Forever and Always

Hello readers 🙂

I think I have a faulty understanding of what it means to be a college student, because for the past three days I have felt more like a college student than any other time I’ve spent at Wellesley. For these past three days, I have been competing as a varsity athlete at MIT, staying in a hotel, eating catered meals, getting up at 7am, going to bed at 11pm, swimming, chilling in the most expensive piece of clothing I will ever wear (price tag for our Lazer swim suits: $375), not doing any homework, and exclusively hanging out with friends. Put that way, I really do have a faulty definition of a college student, even more than when I started out that sentence, when I was just going to complain about not doing homework, and instead hanging out with friends and having fun :). Changed my mind, guys, midway through that paragraph—being a varsity athlete at Wellesley is a sweet deal, and I highly recommend it :).

Bypassing the realization that my life is awesome, this weekend was very strange just because it’s probably the first time in my life when I haven’t done homework over three whole days when school was in session. Even last year at NEWMACs (that’s our swim meet), I spent a good portion very stressed because one of my lab professors hadn’t taken my absence well (I say it goes about half and half for professors at Wellesley. Half of them are supportive about missing a day of school for a championship swim meet, while the other half are rightly upset about missing a day for school for a swim meet. I have a feeling that it’s only in the U.S. that sports even get that supportive half :)). I also spent a lot of last year doing homework alone in my room during the short swim breaks, and most of the time on deck at the pool being pretty stressed because I was about to swim ­  x   ­ event. Never let anyone tell you sports competitions aren’t as stressful as any test—I think they’re worse, actually, because you’re relying on the performance of your body, which I think most of us trust intrinsically less than our minds.

This year, however, my extended weekend was pretty much just straight fun. I’ve adopted this marvelous strategy of not thinking about anything during my race, and over the past few meets I’ve honed my “race strategy” that my coaches go on and on about, so that I finally, after all of those hours in the pool, really don’t have to worry too much at all. Moreover, our traditional Friday night story time with Coach Bonnie touched me this year, and as she read “The Precious Present,” a short tale about the importance of living in the moment, the message combined with the meditation I’ve been doing about “nudging your mind back” to the observation of your thoughts, and I was calm. This is the point that the song “I will go the distance” from Hercules always starts playing in my mind, because there’s nothing quite like being “right… where I… belong.”

Our coach Carlos makes a token for us every year that represents the team. Last year it was a poker chip (“All In”), that one of our seniors memorably tucked in her racing suit. This year, it was a guitar pick (“Feel the Rhythm”), because he said that what united us was music. And as I sat on the floor next to Tiffany, sharing earbuds, while five other girls hung out on the sofa pull-out behind me; as I heard the wild cheering from our team after we finally pushed Suman to sing the national anthem at a swim meet; as I remembered Dorothy jamming out to her iPod’s songs playing on the pool’s speakers; as we all danced to the ear-splitting pop songs played during the NEWMAC swim breaks; as every moment of song and dance from the past six months struck me, I knew it was true.

During the breaks from being at the pool this year—from 1-3:30pm, and then sometimes from 10-11pm—I didn’t manage any homework. Instead, I sat with people. If you were ever to visit the Wellesley Swim and Dive team, NEWMACs would be the worst time to do it. Everyone’s on edge, jealous, excited, ready, afraid: emotional. It means a lot to us, because we’ve been working 20 hours a week for it for six months. We’re all living together, spending entire days watching each other swim, cheering wildly for each other, invested in each other’s performances. We’re a team, and there are other teams to beat, we’ve got fans who care enough to spend hours watching us, and we’re Wellesley.

So I sat with people. It amazes me that we still have so much to learn about each other—the members of this team, I mean—but with emotions this close to the edge, that’s when the real stuff comes out. Gossip, breakdowns, comforting notes to struggling members, fear, talk, home. This is when I feel the most real, which is an odd thing to say, but people don’t really talk about the significant things in everyday life. You have to be with people you trust, with people you depend on, in just the right situation, at just the right time. These are the kinds of conversations that make friendships real to me, though of course it’s different for everyone. These are the conversations when I learn about them, and us, and me.

