Ready or Not

 Ready or not here it comes.

I've been putting this post off for a week now and I think it's time I face it.  A week ago, I tried for the final time to make Olympic Trials and I missed it.  It's a hard pill to swallow- accepting that it's over.  But what's harder is the balance between being grateful for your supportive friends and family and being able to express your emotions.  And there are a lot of them.  There's the first and most obvious emotion which is raw and painful disappointment.  Within that one glance at the board that reads your times, you see your entire swimming career before your eyes.  In that one moment you understand what it means to fail at something that you've put your entire heart into.

In that next moment, you feel a sense of pride.  Not because you've made it, but because you've tried.  You've put everything into the sport that you could put in.  You've missed countless high school dances, 90% of college parties, school clubs, spring breaks.  But in the end, even though it doesn't feel like you have anything to show for it, you do.  You have the memories of your college teammates rallying behind you, screaming at every turn.  You have complete strangers that have become family, sober bus rides that feel just as fun as drunken studies overseas that you only saw on Facebook (well, you convince yourself that they were just as fun).  But most of all, you have a new confidence in yourself.  You know you've done something others haven't.  You've had the courage to do what others won't.  What others can't.
                 

Above and Below: Just a few of the "strangers" who have become family because of swimming

This year, I put myself out there entirely.  They say that love is a terrifying thing because you make yourself vulnerable to another person.  Whoever says this has never competed in swimming; the cruelest love out there.    

At least when you put your faith in to another human, you can have rational, reasonable discussions.  You can sit down and make your case.  Swimming is indifferent towards your feelings.  It feels no remorse for leaving you in the dust.  It feels no obligation to love you, the way you love it.

But the emotion I did not expect to feel came tonight; the first night of Olympic Trials.  As a seven-year old, my parents took us on a vacation.  Not to Europe or the Bahamas, but to somewhere we cared about even more: the 1996 swimming Olympic Trials in Indianapolis, Indiana.  For my swimming family, there was nothing better.  I vowed then, just as I vowed at the 2008 trials that one day I would be at that meet.  One day, I would swim with the best of the best.

Playing around with a friend at the last Olympic Trials

So tonight came denial.  An emotion that blindsided me completely.  For the last week, I realize, I've been in complete and utter denial.  Towards the end of my swimming career, towards missing trials.  I've winced every time I've seen a status on Facebook with someone heading to Omaha.  It's felt like a knife every time someone posts a picture of them in front of the pool.  But still, denial took over.  If I didn't think about it, trials would not happen.  I could continue in the world of complete ignorance.  Until tonight, when everything came to a head.  I wasn't meant to watch them from my home TV.  I was supposed to be watching them from the pool deck, soaking in the feeling that I'd succeeded in accomplishing the highest goal I'd ever put on myself.

And as I write this, I understand I'm entering towards the grief stage.  Which is okay.  When you've put so much in to one single goal, one should expect to feel these things.  My boyfriend encourages me to feel all the emotions coming my way and embrace them.  To not shy away from a single one of them.  And that's what I intend to do.

But I made a promise.  Not only to myself, but to the sport I love.  In four more years I'll have just turned twenty-seven.  And I intend to stand on that pool deck, looking at the thousands of fans, watching with awe the talent sprawled before me and knowing with absolute certainty, in that moment, that I had not given up.  That it had all been worth it.

The moment I took this picture, was the moment I knew I'd dedicate the next four years to reach my dream.

I made a promise.  And I intend to keep it.  See you in 2016, Omaha.

New Haven? No Haven.

I mean no disrespect.  Really, I don't.  But come on New Haven, get yourself together.

For the past 8 months I've had the opportunity to live in this gloriously, inglorious city.  Don't get me wrong, the city has it's attractions.  Of course, New Haven houses the illustrious Yale University, sprinkling the city with many privileged, interesting (well, some of them) and intelligent people.  I've met some incredible people who live in this city.  I've found restaurants that are gems and little breakfast nooks that words will never do justice.

