27.1

I just had a conversation with my dad about successes and failures. He reminded me of a moment in my swimming career that shines out above the rest as one of my favorite to remember, though it was kind of painful. It was not my best swim. Not everything went perfectly. I did not win. But it was my best race ever. Ever!

It was the Mountain West Conference Campionship my sophomore year at BYU. I wanted to do things that were not swimming with my life and was thinking about it being my last year (which it did end up being) and so my dad had come out to Oaklahoma to be there with me. (I was always asked if I felt pressure growing up because my dad was a swim coach. I always responded with, "No, he comes to everything I do.") I was swimming the back stroke leg in the medley relay. A relay holds pressure because of the other three people depending on you. The backstroke leg is also the first.

So, a backstroker starts in kind of a precarious position. My hands are up over my head on the starting block and my feet are up against the wall (Speaking of my dad, I should ask him, scientifically speaking, how this ever works because it seems to go against all reason.) All strangeness aside, I was/am actually very good at the backstroke start. I used to joke with people that I can't actually swim but I have great starts and turns. (Honestly and humbly speaking, I'm actually good at all of it.)

Well, here we go. Relay. Conference. Lead out. "Swimmers in the water." Jump in. Cold. "Swimmers place your feet." Place feet like I always do... a little more than shoulder length apart, about a foot under the water. "Swimmers take your marks." Pull up on the back stroke bar into a kind of fetal position. "Beep!!!" DEAD IN THE WATER! My feet had slipped and instead of being out past the flags like I should be, I'm sprawled out right at the wall. Adreneline and panic set in... this is only a 50... I don't have enough time catch up... As soon as I hit the water, dead, I dolphin kick my brains out and come out at about my normal spot for a 50 (about 10 yards out) and I swim like I have never swam before. I stroke hard, I nail my turn, and dolphin kick out and I swim with all of my might. I go from being last by more than a body length to fourth when the breaststroker dives in. At the college level, a 50 backstroke is not an individual event so I have very little to compare my time to. But my time is fastish. When I talk to my dad afterwards, and even since then when we've brought it up, he can't help but say, "Kathryn, a 27.1. Think about how great that time would have been with the start." He's very positive to focus on how hard I fought for that swim and on the fact that the swim itself was amazing because what the time would have been taking out the bad start and inserting a good one is so much faster than I had ever done before. When he says what he says about what it could have been I say, "No. It wouldn't have been that fast." I know somehow that even with my great training, my great taper (that's the rest right before the big meet), and with my technique, I would not have made the time that it looks like I could have made (somewhere between a high 24 and a low 25). Because I was starting from behind and had people who were counting on me... only in that case could I have gone that fast.

This week starts my new career. I am going to be a teacher. I am 27 and I'm just starting over. I always feel behind. I need to stop thinking that way. I put a sticky note above my computer at school that just says, "50 back... dead in the water on the start... 27.1! Yep!" But behind who or what? Whether I should be comparing myself to others or to where I thought I should be is not the point here. I know what I want and I didn't know it before. I'll dolphin kick my brains out and hit my turn. I'm going to be amazing and sometimes amazing only happens after a rough start. Bring it!