I've posted quite a bit today, and it's late, and I really should be in bed. However, I wanted to get this post written, to commemorate what today and yesterday have been.
On the 14th of April 2013, I emailed my resignation from competitive swimming to the club chairman. It was one of the hardest decisions I've ever had to make, and one of the most important. It was a landmark, the beginning of the end. I had struggled with my ankle for ages, and it was so incredibly difficult realising that it could defeat me.
However, life went on. I carried on teaching, and I carried on living, and it was okay. More than okay: a visit to a specialist resulted in a diagnosis, a splint, and the hope of treatment. Remember the day I first wore my splint? It was amazing, to be able to swim again. However, it wasn't permanent, and within weeks my ankle was just as painful again.
I blogged about my last ever ankle appointment back when it happened, in January. At the time, it felt as if my whole world was crashing down. I remember trying so hard not to cry in front of the doctor, then getting out into the waiting area and crying and crying and crying. It's not the worst thing I've ever experienced- but it was hard, so damn hard.
Three months on from that, I still have days when I think about how I've got training, or wonder what will happen at swimming, or so on. Then part of me reminds myself that that's not how it works anymore. Last month, I announced at an important open meet that I'd previously swum in- and at the end of the day, there was nothing I could do but curl up and cry, because swimming in it wasn't an option anymore. It's been a form of grieving, getting over this. If that sounds like an exaggeration, think of an activity that part of your life is based around, then imagine that being taken away. It is hard. It is hard.
It's possible, though. I've taken up going on long walks with my dog, which keeps me fit. I teach the learn to swim group, I announce, and I occasionally coach the older ones, which means I'm still involved with the world of swimming. I keep in touch with the friends that I've made. It's not the same, but it's possible to carry on.
When I first acknowledged that I might have to give up, I wrote a letter detailing my thoughts, where I mentioned some quotes from Doctor Who. They're quotes I continue to find useful, those 'billions and millions of unlived days', 'all those days that never came'. I don't know why the quotes are so comforting, I just know that they are. Maybe it's because I like quotes based around living an infinity. Now I'm drawing upon other quotes, too, this time from The Fault In Our Stars, that 'some infinities are bigger than other infinities'. I am forever grateful for the infinity of swimming I got- an expression that couldn't be more apt, as sprinting fly feels infinite. No one is promised anything, and yet I still got this infinity, full of memories and lessons, and even though it's ended there are still the memories, there are still the lessons, and I'm still learning. The effect swimming has had on my life is infinite.
To finish with an adaptation of another TFIOS quote- 'you don't get to choose if you get hurt in this world', but there are still choices, you still get some say, and I will never regret my infinity.
Over and out x