Of Quitting

It’s been exactly six months, twelve days, three hours, and forty-five minutes since I quit club swim. And though I sometimes wonder what would have been different if I hadn’t, I don’t regret it. Quitting is such a derogatory term. It’s always associated with the bad. It makes you think of someone who is giving up. But sometimes, there’s just no other choice.

As this school year began, I found myself swamped with a huge workload and new responsibilities. There was just no way I could balance all this with a three-hour swim practice every day. I tried to do this for the first three months of the school year, but it just wasn’t working. I couldn’t focus my efforts on one thing, so in result, I began slipping in everything. My swim times were getting slower and slower, and I couldn’t devote the time to being an editor for the newspaper, or even being a good daughter to my parents.

Once I realized that this wasn’t going to work, I realized that I had to give something up. I had done club swim for six years and had a couple really good friends on the swim team. Quitting was certainly difficult, since I knew I wasn’t going back. Once I had opened up that three-hour block of time in my schedule, I felt so much better. No longer was I bound by the commitment to come to practice each day even if it meant I had to miss other things. No longer was I physically exhausted every day.

Without swim in my schedule, I was able to explore so many other things rather than fixate on something I wasn’t getting better at. Of course, I continued to participate in high school swim in the spring, because I didn’t want to drop it all completely. Though difficult, quitting is sometimes the right thing to do.


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