But this story is not about them.  It's about the other side of New Haven, Connecticut.  I'm not an overly privileged child.  I have no trust fund or wealthy grandparent.  I've worked since I was 15 and I take pride in working.  My parents are hardworking people who would rather do something themselves than pay someone to do it for them.  They've instilled this quality in their children.  But sometimes, you have to make sacrifices.  This year I had to swallow my pride and let them take care of me.  There is NOTHING, I repeat NOTHING, that makes me more uncomfortable than asking people for money.  I may hate working, but I hate begging for money even more.

http://30.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m1xvu34xxs1rr6gnqo1_500.gif

Because my parents were supporting me this year, I learned to do without in some cases.  They would never have wanted me to do this, but I'd rather eat everything in my house (I mean everything) than go grocery shopping (and have to ask for money) before I needed to.  I also learned to cherish things that I already owned.

One of the especially important pieces in my possession is my 22-year old, white, Honda accord.  Her name is Theodora.  When people ask why I named her that, I just look at them perplexed and say, "She's just a Theodora".  And she is fantastic.  She has automatic seat belts, red-velvet cupcake colored upholstery and gets me where I need to go (well, 90% of the time).  In addition to being a fantastic car, Theodora holds years of memories that are precious to me.  Before she was my prized possession, she belonged to the wonderful Grandma Gibson.  I went on countless rides with her as a child, adoring not only my grandmother, but also the tiny rubber leprechaun that hung from the mirror in her car.  The leprechaun was supposed to bring good luck while riding in the car (she also kept a small charm of St. Christopher, the patron saint of travelers, in her glove compartment just in case religion trumped the tiny leprechaun).

Theodora in all her beautiful glory

Man, do I wish she had given me either the St. Christopher medal or the leprechaun when she gave me the car.  Maybe if she had, I would have had better luck.  Maybe if one of those little guys was resting in my gem of a car at night I wouldn't have come out to find Theodora gone.

That's right.  Theodora was stolen from right outside of my apartment.  One February morning as I walked out for morning practice, a little before 7 am, I found an empty spot where I'd parked my car the previous night.  At first there was no panic, only confusion.  I thought, "Okay, it's early.  Maybe you didn't park there.  Maybe that's where you parked yesterday".  After looking all up and down the street, not seeing my car, finally getting my bearings after only being awake for about 10 minutes, I realized my car had probably been towed.  Yes, that's what had happened.  New Haven may not be known for minimizing crime, but they were definitely good at two things: giving parking tickets and towing cars.

Only there was one problem.  I hadn't parked illegally at all.  Now, I was truly confused by this point.  Let me backtrack a bit.  I'm from Bethesda, Maryland where salaries are high and crime is low.  It did not even OCCUR to me that my car could have been stolen.  But after calling the New Haven police, finding out if my car was in the system as being towed, finding out that it wasn't, I sat numbed in my room.  Welcome to New Haven, huh?

For the next week and a half, I had to rely on my coaches (as I said relying on people is just the cherry on my sundae) to drive me to and from practices.  When they couldn't drive me, I took New Haven's public transportation.  Because I wasn't familiar with the bus trips, sometimes I left an hour before practice even started (even though the pool was only 1.5 miles away).  But my all-time favorite moment came after a grueling two hour swim practice.  Once I went to the bus station, I realized quickly that the weekend schedule was different than the weekday schedule I'd gotten used to.  Instead of calling someone to pick me up and take me home, I swallowed my pride and decided it would be fine to walk home.  One and a half miles was nothing.  I was, after all, not only a Division I athlete, I was in great shape and ready to take on the world this year.

How wrong can one person be?  Not only was this trip longer than I thought, it was also freezing outside.  I had not been prepared for the February, Connecticut cold.  I had not worn a hat, I had no gloves and as I walked I could feel my wet hair turning into ice.  Just as I walked, cursing the life of the person who stole my car, it started to snow.  If anyone saw me walking home that morning, I'm sure they would swear I was homeless and crazy as I stumbled, mumbling to myself the whole mile and a half.  Once I got home and thawed my fingers I wrote on my Facebook:

     Dear Asshole who stole my car three nights ago,

     I just walked 1.5 miles in the snow/rain after a Saturday am practice. You are the coolest 
     person in the world for being so lazy that you had to steal from someone instead of going 
     out and getting a real job. I hope you live a long and wonderful and happy life.
        Love,
       Carly


A work of pure Shakespeare if you ask me.  But that was the lowest point in the saga of Losing Theodora.  A week later, as my parents drove to Connecticut to selflessly loan me our family Prius, the New Haven police called to tell us they'd found, the one and only, Theodora!  A new Porsche wouldn't have made me as happy in that moment as finding Theodora.  Little did I know, that the special people who decided to steal my car had also decided to burn out all four of my new tires.  They had also decided that dropping my car off downtown seemed like a good idea.  And why not?  They didn't have to pay the $100 for towing.  Neither did the city. All in all, it cost my parents about $600 to get Theodora back to "new".  


