The Baylor 800

Alright children gather ‘round and buckle up. Now, is the time for me to tell you a tale. A tale from many many moons ago. This is a story about me, of course, and the one time I swam the 800 at the Baylor School… It’s also a story of why you should learn from your mistakes…

To set the scene, I am 13 years old, at a point in my swimming career where I thought that I would forever be a distance swimmer (it wasn’t until college that I really figured out that I was a sprinter through and through). It’s the summertime, which means, of course, swimming long course. This particular meet weekend we were headed to swim at Baylor, and I, the distance swimmer that I thought I was, was signed up to swim the 800.

As it often is, the 800 was on the heat sheet to be one of the only events swum on Friday evening. In the first strange turn of events that will affect my race, the power suddenly goes out at the pool before it gets to my heat. As you really can’t run a meet in the pitch dark, they decided to cancel the rest of the evening events. I breathed a small sigh of relief because, well the 800 is a long race and I was just happy to not have to do it that meet. Boy was I wrong about that.

The next morning, I find out that the 800 has actually been moved to swim at the end of the session. You see, the power was back on at the pool, so we were good to go. So, fast forward a few hours (y’all know a swim meet can last forever) there I am. Standing behind the block waiting for the heat ahead of me to finish their last few laps. And suddenly! My goggles go flying off my face. I hurriedly pick them up and notice that the nose piece had simply popped out of place, so I put them back together and proceeded with getting ready with my race. I had a tendency of pulling the bungee cord a bit too tight, so I didn’t really think much about it…

I step up on the block. Take your mark, go. Everything is going as expected. I set my pace and set my mind on beating the girl in the lane next to me. I’m halfway through my turn at the 300 when it happens. My goggles fly off my face again! In a split second I have to decide, am I going to stop now and call it quits? Or am I going to finish this race sans goggles. I decided to embark on the longest 500 meters of my life.

I wear contacts, which is usually a non-issue with swimming, but as soon as my goggles break off from my face, the contacts fall out of my eyes quickly thereafter. So here I am, probably about 450 meters left to swim at this point, and I can’t really see anything. I’m thinking, geesh I’m not even at the halfway point yet. I catch a glimpse of a blur from the side of my eye, that lets me know that I have someone managed to stay up with the girl I was racing in the next lane. Well, I think, I do hate to lose. I throw my pace out the window, the only thing in my mind is that I have to do whatever it takes to beat her. We stay neck in neck for a long time. I’m a bit shocked at myself because at some point in the next 200 meters, without my goggle straps holding it down, my cap slides off of my head too. (I’m like a majestic mermaid, hair flowing behind me as I swim. Ok, not really, but you get the picture).

We are coming in to the last 100. I have somehow pulled ahead. I touch the wall before her. I get out and blindly stumble over to my coach where I learn that I went a best time. (Remember, my contacts fell out 400 meters ago, there is no way that I was going to be able to read my time on the board.)

That race happened nearly ten years ago (ok wow I feel old typing that) and I will always remember that specific 800. I had to swim quite a few more 800s before I actually beat the best time I went when I swam my Baylor 800. Looking back on it, that race is a bit foreshadowing for a very similar thing that happened to me in one of my very last races as a student-athlete just a few months ago…

So, there I was, February of my senior year of being a student-athlete. Far off are the days that I would swim the longer events. I had just wrapped up my last conference meet. I was sitting kind of on the edge of getting invited to Nationals with my 50 freestyle time, so my coach and I decided that I’d go to the last chance meet the next weekend to try and drop another tenth. Going in to the 50 that day, I had never felt so on my game. I just knew that I was going a best time that night. I’m standing behind the block, the heat in front of me is coming in to their last 25. And then it happens. My goggles break. In that moment, I panic and ran over to one of my teammates who had just finished up a race and practically snatch his goggles out of his hand. I get back behind the block in time for my event. The only problem? I am used to Speedo Vanquishers, and these were a different style. I put them on anyways, sending up a quick prayer that they will stay on my face. Well, I dive in, and, surprise surprise, the goggles immediately go around my neck. Did I swim a best time that day? No, I did not. Did I swim half of that 50 with my head out of the water? Yes indeed. Did I manage to add less than a second and still beat all of the other girls in the event? Yes, I did *flips hair*.

You’d think that I would have learned my lesson all of those years ago to keep a spare pair of goggles in the pocket of my parka. So, maybe learn from my mistakes. And a little word of advice: always finish the race.