Chapter 1: The Weight of Memories

For many years, the scent of chlorine in indoor pools would send me spiraling into a whirlwind of anxiety. It felt like a swarm of butterflies performing a chaotic dance in my stomach, and my heart raced as if I were running a marathon without moving an inch. This overwhelming sensation transported me back to the tragic memory of my childhood friend Joe, who tragically drowned at just 12 years old. I was only 10 then, harboring a secret crush on him, and I cherished the sweet way he would greet me in our neighborhood. Joe was a kind-hearted soul, and his loss left a profound mark on my life.

The portrayal of young Black boys from inner-city neighborhoods by the media often painted them as troublemakers, overshadowing the innocence they shared with children of any race. Joe's image, with his bright brown eyes and joyful smile, would resurface in my mind, especially when the pungent smell of pool chlorine filled the air.

The scent would inevitably remind me of that fateful day when Joe drowned. Although I wasn't present during his tragic accident, my imagination ran wild, recreating the scene and wondering about his last moments. I often reflected on whether I could have changed the course of events if I had expressed my admiration for him. Would he have still ventured into that pool if I had told him how much he meant to me?

The haunting image of Joe, a beautiful young Black boy struggling for help in a pool, would linger in my thoughts.

As I entered my senior year of high school, a new chapter awaited me: college. However, there was a hurdle to overcome first—a mandatory swimming class. My high school, a melting pot of Black students from various backgrounds, mandated swimming lessons, emphasizing the importance of this essential life skill.

According to the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, approximately 4,000 accidental drowning fatalities occur annually in the U.S., with Black children facing drowning rates nearly eight times higher than their white counterparts. This alarming statistic is a legacy of systemic racism, which historically barred Black families from accessing public swimming facilities.

Despite understanding the necessity of learning to swim, I procrastinated, delaying the class until my senior year. Fear loomed larger than my desire to acquire this life-saving skill. On the first day of class, as I arrived at the YMCA, my body shook with trepidation. At 17, I had never submerged myself in a pool, having only dipped my toes in the water.

My initial attempts at swimming were fraught with panic attacks and anxiety. I often found myself paralyzed with fear, unable to join my classmates in the shallow end. On one occasion, I mistakenly latched onto a classmate's leg in a frantic effort to save myself, mirroring Joe's desperation.

After numerous motivational talks from my instructor, I barely passed the class, leaving the pool each time feeling physically ill. Despite completing the course, my aversion to swimming persisted for the next 15 years.

Then, in 2013, the story of Morgan Jade Lake caught my attention. The 22-year-old African-American woman survived a harrowing accident when her car plunged off a bridge into the Chesapeake Bay. Remarkably, she managed to escape her submerged vehicle and swim to safety, sharing later how she found calm amidst chaos through prayer.

In that moment, I questioned whether I could withstand such a crisis. My faith in God was strong, but I realized I needed to take action to ensure I could survive a similar ordeal. If Morgan could triumph over adversity, so could I. But how could I face drowning if I didn't know how to swim?

Globally, drowning claims around 320,000 lives each year, making it a leading cause of accidental death. Alarmingly, only one-third of women worldwide are capable swimmers, with two-thirds unable to swim unassisted. In contrast, men are more likely to drown due to riskier behaviors around water.

After learning about Morgan's incredible survival, I resolved to confront my fear of water. Shortly after, I received an email about a women-only indoor sprint triathlon scheduled for August. Without hesitation, I registered, committing myself to the challenge.

With five months to prepare, I was determined to learn to swim, reflecting on my long-standing aspiration to conquer this fear. I began speaking to Joe, expressing my admiration and my intention to complete the triathlon in his honor, even if I was still an inexperienced swimmer.

Chapter 2: Embracing the Challenge

In the weeks leading up to the triathlon, I began to chip away at my fear. Each practice session brought new challenges, but I started to replace my negative thoughts with affirmations. "I can swim. I am swimming. This is for you, Joe," I would repeat to myself, gaining confidence as I honed my skills.

The day of the triathlon arrived, and while nerves bubbled up, I felt a sense of strength and determination. As the swim portion began, I stood among experienced competitors, ready to face my fears. I was no longer racing against the clock or other participants; I was swimming for myself, for Joe, and for all the women who had faced similar fears.

As I navigated through the laps, I noticed a fellow competitor struggling behind me. I encouraged her with shouts of support, feeling empowered as I cheered her on. Upon completing my swim, I realized that I was not just participating in a race but embracing the profound journey of overcoming my deepest fears.

The cycling and running portions of the triathlon proved challenging, yet with each stride and pedal stroke, I felt a growing sense of accomplishment. The rain poured down, mingling with my tears of joy as I crossed the finish line, overwhelmed by the magnitude of my achievement.

In that moment, I recognized that swimming, once a source of fear, had transformed into my greatest victory. I raised my face to the sky, whispering, "We did it, Joe."

Chapter 3: Turning Fear into Fuel

My daughter, unlike me, exhibits a natural confidence in water. I am dedicated to nurturing her abilities, ensuring she continues to thrive where I once faltered. Even ten years after my first triathlon, I remain committed to learning and growing in the water.

The stories of Morgan and Joe serve as powerful reminders of the importance of swimming skills. Whether through formal lessons or spontaneous challenges, knowing how to swim can be a life-saving skill.

Reflecting on my journey, I am still amazed that I conquered my fear. The once-impossible task of swimming in a triathlon is now a testament to the incredible capacity we all have to turn fears into triumphs.

For more inspiring stories of overcoming fear and adversity, stay tuned. Do you have a story that highlights the strength of women or marginalized groups?