We swam well. Third place behind Springfield and MIT, one member to Nationals, two divers to Zones, and a veritable plethora of lifetime best times. Big smiles when team members touched the walls, quick back and forth at the other end of the lane—“What’d she go? Is that good for her? What’s her best time? What’d she want? YEAH SHAHEEN! Oh, so that was? YEAH SHAHEEN! THAT WAS AWESOME!” Shaheen said she knew she’d broken six minutes in the 500 even before she looked at the scoreboard, because of the volume of cheering at the other end. Everyone has different levels of performance, and this meet more than any other, we knew each others’ goals, and we were excited for them.

I did well too. 11 events, which is probably the maximum people swim—lots of short races, made it back to consolation finals in every event, even got to be on the A relay once. Best times almost every swim, consistent, the most confident I’ve been in any meet I’ve swum. Probably my best meet ever, especially for one that long.

We got back yesterday at around 11pm. We sat packed together in the vans, singing, eating, and giggling over Emily’s stories about the more humorous parts of the meet. Then it was very cold on the walk over to the G-suite (the ground suite where two of our captains, Ika and Annie, live—more commonly known as the Gangster suite :)), where the post swim season party was. I think you need a different set of skills in the party scene compared to the competitive swim scene, but it was fun all the same. It’s hard not to enjoy yourself in a place you know, with people you love, with the next day of school off, in a place that’s safe. I ate lots of brownies and cake (‘twas Grace’s birthday on Saturday), and a whole box of Cheez-its before huddling against the cold wind in the group heading back to Munger.

So now the season is over.

There’s always that feeling of initial emptiness, because you’ve done exactly what you’re supposed to do. 20 hours a week, for 6 months, being early to every practice, trying hard in every practice, thinking about every practice, dedicating time to recruits and team members and coaches, being anxious and learning to control it, secret psych gifts, bursts of quick happiness, times of contentment… and you’ve got the times in your best-time spreadsheet, just like the letters lined up on your report card. It’s better than the report card in some ways, because at least you can talk about it, and get congratulations and respect from your friends. But still, numbers and letters on a piece of paper, in a spreadsheet on Google docs, some black font on a screen.

And so I abandon that interpretation, because I don’t believe that’s all it can be. For the first time in my high school and college life, I’m not going to be a varsity athlete, because I have decided not to do track this year. Not because I don’t love it, because I do, especially the people, but Prof. Conway has pointed out that I need to invest in my future, and that involves doing research, instead of having research be the opportunity cost of sports. I understand. I am willing to compromise. But swimming, in all that it is for me, is not something that I am willing to sacrifice.

I love swimming. I love the people. I love the team, and the water, and the exercise. I love having people besides me, and having deep conversations, and having rides in the bus when I’m singing along to music with Tiff. I love being in a residence hall with swimmers three doors down, I love heading straight to the dinner table covered in blue. I love our adjective cards, where every member of the team describes everyone else in one word, and I love when team members make things for each other. I love secret psychs and new first-years and how the team changes. I love our seniors and our captains and the advice they can give. I love the feeling of sprinting fly, and when people cheer my name. I love being in pain in the water, and knowing everything I’m giving is going to something bigger than me.

This is my ode to my swim season, to which we’ve all given so much. Professor Conway tells me that you get out what you put in, and we’ve all done well at this last swim meet. But it’s so much more than NEWMACs, and the times we’ve gotten there. It’s about the process, and the present, and us.

To those interested in collegiate athletics, I’d like to let you know that it is worth it. Find a good team, one whose coach won’t accept anyone who won’t dedicate themselves fully, and then dedicate yourself fully. It’ll be a ton of work, and tears, and struggle, and success, but maybe one of those words won’t be better than the others. Maybe the work will be more important than success, in the end, or maybe you’ll need to redefine what you appreciate, and how you love.

Wishing you all the best, and always open to questions and comments.

Happy President’s Day.

Monica