I wish I knew what it felt like to stop breathing. I drowned once. This is the story.

It was well into the month of July, the summer after my junior year of high

school. I had just returned home after a two-week holiday in Kentucky (where my

mothers side of the family lives). Two weeks was too much of a break for me. I was 3

months away from my last State Finals Competition for swimming and that just put me

36 miles behind in my training. On average, I was swimming three miles per day, six

days per week. Keeping up with the big dogs took a lot of work, especially since I had

only started swimming competitively at the beginning of my sophomore year and I was

competing against the demi-gods of Poseidon himself, swimmers that had been training

since they emerged from their mothers womb. The year-round training was more than

necessary for me. Our team had two weeks off for Christmas but other than that, we were

expected to be at practice everyday. Careening though the water in our skimpy lycra

speedos on the coldest evenings of January were the worst but it was almost just as

terrible in July when the hundred degree weather turned the pool into a bowl of soup.

That particular July day though it had only reached a comfortable ninety-two

degrees. I was very antsy to get back into the water as I power walked across the pool

deck, tossing my bag onto one of those deck chairs with the plastic straps across them

that I always manage to fall through when I sit down. No sitting for me today. I stepped

up to the ledge of the pool, adjusting my goggles, running through my usual warm-up in

my head. I would start with a 500-meter freestyle then progress into a 200-meter kick,

with the obnoxiously orange kickboard. After that, I would do a 200-meter individual

medley composed of a 50-meter butterfly, backstroke, breaststroke, and freestyle. Then I

would finish it off with six 50-meter freestyle sprints on the minute build, which meant I

had to swim each one faster than the previous. Then I would be done with my warm-up. I

could move on to a more intense work set. But first I needed to get in the pool.

It was strange that my coach wasn’t there that particular July day. He never

missed a practice. An old swimmer friend of mine that had graduated from a nearby

private school earlier that year was filling in for him. I waved to him before diving into

the uncomfortably warm water. I intended on catching up with him after practice. He had

been diagnosed with skin cancer a couple years back and was past the worst stages but he

was still undergoing treatments in Orlando. I felt terrible for him. It’s dreadful enough

that so many people are genetically prone to cancers but to be diagnosed with it at only

sixteen years of age and having to battle that sickness through what are supposed to be

the best years of your life…I couldn’t even begin to imagine. Yeah I really did have an

immeasurable amount of respect for him. He was a three-time state finalist in the 100-

yard backstroke, which is a phenomenal accomplishment. Backstroke was the one stroke

I could never perfect. My coach insisted on my swimming it multiple times my

sophomore year. You would think it would come to me as easy as the other strokes

because of my lengthy features and slimly built physique but I have this thing with my

shoulders. My shoulders do not work like most peoples except maybe those extremely

talented performers at Cirque de Soliel. It was not a problem that needed fixing and

eventually through a lot of shoulder strengthening exercises, I will probably lose this

talent, this ability to unhinge my humorous from the sockets in my shoulders. But at the

time, my ability was not allowing for a full rotation of my torso on the down-pull of each

stroke. I ended up focusing all my effort on butterfly and freestyle and shying away from

backstroke completely.

Twenty minutes later and I was coming in on my last 50-meter freestyle. It felt so

good to be back in the pool and I could feel the blood pumping through every vein, every

artery, every capillary. The heart is a tremendous muscle, working harder than any other,

it is the metronome to my offbeat life. The dopamine levels in my brain were already

elevated, fueling the swimmers high (similar to a runners high but with the added effect

of chlorine gases evaporating from the pool which definitely killed a few brain cells) that

I craved endlessly.

“Alright guys. Work set, then a challenge, then water polo if you’re lucky.”

“Woo!” I had wanted to play some polo for a while now. We all had. It was more

of a special, one time only, off-season treat, something we would never get to do while

Coach Fred was there and definitely not while Coach Steve was there. Coach Steve was

an extremely hardened coach, but you would be too if your son was Ryan Lochte, the one

swimmer who beat out Michael Phelps in the FINA 2009 World Championships

following Michael’s impressive 8 gold medals at the previous Olympic Games.

Our work set that day consisted of the infamous Death Set, we called it. It is

pretty simple and very common among my last two years because it was so helpful in

training for the 100 freestyle sprint. The Death Set was composed of ten 100-meter

freestyles on a time interval of one minute and twenty seconds alternating with ten 50-

meter freestyles on a time interval of 50 seconds. The time intervals varied occasionally

but this particular day, that was what they were. On paper, the set seemed so simple but

in the pool, we would have to keep a fast pace for every lap so we wouldn’t miss the next

interval.

On the 60. Go.

Those thirty minutes or so went by the fastest. There was little time for breathing

and only the slightest chance for rest after each 50 while waiting for the clock to start us

on the next 100. That clock, though, was a monster, sucking away time itself, mocking us

every time our pace slowed, leaving us less and less rest. Then it was over almost as fast

as it had begun.

A few of my teammates drug themselves from the water, stumbling across the

pool deck towards the water fountain in attempt to re-hydrate with a few chugs of water.

Fools. They were only going to cramp up. I couldn’t afford cramps, especially for water

polo. This was serious business ya know. I would end up as a team captain and David

(the one swimmer faster than me) the other. We would pick our teams and for the most

part we would both end up carrying our own teams. The girls would not get into the game

as much as we would. We men were natural competitors and the time had come for us to

duke it out over one game of water polo.

