Everywhere and Nowhere at Once: Where the Water Meets the Why

It all starts with a walk out the door—or a bolt out of it. My independence often finds me laughing with my family one moment, and gone the next. I have a bad habit of not telling people where I’m off to, and this time it’s for a swim. It’s early morning, and I’m already suited up with my swim cap, suit, and goggles. The sand is black, it’s overcast, and the water has a slight chill to it that makes me want to start with my strokes. Objectively, this could feel creepy or ominous but instead it feels peaceful as if the ocean and its cool, muted colors have been waiting to welcome me. I need that support for my first ocean water swim.

I often feel momentum kick in—not with the first step, but with the one that follows, carrying me forward until I can't stop. The chill from the water doesn’t help with my already existing nerves, but my feet and muscles know the routine. I don’t think my brain could stop them if it wanted to. Sometimes it feels like my legs and muscles know me better than my mind does, and right now they’re yearning for the open water. As I set my feet off the sand to feel the familiar weightlessness and hug water gives me, I start to stroke—one arm, then the next.

Quickly the sand dropped off far under me. I’ve only swum in pools four feet deep, and now staring into depths of twenty or thirty feet was terrifying. My arms wouldn't stop though, and they were set in motion. My brain wanted to go back. I felt anxiety creep up and like I couldn’t turn my head to the surface enough times to get the oxygen my lungs were scavenging for. 

I flipped onto my swim buoy—something I was grateful Mom insisted I bring and turned to see the shore. I wasn’t as far as I thought, and now my Dad and little sisters were there. The waves formed a barrier of sound, reducing voices to blurs of noise. The sight of them propelled me back into the water and towards the boat I set my sights on. 

I’ve often pondered on why I do this. I wonder what drives professional athletes—and whether it’s anything like my own why. I love motion and movement. I’m fascinated by the consistency and sustainability of the same action. There are other pillars that support my why, the strongest being my twin little sisters. When I was their age I wasn’t encouraged to push my body. I didn’t get a chance in sports and the phrase “Don’t run too fast!” fed my fear of getting hurt. It stopped me from doing anything outside of what I knew. I want to show the twins that they can. They can try something new, they can push themselves, and they can continue to do so even if it’s hard. 

The water got darker and darker, deeper and deeper. With nothing to see, I closed my eyes and let myself feel the water. I felt what my body was doing, and each muscle moving. I was everywhere and nowhere at once. I dove down until I felt the string of my bowey pull my swimsuit. I was flowing through my own existence and felt free. I know now that freedom is a feeling. 

After some time I touched the sand again and saw the twins still there with Dad—now in swimsuits, splashing toward me. I smiled at their laughter from the waves and turned to see the boats. I could swim from boat to boat, like chasing one goal after another. Some would take longer for me to get to, but it was my choice and the water would always be there.

When I’m wrapped up in the details and unknowns of training, I get anxious especially when life gets unpredictable and crazy. The waves and currents increase and my senses capture every moment of it. Then I reflect, close my eyes, and move. I may not always move in the direction I want (I’m pretty sure I zig-zagged through that whole swim) but I’m moving and there's joy in the simple movement of one after another. I know a boat will be nearby to anchor me, and my family will always be on the shore. 

Triathlon teaches me not just how to be an athlete, but how to become a better person. A better version of me is forming and I feel it leading me to my purpose. It’s inspiring me to better my corner of the world. We each have lessons we learn from daily life and our own challenges, and I’d like to encourage you to take notice. It doesn’t take much, but a question is a good start, and once you’ve discovered what truly moves you, it can help you find joy in motion—and freedom in existence.