I still think about certain things from that incident.  For instance, how cool are you when you steal someone's 1990 Honda accord (a gift from their 90 year old grandmother)?  Even cooler was that the seat was all the way back, suggesting the person really wanted to look awesome, riding like a rapper, seat back hand on the wheel (1990 Honda accord, remember).  They didn't steal my Ray Bans in my front seat, but they sure did steal my Tide in the back seat.  Hey, Tide's expensive.  They didn't steal the gold necklace my boyfriend gave me for my 22nd birthday, but why not steal the tape deck from Wal-Mart that was $5.  We are not talking about smart people here, let's face those facts right now.


I think about the days when Theodora was out there, all alone.  Was she cold?  Did she miss me?  I know I'm crazy, but I tend to feel bad for inanimate objects.  I don't want to let go of my baby blanket (a mere rag at this point) because I feel like I would be betraying her.  I never claimed to be normal, so don't judge me.  But most of all I think about the anger that rose in me as Theodora was gone.  I felt so violated.  As I walked home in the snow/slush I imagined what I'd do to the people who stole my car if I ever met them.  I pictured myself making them sit in a chair and explaining how poor I was and how much of an inconvenience they'd created for me.  I pictured guilting them in to apologizing to me.   Telling them the sob story of how my elderly grandmother had so selflessly given me her car and how they had corrupted the pure memories of me riding in that same car as a child.  


But I soon realized, I needed to give up my anger, understand I was lucky the car had even been returned to me and move on.  I would never meet the people who stole my car.  Even if I walked passed them on the street, they would not know me and I would not know them.  I realized, they would never feel remorse for committing the crime.  They didn't care that they'd robbed someone of $600, as well as inconvenience them.


I can only hope that my gallon of Tide, my tape deck, my phone charger and the tire jack (bought before I moved up to New Haven by my super-safe father that was not even opened) have served them well.  I only hope as they recall stealing a 22 year-old car of a grandmother, peeling out with their hand  high on the steering wheel, driver's seat almost fulling reclined, they look back upon it with joy in their hearts.  Because that's all that really matters, right?  


So in closing, I will say two things.  The first: good riddance New Haven, I shall not miss you.  And the second: whoever you are, wherever you are, you will always go down in my book at the coolest-grandma car-stealing-seat reclining-Tide using- thief I know!

Last One, Fast One

This may get emotional, but let's hope it doesn't.  I'm coming to a point in my swimming career that I thought would never come: the end.  In two days I may be swimming in the last meet of my career.  Of course, there will always be Masters swim meets (teams for the crazies like me who choose to keep swimming after college).  But it will never be the same again.  And I've finally figured out that that's okay.

Proud of my win at the Bunkey Lewis Meet at age 10

On Saturday morning I'll step on to the block in Richmond with the hopes of making my Olympic Trials cut.  With my time being a 1:02.20 and the time for Trials being a 1:01.99 I know I'm close.  I also know that if everything goes right I can make the cut.  It's everything I've worked towards for my whole life.   It's what has propelled me forward all year, even after the "Oh you almost had it" and the "Man I thought you were going to get it" comments that all came from the most supportive places and the most supportive people in my life.  The cut is what has forced me for the last year to dive into the water early in the morning and come back later that night to swim again, while my friends figuratively hung their suits and goggles up for good.

My fortune tonight!  Hopefully it is foreshadowing!

But it's more than that.  It's more than joining both my brother and my mother as Olympic Trial qualifiers (Chris in 2008 and my mother in 1972).  It's the love I still have for the sport.  It's the respect I have for the water and the feeling you get after a practice that kicks your butt.  On Saturday I hope I can get up on the block knowing I still have the love for the sport that I had when I joined my club team, Curl-Burke, when I was only six years old.  I hope I can channel that little girl and realize, win or lose, it's been quite a ride.  Swimming has provided a life-long need to exercise.  It's provided me with a competitive drive and an intense work ethic. It's given me some of my best friends and allowed me to travel to places like Australia, Luxembourg, Germany and Iceland.