Oh! But first the challenge. This challenge would decide our fate for the

remaining practice time. Complete the challenge and water polo it was. Failure would

only lead to another set far worse than the Death Set.

“Jacob. Swim a full 50 meters underwater without breaking the surface to

breathe.”

“Really? That’s it? I do this, and we play polo?”

“Correct.”

“Hahaha, okay.”

I slipped my goggles back on. I felt sufficiently recovered after the Death Set and

was not the least bit worried. We could have considered ourselves lucky that I was

chosen to do this because no one else but David would have made it. Granted I was a tad

cocky. I had just beasted through a wicked work set and that swimmers high had gotten

to me a little.

I took one deep breath before I plunged underwater and immediately launched

myself off the wall. No time to waste. The initial push off the wall is ever so vital as well.

I used ever ounce of muscle in my legs to explode off of the side of the pool. I kept my

arms stretched as far forward as possible, one hand on top of the other, face down, biceps

pressed to my ears. My legs straight and feet together only for the initial burst. The

second I began to lose momentum I loosened my legs and undulated my entire body three

times, releasing three powerful dolphin kicks. These kicks put me easily half way across

the pool, one quarter of the entire fifty meters.

To conserve my

energy from that point on,

I relaxed my body a little,

staying streamlined but

not as tight, letting out a

quick kick to keep myself

going. I let my mind wander a little. I felt like if I concentrated too hard on how much

oxygen I had left, I would just panic and run out before I got back to the wall.

I stared down at the bottom of the pool. It was disgusting. It was always

disgusting. Clumps of hair, hair ties, dirt, the assorted dead bugs and frogs. It was

disgusting. As a senior lifeguard at the Y, I also monitored the chemical contents of the

pool with the utmost care. I knew how many people swam in that pool each day and

statistically, more than one of them took a piss in the very pool I was swimming in each

day. It was comforting to know that the Aquatic Director and I both kept the chlorine

content high and the acidity ever so neutral.

Halfway there. I gracefully changed direction at the opposite end of the pool and

launched myself off the wall yet again, this time with slightly less force and slightly less

powerful dolphin kicks. Only one third of the way to go. I could feel my lungs

completely empty themselves of the last of my air supply. I glanced up at my finish line,

that white wall at the end of the lane, that one game of water polo that my whole team

would get to play. It was only 10 seconds away. Almost there. I turned my mind away

from my empty lungs. I focused every thought on what seemed like every molecule of

water rolling down my immaculately hairless body, kissing every nerve ending on the

surface of my epidermis. It was comforting.

I do not recall what happened next but from my spectators’ view, it went a little

like this:

About 4 meters from the wall, my body went limp and just drifted to the wall. It

began to spasm a few times then it was still, just lying there at the bottom of the pool up

against the wall. I had done it. I made it all the way. I didn’t know it, but I had completed

the challenge set before me. Everyone just stared, waiting for me to breach the surface

with the swagger of Aquaman. Then they started think to themselves, maybe he wasn’t

joking around, just maybe someone should pull him up now.

My limp, lifeless body rolled over revealing a cold blue face, starved of oxygen.

“Uhhh, guys, I don’t think he is okay.” The words came out of Ben’s mouth with

such insecurity. He was one of the rookie high school swimmers and not the smartest of

the bunch but he was right about this one.

Steven quickly plunged into the water and pulled me to the surface, holding me

against the wall as he clambered out of the pool, then pulling me out right behind him

onto the deck. The lifeguard on duty shot up to his feet, excited by the commotion and

full of adrenaline, yet frozen in the moment, stricken with panic. I was sprawled across

the deck on my back. After searching frantically for a pulse, Steven began a series of

violent chest compressions, fighting to return life back to that one muscle in my chest,

that one single muscle that gave life to this body.

After about 30 seconds of chest compressions, my eyes shot open and I felt water

charge up my brachial tubes and out of my mouth. Steven rolled me over onto my side so

that I wouldn’t asphyxiate on the water and blood that I was coughing up all over the

pool deck.

The sun was so bright.

I sat up and looked around at everyone. They all stared back at me, jaws clenched

nervously, eyes wide with fright. I was confused. And the sun was bright. I looked down

at the deck at the small puddle of blood and water and grimaced. The first thought that

popped in my mind was trivial at most. That needs to be sterilized ASAP. Where are the

lifeguards? Ugh, now I have to fill out paperwork and an accident report, or maybe an

incident report? I never could figure out the difference between the two. I needed a few

seconds to collect my thoughts, process the event that just transpired.

Okay, I had just drowned. No big deal.

Everyone just stood there, still worried that I would just stop breathing and keel

over. I felt bad for scaring them but I felt fine. More than fine. I was ready to play water

polo! Then my eyes locked onto Steven’s. I saw more fear in his eyes than I have seen in

anyone else’s before that day. I could only glimpse into his thoughts. The one and only

day he comes in, the one day he was in charge, the one day someone drowns, someone he

was supposed to look after, his responsibility, As far as I knew, I was the first person to

actually drown at the DeLand YMCA. I felt like the only thing I could do was to take the

situation as lightly as possible as to ease his nerves. I stood up slowly and sighed.

I don't remember much after that except that I wasn’t allowed to play water polo

that day.