Having to say a form of goodbye to you is probably one of the hardest things I've had to do- yet I know that, at the moment, there's no other choice. Which makes me very sad, but at the same time, I feel a little better, knowing that I've grown up enough to distinguish- in this case, at least- between what is easy and what is best.
I started swimming when I was six, and I hated it. I had to be convinced to swim every session- I did my best to cry and argue my way out of it. Then, when I got a bit better and started making friends, I enjoyed it a lot more.
One of my most vivid memories of my early swimming days is being in awe of the older swimmers, who were much taller, much faster, much more mature, much cooler; just generally better. I couldn't wait until I became one of those.
Though I had various friendships at the club, it was when I was around ten that I began making really permanent friends- that is to say, when I started to meet more of the people I'm very close to now. That was when I got noticed for being 'good' at swimming, too. I was entered into my first coach gala, which was exciting, though not a great experience- the others were much older, and didn't pay much attention to me. The only girl who I was near in in age was the girl I had beaten to prove I was 'good', so obviously she wasn't particularly thrilled to see me there. That was her territory.
By the next year, there had been 'exceptional circumstances' and a series of hushed up things. She quit soon after.
In 2009, I went to Italy for a swim camp. It was an amazing week, though there were bad parts, involving a lot of arguing. Despite this, a few of my friendships grew stronger, and I have some brilliant memories, such as being part of the 'Jane Austen Club' (myself and two friends sat writing, wearing huge hats), the bug-skirt incident and walking around Venice with the same two, the three of us planning our weddings.
I was overjoyed to become Girls Junior Club Captain; though it really meant very little, it was still important, to me. I started to hope that I, as others had, would go on to become Girls Senior Club Captain, as well.
It was around then that I got my first taste of relationships- funnily enough, my 'boyfriend' was the Boys Junior Club Captain. It all felt so significant at the time; much much less so now, of course. But still worth mentioning.
It was in early 2011 that things first began to fall apart- the pain in my ankle that I tried to ignore. It got worse and worse, but I didn't want to tell anyone. I didn't want to quit. I went away on an extended holiday, and when I got back, it seemed like everything was okay.
Well, more than okay. It was through swimming that I met the one person who taught me- completely obliviously- that it was okay to be different, and it was okay to be myself. That person, often referred to as *, is still someone I'd consider to be hugely important in me being able to tell others the things I knew about myself. She was, and still is, someone I care about a lot, regardless of the impossibilities.
This time was also when I started teaching the learn to swim group; firstly as an assistant, but eventually as a 'proper' teacher. I found that I enjoyed this immensely, and that- even better- I seemed to do fairly well with it.
That summer was when I was noticed for my butterfly, at the club championships. I was thrilled. I'd finally found something I could really do, and nothing compared to the exhilaration of a 50m fly sprint.
During late 2011, when things got worse outside of swimming, I kept going as if everything was normal. It was a safety net, of sorts. It caught me when I needed it to, without me even noticing.
In spring of 2012, it seemed that my luck had finally caught up with me. The ankle problem I'd ignored got a lot worse, and I eventually had to tell my coach.
I was referred to the doctor, for a scan, then to the hospital. No-one knew what was wrong, which made treatment very hard. I was told to take time off, which infuriated me, and take tablets. None of this worked.
In the club championships of 2012, I did very badly. I missed a couple of events because of my ankle problem, and I found it difficult to participate, which made me very upset.
By late 2012, though I was still training, it was at a much reduced rate. I was happy that I still got to see my friends, but the hospital seemed to be doing very little, and it was a very difficult time.
Finally, in early 2013, I was given a steroid injection that was meant to 'fix' everything, and would mean I could return to swimming properly. I started to plan for my return, hoping I could soon get back into the swing of things.
However, when I returned, my ankle was no better. I had to accept that, though other solutions could be tried, things might not get better, and I needed to prepare myself for this- leading to my resignation from the club, at least in my capacity of a swimmer.
It was one of the hardest choices I've ever had to make- the conscious decision, knowing what I was doing would upset me. Yet it was still better than the other, than to carry on hoping, knowing this may be in vain.
Recently, I posted some quotes on this blog, taken from Doctor Who, about the difference between 'what was, and what should have been', and about 'a whole future that never happened'. I think it's that reason, the what should have been, that makes choices like this so hard. We can never stop thinking about what could be, what- if everything was fair- would have happened. I know now that I will never be Girls Senior Club Captain, as I had hoped; that it is unlikely I will ever break 36 seconds on my 50m fly, which I've been aiming to do for a while. That if my ankle doesn't get better, I would never trust myself enough to train for a lifeguarding job, as I've wanted to do for several years. I have to accept that, this time, that hug (from guess who) may really have been 'the last one' that I've dreaded so much.
Those are hard dreams to drop. 'All the days that never came'.
This isn't the only way to look at it, though. After all, I've managed to surpass expectation not only once, but twice; I know exactly what it feels like to fly through the water; I've made friends who, I believe, will stick together, and stick by me, for years to come; I've shared a million memories- the highs, the lows, the smiles, the tears- with the world's most amazing team-mates.
I've experienced so many things that, without swimming, I never would have even thought about.
And that is why, even though I'm sad now, I know things will get better. I've been lucky, really, time and time again, just to have this much- and if this is it, it's more than enough.
Though I still hope that, someday, somehow, I will be able to return to swimming, it isn't the end. I will continue to teach, and to help out. Hopefully, I will return to coach, as well. I will keep in contact, and I will pop up now and again, just to make sure I'm not forgotten.
Thank you, swimming, for everything x