The swimming pool was still, the hall was almost empty and the few people left by the pool were patiently and calmly waiting for the next session to begin. It was the end of the third session, of the second day of the “Wilkie”, the local club’s gala. Only one session left, and then we would all go home and rest for a few hours before the next workweek begins.
The coaches retired in their lounge, taking the opportunity to snack, have drink, chat and get off their feet. The volunteers resting around their posts, checking out their phones and having the occasional chitchat with others around them. A very relaxed and friendly environment, a relaxed and familiar environment where most swimmers and their parents are spending hours in, either training or waiting.
This is the space where young kids make dreams, the arena where they fight with their own fears, the venue where they are overcoming the obstacles put in front of them. Day after day, week after week, they swim up an down the pool, turn after turn, looking at the clock, counting the seconds, counting their movements, trying to become better. Between drills, they stop and chat or giggle with those in their lanes, making friends, building relationships, supporting each other. Then they continue on, up and down their lane, turn after turn, until the end of the session, until they all leave to get home.
The parents find their own routine around the pool. Some work, some read, some daydream, some make friends, some just chat to anyone that would listen, some just stay in their cars or go to the super market. The idea is the same anyway. The parents provide the support system for those young athletes. The kids drain themselves physically in the pool, and the parents provide them with emotional and mental support. At least, that is the plan.
My children were successful in this meet. They got medals of all kinds, they made personal records, they made great effort in their races and they made promises for the future. But most importantly, they enjoyed themselves. They enjoyed being with their pool-friends and they enjoyed being part of something a bit bigger than their immediate family. But not all meets are like that. Just a couple of weeks ago, My daughter wanted to quit because she was not feeling good about her performance. There were tears, there were mood swings, there were cries, but also there was support and comfort and help. Not just from us in her home, but also from her coaches and her friends. For those lucky ones that have been involved with organised sports, this must be a familiar experience. The club can be a faceless organisation that makes a person feel small, but within that there is a team, a group of people that knows you and understands you and can support you. Within that team you are someone, someone that your teammates not only support but also expect to be supported from. The team is a haven for its members to feel confident for what they can offer, and they will be appreciated for. The team is the reason why people love sports.
In sports, most of the days are difficult and painful and challenging and unsuccessful. These are the days that we need to look deep inside our hearts, deep inside our souls, to find the strength to carry on. Every training day is an opportunity for failure, every failure is an opportunity for improvement, every improvements is success. It is said that we learn more from our failures than our successes, and that applies very well with sports. Because after failing at what we know every day in training, we learn how to win in the games that matter, we learn how to win in life.
The speakers started playing a sad song from Adele, one I could not recall, and the stillness of the empty pool made the sound very loud and clear. I felt tears welling up my eyes, and I felt emotions from an older time, familiar and warm. From times when I was spending hours and days in the basketball court, from times when my dreams were attached to my team, from times when all my life revolved around an orange ball. I never made it big in the sport, but it changed my life. I learned to compete, I learned to tolerate, I learned to put goals and fight to achieve them, I learned to stand by my teammates and I learned how to make friends. Even now, in my 50s, I still have basketball in my life. This time, trying to give back after realising all that I have enjoyed all these years. I play, I coach, I referee, I teach my kids how to play, I volunteer in my community and I support the local club. I don’t have goals and expectations anymore, just love and pride.
The song ended and as I came back from my thoughts, I saw a boy I never saw before, sitting next to my son and starting to talk with him. They are both waiting for the next session’s warmup to begin, and although they are not friends or they probably don’t even know each other’s name, they have the common experience of swimming for the club. They feel that bond, and without realising it, they are comfortable to talk and laugh, and who knows, they could become friends. They are teammates.
The tears are gone, the music has stopped, and the vivid crowd of young athletes has started their warmup. New noises filled the hall, the deafening splashing of the swimmers in the water conquers every other noise, and the evening moves on to it’s final session. Some faces are happy, some are not as much, and some feel disappointed for some goal they did not reach. I feel joy and excitement just looking at them all, just wishing I could feel again the power of those emotions, good or bad. I am content that I help my children in this path and I am happy that they challenge themselves this way. They are learning so much and one day they will look back and they will realise what a beautiful school this has been.