"Humans are terrible athletes in terms of power and speed, but we're phenomenal at slow and steady. We're the tortoises of the animal kingdom," said Harvard anthropology Professor Daniel Lieberman just days before the 111th Boston Marathon. Most people probably would not believe with this statement after seeing amazing people like Usain Bolt run 100 Meters in just over nine and a half seconds. In fact, after seeing that quote, I was in the same boat. To me it was very simple; distance was bad and short was good.
When my coach told me that I was going to be swimming the 500 Freestyle at the conference meet of my junior year, I was once again disappointed and frustrated. This marked the third year in a row that those words had come out of his mouth. To those unfamiliar with the sport, the 500 or "The Five", is not a very fought-over event within a team, and very few swimmers enjoy it at all. I was not one of those swimmers. Instead, I considered myself to be a sprinter, with literally a get-in-get-out mindset. In the two years previous, I had given up deep down as soon as I was told the news and this year was no different. How my coach thought I was going to swim well in an event I hated was beyond my knowledge.
As the meet approached I prepared for my other events primarily, because in my mind I could actually go fast in those, not just swim the same time I had all year. During prelims, I swam slightly faster time than I had before, but nothing special. The following day of the meet, my coach changed the lineup and placed me on the 200 Medley A relay, where I would be swimming the 50 freestyle anchor leg against the best of the best. In short, I went in and got my job, and we placed first. The feelings of pride, happiness, and encouragement from swimming those two laps were indescribable feelings that carried into the finals of my 500. Unexpectedly dropping ten seconds from prelims to finals in the five was quite a way to end my meet.
There was one difference between my first and second 500 freestyle: mindset. I was ready to rock and roll heading into the latter, but in the former I was ready to fail. The phrase "mind over matter" had never been anything more than a ridiculously clichĂŠ motivator before that final. Physically, there was no way I had that kind of time drop in me, but I did it anyways. In times before, I had been so worried over the number of laps involved rather than just putting my head down and racing. Instead of my muscles controlling my swimming, it was my brain.
That race is now my favorite event, but I still get nervous every time I have to swim it. It is not a nervousness of failure, but one of how well I am going to swim. Even though I could have sworn that the tortoise was the tortoise of the animal kingdom, I now realize that I am that animal. I actually am good at slow and steady, all it took was change of heart and mind to get there. If I can apply this kind of attitude to everything in life, the possibilities are endless, regardless of whether they be long or short.
When my coach told me that I was going to be swimming the 500 Freestyle at the conference meet of my junior year, I was once again disappointed and frustrated. This marked the third year in a row that those words had come out of his mouth. To those unfamiliar with the sport, the 500 or "The Five", is not a very fought-over event within a team, and very few swimmers enjoy it at all. I was not one of those swimmers. Instead, I considered myself to be a sprinter, with literally a get-in-get-out mindset. In the two years previous, I had given up deep down as soon as I was told the news and this year was no different. How my coach thought I was going to swim well in an event I hated was beyond my knowledge.
As the meet approached I prepared for my other events primarily, because in my mind I could actually go fast in those, not just swim the same time I had all year. During prelims, I swam slightly faster time than I had before, but nothing special. The following day of the meet, my coach changed the lineup and placed me on the 200 Medley A relay, where I would be swimming the 50 freestyle anchor leg against the best of the best. In short, I went in and got my job, and we placed first. The feelings of pride, happiness, and encouragement from swimming those two laps were indescribable feelings that carried into the finals of my 500. Unexpectedly dropping ten seconds from prelims to finals in the five was quite a way to end my meet.
There was one difference between my first and second 500 freestyle: mindset. I was ready to rock and roll heading into the latter, but in the former I was ready to fail. The phrase "mind over matter" had never been anything more than a ridiculously clichĂŠ motivator before that final. Physically, there was no way I had that kind of time drop in me, but I did it anyways. In times before, I had been so worried over the number of laps involved rather than just putting my head down and racing. Instead of my muscles controlling my swimming, it was my brain.
That race is now my favorite event, but I still get nervous every time I have to swim it. It is not a nervousness of failure, but one of how well I am going to swim. Even though I could have sworn that the tortoise was the tortoise of the animal kingdom, I now realize that I am that animal. I actually am good at slow and steady, all it took was change of heart and mind to get there. If I can apply this kind of attitude to everything in life, the possibilities are endless, regardless of whether they be long or short.
