Swim Now, Breathe Later (By Andi Choyce) “Breathing is for the weak. Philippians 4:13. Breathing is for the weak. I can do all things
through Christ who gives me strength.” Butterflies rolled around in my stomach as I repeated this saying in my head. All four years of swimming had finally led up to this point, this one race: the 100-yard freestyle. I stood behind the blocks, tears threatening to blind me, hands shaking like leaves, and jitters jumping around my entire body. The race before mine had just started, so I sat on the bench to wait. My feet tapped nervously on the drenched blue tiles as I watched the other swimmers. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, nervous with anticipation of the energy it would soon have to exert. Deep breaths inflated my lungs as I attempted to keep myself calm. “Breathing is for the weak. Philippians 4:13. Andi, you’ve done this hundreds of times. You know the motions, you know your goal, and you know your capabilities.” In the blink of an eye, it was my turn. I heard my mom’s voice ringing through the warm air above all the others: “Let’s go, Andi!” She always was my number-one motivator. As the announcer said each girl’s name, lane and high school, a ball formed in my throat. I choked it down as soon as the whistle blew, and I stepped carefully onto the blocks for the last dual meet I would ever compete in as a high school student. The official said, “Take your mark.” My muscles tensed as I reached down to grab the bottom of the diving block. My toes curled over the edge and my legs were ready to lunge my body into the water. “Philippians 4:13.” “Go!” I flew off the block and streamlined under the water. I kicked as hard I as I could while rising to the surface. My arms started to spin, not wildly, but with the grace of an experienced freestyler. Each stroke burned my muscles, but I would not stop. I swam the first 25 yards without taking a breath; I did not even breathe right after my flip-turn at the wall. “Breathing is for the weak. Philippians 4:13. You can do this, Andi! Lord, give me strength.” After the second flip-turn, my legs ached almost as badly as my lungs and I knew it would be so easy to slow down. I fought my way through the third flip-turn, allowed myself one last breath, and put my head down; I had only 20 yards to go. I repeated my mantra as visions of my mother and my coach passed through my head. I kicked harder despite the pain. I saw my goal and I wanted it so badly. I could hear the crowd shouting indecipherable cheers as my distance on the wall came to a close. After a mentally and physically exhausting race, my fingers slammed the touchpad hanging on the pool wall. The first thing I did was turn to my left to see the scoreboard. Shock shot across my face as I stared up at the glowing red numbers displaying my time: 58.73 seconds. 58? YES! A smile stretched across my face as I threw my fist up in the air in accomplishment and pure joy. After a grueling four years, countless workouts, and much determination, I had finally beaten 59 seconds in the 100-yard freestyle. The ball from earlier rose up in my throat again and tears welled in my eyes, but this time they were happy tears. Though my muscles despised me for it, I forced myself out of the pool and rolled onto the deck. As I walked back to my coach, people shouted, “Good job!” and patted me on the back. I do not think I had ever felt this elated. My coach congratulated me and then hugged me. Never in all four years had I received such a compliment from her. I saw pride beam through her usually cold blue eyes—something I rarely encountered. That night I learned one of the biggest lessons of my life. 92