Brooke's proseptive of My first swim meet

The Swim Meet
By Brooke (Alley) Maddox

 

I do not remember learning how to swim; it is something that has always been a part of me, like walking.  I also do not remember the first time I realized my twin sister, Brianne, was different than me.  Brianne and I are the second and third children out of six. I came first and Brianne entered this world a staggering hour and eight minutes after me which caused her to have cerebral palsy.   Cerebral palsy is a neurological disorder that appears in early childhood it affects body movement and muscle coordination.  Brianne has defied the odds, after multiple surgeries she can walk, talk, ride a bike, drive, and swim.  It was at the swimming pool where Brianne became my role model, and showed me why I should never give up.

I joined the swim team when I was kindergarten; it became the one thing I didn’t have to share with any of my other siblings.  Swimming was something that I had done for so long it became who I was, and while my brother and other sisters had basketball, and dance, swimming was the one thing I could call my own.   So when Brianne told me she wanted to join the swim team the summer of my fifth grade year I was a little upset.  I was also in total shock because for our entire eleven years of being in existence Brianne had always been deathly afraid of water.  Brianne would go to the pool wearing her life vest and stay as close to the stairs and cement wall as possible.  If you could say I was like a fish in water, Brianne was like a cat.  She would not even get her hair wet, not in fear of ruining her perfectly curled locks, but because she was scared of going under.   Because of Brianne’s

fear of water my parents entered her into a program called Adaptive Swimming.  It was in this class that Brianne learned not only how to swim, but built up enough confidence in herself to join the swim team. 

Every fall as school began and swim team registration drew near, I would begin my yearly ritual of bugging my dad to make sure he signed me up.  This year was no different, except that this year my twin sister Brianne was going to be joining me.  I had gotten over my jealousy of having to share yet another activity with a sibling (a virtue easily learned in a house that has six kids) and was looking forward to Brianne enjoying the sport as much as I did.  I knew Brianne had worked hard to overcome her fear of water, and in my all-knowing eleven year old mind I was positive that my coaches would never actually sign Brianne up for a swim meet. 

The first meet of the swim season is always a big spectacle; the veterans hope to shave off a couple seconds from last year, and the rookies are wondering what swim stroke it is that they will excel at.  Everyone is a nervous ball of energy the swimmers, the coaches, and even the parents.  I was no different this was not only the first meet of season, but my twin sister who has cerebral palsy and before this year was extremely afraid of water was going to be swimming in her first race, alone.  To say I was anxious was an understatement. 

Brianne had only entered one race, the fifty-meter freestyle, the shortest length for our age group.  Most girls are age could swim two lengths of the pool in about forty seconds or less and all I could hope was that Brianne would get lucky enough to have an outside lane so that if she needed to she could grab onto the cement wall.  As the day began I tried my hardest to stay composed and not let my twin sister know I was a nervous wreck.  I knew she could do it; I had spent countless hours at practice watching her swim the length of the pool without any difficulty.  I just was worried that in the heat of the moment she would forget all that she had accomplished. 

The time had come, Brianne was in lane five not next to the wall but close enough, as the swimmers stepped up on their starting blocks Brianne stood proudly beside hers, I along with the rest of the team waited at the other end of the pool ready to cheer our most beloved athlete on.  

“Swimmers on your marks…get set…”  BANG!

The gun fired and the swimmers pounced off their starting blocks, stretching out their bodies in hopes of entering the water quickly and smoothly.  As I watched my brave twin sister pencil dive off the side of the pool wall, my heart began to fill with pride.  I knew she could do this what had I been so worried about.  She might not be able to keep up with the other girls, but she was going to finish and prove to everyone that if you set your mind to it, you can do anything.  Everyone was shouting.  Coaches, who were oblivious to the real star in the water, follow their swimmers along the pool edge telling them to kick, teammates sit at the opposite end rooting for their swimmer as they reach the halfway mark, and I am in complete silence.  It is like I have tunnel vision, and the only thing I can see is my twin sister starting to lose faith in herself. 

Brianne is just past the half way point of the first lap, and I can tell that she is struggling.  No one told her about the waves from the other swimmers that would be hitting her from every direction, no one told her that even though she has never swam in this pool it isn’t any deeper than the pool she has been practicing in, but I know that these thoughts are now entering her mind and her spirit is fading.  Forty seconds after the other swimmers dove into the water they are exiting and realizing that someone from their race has yet to finish.  I watch Brianne frantically grab on to the plastic rope separating the two lanes, and my heart falls into the pit of my stomach.  I want to jump in and help her, swim next to her and tell her that she is okay, get her to the pool ladder and get her out of the water.  Yet, I know that if I do she will not only be disqualified from a race she never expected to win, but the self confidence that has been building inside her for over a year now will all be lost.  Finally Brianne looks toward me, she is still hanging on to the rope, and even though I cannot see her eyes through the goggles I know she is looking at me in desperation.  

“Brianne let go of the rope,” I say after finding the courage within myself not to jump in and help her.  She is starting to cry and says, “I can’t, I can’t do it.”

“Yes you can, but you have to let go of the rope,” by this time the entire pool area is watching, it has been almost a minute and a half since the race began.  Everyone is now rooting for the same team, Brianne releases her death grip on the lane line and doggie paddles a little further toward the turnaround, a cheer erupts.  I can sense Brianne’s confidence starting to come back; I walk along the pools edge telling her to kick, and not to give up.  The rest of our team sits at the halfway point chanting her name, screaming for our most valuable teammate. 

She reaches the turnaround and pushes off the wall, the waves from the other swimmers are all gone by now and the only thing between Brianne and the finish line is twenty five long meters.  As Brianne courageously continues her swim along the lane, every so often grabbing the rope to catch her breath, it is in this moment I realize that my twin sister is my hero.  I am not sure if I had been the one in the water struggling, facing my fear, and wanting to quit, that I would have had the determination to finish what I had started.  And although it broke my heart to watch her in that moment of hopelessness, I am glad that not only did I have confidence in her, but that she had enough confidence in herself to know she could finish this race.  Three minutes and thirty seconds later Brianne is exiting the pool, to a cheering crowd, and I am one proud sister.