Facing and Overcoming Fear

    “You came in second” my brother yelled. After a pause and a laugh, he finished his declaration with, “to last!” My heart felt like it was trying to beat its way out of my chest as I sat thinking about my first competitive race. The loud crack of the starting pistol startled me; I dove in. As the shock of the cold water nearly overwhelmed my ability to remember what I was doing, muscle memory from long afternoons of swim practice took over. The 50-meter length of the pool seemed to extend for miles. I couldn’t breathe; the seconds crawled as I followed the black line painted on the bottom of the pool. I swallowed my little oxygen reserves with a loud gulping sound. At the end of the pool, I turned around. I had made it halfway but I still could not breathe. Gulp! The gulping echoed in my ears. My hands sliced through the water, and the gulping kept pace with each stroke. I kicked madly as my heart throbbed in my chest. Gulp. Finally, I could see the base of the starting blocks – the end of the race. I reached madly for the edge of the pool, pulled my face from the water and sucked in cool, sweet oxygen. I didn’t drown, and I didn’t finish last.

Years earlier, I walked with my father down the sand toward the crashing surf. The loud roar of the waves was overwhelming to this four-year-old. It seemed we had to yell to hear each other. My dad picked me up a few steps into the cold ocean water as he waded through the waves that were barely above his knees. We continued to move deeper into the ocean. My father held me close to his chest as he leapt through the waves that crashed against my back leaving my hair and face dripping. He pushed farther into the surf. Finally, we emerged from the breaking waves to enjoy the relative calm of the ocean swells. It was a peaceful, serene moment. We waved to mom who was watching nervously from the hard wet sand. When it was time to return to shore, my dad had to work his way through the crashing tide again. Suddenly, a large wave broke over my father’s shoulders tearing me from his arms. Time seemed to slow down as I tumbled in the surf and rolled with the wave driven sand. The silt suspended in the water sparkled gold and yellow hues as it reflected the sunlight. I could not breathe; the seconds seemed to stretch for hours. I gulped for air. Briny sea water burned as it filled my sinuses. I struggled to breathe. Gulp! My heart pounded deep in my chest as I thrashed against the tide. Suddenly, my dad’s hand gripped my arm, and he yanked me out of the water. I inhaled and coughed, breathing deep relief as oxygen again filled my lungs, but the fear of drowning consumed me.

About a year after the trip to the beach, I found myself standing at the side of an Olympic sized pool.

The high-school aged swim instructor yelled, “Can you swim?”

Although I was nearly overwhelmed with anxiety, I also suffered from youthful arrogance. “Yeah, I can swim!” I replied defiantly.

“Show me.”

I jumped in the pool and began to crawl my way through the water but with each stroke the guy seemed to be farther away. I can’t breathe! Was I moving in slow motion? I swallowed hard against the overwhelming need to inhale. My gosh, I’m going to drown! The chlorine burned my eyes and tickled my nose. My chest heaved frantically. I pulled myself toward the retreating adolescent, as the gulping sound echoed in my ears, and my lungs fought against my will not to suck in the water. Gulp! Finally, the swim teacher pulled me up out of the water and I took a long, deep breath of air. Although I had outperformed my actual ability to swim, my fears had only temporarily taken a backseat to my arrogance. He placed me in the advanced class.

Those overcast June mornings were spent clinging desperately to the pool’s edge while being instructed on swimming form. No one knew I didn’t know how to take a breath while I was swimming. No one could see my fear every time I ventured from the poolside. I was too vain. I couldn’t let anyone know about either. Ignorance and fear embraced each other vehemently.

A few years after that first swim lesson, my closest friends joined a swim team. While they were at practice, I struggled to find ways to occupy my time. Reluctantly, I also joined the team.

After a couple weeks of daily swim practice, it was time for my first swim meet. Our coach only scheduled me for a couple heats, so I spent most of the event cheering for my teammates. When it was my turn to race, I didn’t drown, and I didn’t come in last place. After the meet was over, the coach told us he was proud of our efforts. He dismissed most of the team with a reminder that we had a lot to work on at practice the following week.

Taking me aside, the coach told me he noticed I never took a breath while swimming. I admitted I didn’t know how. Although my ability to hold my breath for 100 meters was impressive, he said I would probably do better if I learned how to breathe while in the water. During the ensuing weeks, the coaching staff helped me learn how to breathe. As I began using oxygen properly, my abilities improved, and my fear of the water decreased. There were even times when the coaches would have me demonstrate proper swimming form to the rest of the team. My confidence continued to grow.

After a while, I had become a strong swimmer, proficient at each of the swimming styles. As we continued to compete, I showed improvement. My coach gradually scheduled me for more races; however, my primary focus was the 400-hundred-meter individual medley relay – this meant I swam four different strokes for 100 meters each. As I raced through the water, my focus changed from worrying about filling my lungs with water and drowning to maintaining proper form and breath. Hearing the muffled sounds of the spectators through the rush of water streaming past my ears thrilled me. I relished the subtle sting and smell of chlorine. I progressed from finishing second to last to placing third and second. Eventually, I improved enough to win almost every race my coach had me swim, and I regularly beat my previous finishing times.

Although I took home ribbons and trophies, my greatest success was overcoming my fear of drowning. We all have fears. Childhood’s fears seem petty when compared to those we face as adults. Notwithstanding the magnitude, fears are real and can impede our ability to do those things we want to do. Through my experiences with swimming, I learned we can overcome our fears if we face them and accept help from those who can guide and teach us. We do not have to surrender to our fear.