Check out that dive!

My Mother: The Bathing Beauty

I don't remember learning how to swim.  I don't remember fearing the water.  I do remember my mom giving swim lessons and being the jerk that I am, I remember pulling the children's feet under the water.  I'm sure they were terrified and I was probably younger than them which only added insult to injury.  But what I remember most is the first race I ever competed in.  I was probably four or five and I was super excited that I would be joining my brothers as a big kid swimmer.  Finally I was old enough to compete in a meet.  I'm sure I was overly confident and fearless as all little kids are before they learn better.  This particular meet was called "The Guppy Meet" and when I dove in I felt great.  But once I took that breath (I was super proud I could side breath) I saw everyone yelling at me.  In reality, they were cheering, but to a little kid it doesn't look that way from the water.  I panicked.  I mean I really panicked and I was not the type of kid you wanted panicking in the water.  I had this bad habit of passing out every time I cried when I was little.  Don't ask me why.  It wasn't for attention, I think I just got a little too worked up and stopped breathing.  Seeing that I had stopped swimming, was clutching the lane line for dear life and was crying (probably perilously close to passing out) my mom ran from across the pool in her all-white outfit (that's love) and dove into the water to save me.

It wasn't exactly the defining moment of my swimming career, but hey, I finished the race.  And I was proud of myself.  Even though I didn't win the race (not even close) I hadn't given up either.  At five years old, I learned a lifelong lesson that serves me well today: Don't give up.  No matter how scary or hard things seem, dealing with the regrets of not trying are both harder and scarier.

Via Pinterest

Being two days away from my last chance at making the 2012 Olympic Trials, I just want to thank everyone that has helped me get here and everyone that has supported me along the way.  I would have quit years ago if it weren't for the people who have believed I can achieve my goals (both in and out of the water).  Thanks guys and I love you!

Here's to making the cut and enjoying the process!

My brother (Chris) and me at 2010 Swimming Nationals in Irvine, CA

Welcome!

 In "From Barbies to Bills" I hope to explore the beautiful, if not painful experiences that a post-graduate experiences in the year (or years) after college.  I really should have started on this blog a year ago.  The therapeutic benefits from writing about the painful transition of a Division I pampered, college athlete to the harsh reality of becoming an "adult" would have served me well throughout the year.  But better late than never, right?

 It seems like only a moment ago that I was obsessing over Barbies.  Obsession isn't even a fair word for what I felt towards Barbies. Truthfully, I was out of my mind consumed with the plastic, anatomically incorrect dolls.  So much so, that when I was little my dad would try to convey his parental lessons with them.  Phrases such as "I never want to date" or "Boys are gross" or "One day, I hope to join a convent" were commonly heard in a mock-girly voice from my "man's man" of a father.
With what seems like the snap of a finger I went from a carefree child, completely oblivious to monetary value, to the owner of a variety of different bills (and not the good kind).  I went from obsessing over the miniature dolls to obsessing over how I would pay any one of my bills.

Above: Me at 2 years-old wishing I was a "grome up" (which is how we said "grown-up in our house)

Money is a concern for any recent college graduate.  However, I added a little twist to the usual scenario.  I decided to put off getting a job for a year and pursue my dreams.  One of which was traveling to an orphanage in Romania last August.  The other dream was pursuing my goal of making the Olympic Trials time in the 100 butterfly.  In contrast to what I've always known, this time swimming would not pay.   Every other step in my life came with a benefit from swimming.  While in high school, I knew I'd be able to get into schools with help from my swimming.  While in college, I wasn't drowning in debts I couldn't afford because of my swimming scholarship.  But this year, it was different.  Suddenly, I had to figure out how to eat healthier, yet cheaper.  I had to figure out how to swim 9 times a week in an unknown city where I knew no one.  In other words, it was time to grow up.

Hopefully through my "From Barbies to Bills" blog I can convey the joys and consequences of following your dreams and the pros and cons of growing up in an age where advancement takes precedence over following ones dreams.

Enjoy!