an angel swept in and paid for the membership to the club and the team fees, which I wrote about several weeks ago.

When the news came of my friend’s gift to Ella, I told her, “Honor this gift by working hard and being grateful.” I thought this too, although I kept it to myself. Work harder than you think you can. Tackle it without fear, without complaint. Do not let moments of defeat, discourage you. Get all the way in the game.

I needn’t have said it. She knew. She knows.

Thursday afternoon we arrive with our arms full of towels, a sleeping bag for warmth, several books, a kindle, swim goggles and her cap. Emerson sets up Ella’s sleeping bag in an unexpected section of sun. “I want it to be warm for her, Mommy.”

Ella’s best friend is there too. This is her first swim meet and her mother is helping stage the swimmers so I’m making sure she’s in the right place at the right time. (For any of you who haven’t been involved in swim – parents are required to volunteer at almost every meet). I watch from the edge as Ella shouts encouragement to Trystan (TT, as I call her).

I tear up when TT leaps out of the pool, grinning. “I heard everyone cheering for me when I was swimming and it just made me smile,” she says to me as I hand her a towel.

“You did great,” I say.

“I know! I did awesome.”

Later, in one of the free style heats, a girl from the other team with physical challenges swims slowly and laboriously across the pool. Our coach reminds our swimmers to stay in the pool until everyone finishes in a show of good sportsmanship. Parents from both sides begin to cheer, shouting out encouragement to this sweet little girl swimming her heart out. When she reaches the end and puts her hands on the edge, the place explodes with cheers. I tear up again. When one of the parents from the other team lifts her out of the pool, I have to pull a tissue out of my jacket and put my sunglasses on to hide my emotion.

And right there, as I wipe my eyes, I know why all this matters. It’s the lessons beyond perfecting strokes and techniques that our children will take with them.

Show up. Work hard. Compete with yourself. Support your teammates. Respect your coaches. Be humble. Be grateful. Treat your competitors as brothers and sisters because ultimately we’re all connected. Do something you love even if you’re not the best because all good things will come from it. Choose to be part of something bigger than yourself because community, love, is what God made us for.

And this village – this community of coaches, parents, grandparents that stand in the rain cheering our own children and our neighbors’ children? We’re all in it together. We’re a collective force for good despite the darkness in the world that wants to teach our children to hate, to judge, to manipulate, to strive for only their own benefits. Despite the rain, we will not dim.

As we drive home, the windshield wipers keeping time with the radio, I think as I so often do about what it means to be a parent. Our job is to usher them into adulthood with core values that will remain when we are no longer there to nudge them into the right line, hold their towels, or kiss their wet heads.

Love, respect, honor, community, family, integrity, kindness, fortitude. God willing, these are tattooed on their hearts, visible by their actions as they move into their own lives. But as for now? I’m pretty sure I saw those words written in black sharpie on their wet skin under a sky the color of smoke.

And then, for me? A surprise. A miracle. My “River Valley Trilogy” climbed to the #7 Kindle Book while our little swimmers swam as hard as they could.

I’ve been swimming hard for a long time now. In the middle of the cold ocean I have many moments of fear and disappointment but I’m still swimming. The lessons we’re teaching our children? They’re tattooed on my heart too.

Do what you love, even if you’re not the best. Work harder than you think you can. Never give up.

Oh, and go Tiger Sharks!