Ellie Devens - “Swimming through Shame: Redefining Feelings of Mediocrity in Sports”

When I’m home from college for the holidays, there comes a time when I inevitably end up perched over one of the many weathered boxes of my swimming relics. In an aimless pick from the haphazard jumble, I find anything from a participation ribbon with an illegibly scribbled time from a summer league meet at age 5 or a medal with a meticulously etched place and title from UIL 6A State at age 16. Sifting through these archives, it's unmistakable that my lifelong career in swimming has been rich with success.

Unfortunately, it's not the varying evidence of successes that stand out to me, but it’s the heat sheets with unfulfilled goal times written dutifully on the cover that stand out.

Even more prominent amongst the stack, I find my old evaluation sheets that offer testimony of a promising swimmer-—a kid who had so much “potential” and “natural talent”yet “floated timidly” at the back lanes, afraid to stand out, and would just need to “step out of her comfort zone” to reach the next level. 

I’ve always been ashamed of latency—that I could possess something of meaning, something special but would never achieve it. Dozens of old heat sheets highlighting lackluster performances and the spattering of non-first place ribbons remind me of that shame, and how throughout my years in the pool, I’ve wrestled with feeling distinctly average. I’m always wanting to reach that next level and achieve the “potential” that everyone claims I possess. However, I still belong exclusively to the in-between, the 'mid-interval' groups, where I’ve spent countless hours pushing myself yet rarely feel exceptional. 

For a long time, I let this define my self-worth, assuming that, because I wasn’t particularly special in the water, I wouldn’t be in life either.

I felt destined for a life of mediocrity. But in my process of making the decision to attend Trinity University and swim as a D3 athlete, I acted against my childhood dream of swimming for UT and competing in the 2024 Olympics. I’ve gradually begun to realize that this “middle ground” might be exactly where I’m meant to be, and the residual shame is only a side-effect of the system I was raised in. 

Part of the easy answer to these feelings could be chalked up to the method in which I was raised in the sport. From the beginning, coaches stressed 100% attendance at practices, encouraged swimming while sick, and demonized any shortcomings to strict breathing patterns/pacing/etc. Being indoctrinated into this system, it was not initially clear that these priorities may be skewed. Swimming should not be just a skill to perfect or times to achieve but a pursuit of personal development and self-actualization that is dynamic and inherently unattainable. To clarify, I think there is nothing wrong with mastering the art of swimming and wanting to attain faster times—in fact, there is utility in attaining a sought-after goal and seeing your hard work come to fruition.

What I believe to be wrong is the hyperfixation that this accomplishment outranks the fulfillment of practice, dedication, consistency, and self-development that comes with the sport. As a result, “swimming” became a monotonous task to accomplish, one more chore to add to the day's list, and an activity that would leave me lifeless and burnt out.

This frustrated me because I truly love to swim. It just so happens that I feel best about myself when I am focused on the dedication and art of consistency itself, what I have accomplished, and the gratitude that I can continue to develop and learn life skills from the sport. 

Don’t get me wrong, I love the euphoric feeling of knowing you put your best effort into a set, the ecstasy of looking up at the scoreboard and seeing a time faster than you expected, the joy of being surrounded by your best friends as you all better yourselves mentally and physically in a grueling winter training practice, and the confidence you gain knowing you show up for something greater than yourself time and time again. In fact, I remember one of my greatest joys and core memories was when I made my first Texas Age Group Swimming cut at age 12 in the 100 breaststroke. After distinguishing the time through fogged goggles, tears of joy poured uncontrollably from my eyes as I came to realize I achieved a goal I wasn’t confident enough to find attainable. But what I appreciate more is the unspoken bond formed through early morning practices, the shared grit in countless sets, and the mutual respect built in the heat of a race, where you're neck-and-neck with a teammate or competitor, both pushing to your limit. That to me is success in the sport of swimming, and so indelible is this truth that even shortcomings in other seasons should not overshadow this victory.

Nevertheless, my loyalty to this lesson is dispositional. 

On a good day, I don’t feel I’m alone in feelings of mediocrity. On those days, I’ll remember the words of one athlete I admire: Oskana Masters, an American multi-sport Paralympic athlete. In an interview with The Players Tribune titled, “The Hard Part Out Loud, ” she shared her sentiments on what she sees as the purpose of our sports. He states, “I didn’t get into sports to win, exactly. I got into them because of what they’ve helped me to understand about myself. Sports have made me see how the body—my body—has a power that should never be underestimated.” Knowing the chaos that can ensue, like detrimental self-loathing and belittling, I understand that dwelling on an ambiguous potential defined by someone else and comparing to others with vastly different experiences is unproductive. 

A limited view of the sport is what afflicts my inner critic and the joy that comes with practicing swimming. If I can part with this limited scope, gratitude for the opportunity for growth and the privilege of potential could begin to flourish.

I feel a sadness in knowing that this censure of success and pain of potential plagues so many swimmers and athletes as a whole. Even now, with greater mental health and regulations on coaching there are athletes, who feel as if their effort has been wasted and will never be enough to feel fulfilled. Their worth may depend on an arbitrary combination of numbers or a standard defined by someone who has never stood in their shoes who has never experienced what they have.

I don’t want to be that athlete, that swimmer, that person, that human anymore. I want to define myself by the attitude I bring to the pool deck and by the connections and people that inspire me on the journey. That is where the true joy lies. When you begin to fall in love with the journey, you realize that's the point. It is the end and simultaneously the beginning--- the beauty and the purpose of it all.