UWP101 Photo Essay Blog

The Feel of the Water

An underwater journey learning the language of swimming

 When most people think of swimming, they think of this (pictured: me at around 5 years old): playing in the water, teaching their kids to be water-safe, and staying cool.

When I was eight (above), I joined a recreational swim team for the first time. The first practice I didn't bring any goggles and I had to soak my eyes after the hour-long practice. At one point, my coach told me to “Swim one 50 freestyle and one 100 IM,” I had no clue what she was talking about.

After that first practice, I bought my first pair of goggles. I learned that "fly" or "butterfly" is a stroke where you throw your arms straight over the water, but learning this name didn't make swimming butterfly any easier. I could barely get my skinny arms out of the water and I had trouble understanding what my coach said when she said to “Move your hands in the shape of a light bulb underwater.”

Eventually, I learned that a “50” is 50 yards of the pool, or two lengths and “IM” or an “Individual Medley” is an event with all four strokes: butterfly (or “fly”), backstroke, breastroke, and freestyle, but learning these names didn't make them easier to swim.

I started to compete in swim meets, but I was not a natural and swimming was really hard. They hand out green participant ribbons to those do not place in the top eight, while those who are first through eighth place earn other colors. Although I learn to stretch my arms reach over the water, I earn a collection of green "participant" ribbons, and not many other colors.

Disheartened, I continued practicing but I stopped competing in meets for an entire year. Not worried about the green ribbons, I enjoyed swimming more. As I raced my friends in practice, something clicks and I began to understand what my coach means and begin to piece my strokes together. 

 My coach, Jason, convinces me to compete again and I start swimming 200-yard (eight lengths) events and I stop winning green ribbons. My butterfly is still choppy and uncoordinated, but I now know how to make the light bulb, and throw my arms over the water.





As I get faster, my coach tells me to “hold a rhythm” on fly. I listen to his advice and understand his words, but experiment with my body movements to find the stroke that works for my strength and body type. I start enjoying swimming as I learn about teamwork and going fast.

After years of continuing to practice, I was recruited to swim as a Division 1 student-athlete at UC Davis, but I still had a lot to learn about the language of swimming.

I continue swimming faster and learning more about kinesthetic motion of swimming. I realize that unlike learning a different language, swimming fast is not about applying new terms and following rules. Sometimes swimming is about letting my body move in the way I have trained, and not overthinking.

In one of my last races of my swim career, the 400 IM, I mastered the language. My muscles knew the movement after countless hours of practice. I knew what to do and how to swim my race. The race was an out-of-body experience and it's hard to remember the details of that 400 IM. I passed control to my body and stopped thinking. It was the fastest I have ever swam it. 

 Finally, after thirteen years of learning the language of swimming and finishing my competitive career, I now coach eight to ten-year-olds on a children’s recreational team. They forget goggles, confuse the strokes, hide under the water, and have trouble understanding “fifties.” 

When they swim butterfly, instead of a light bulb, I tell them to pretend they are sticking their hands in sand and then to throw the sand straight back. From an above-the-water perspective, I can now understand that learning the language of swimming is a fragile balance between theory and practice.