Coach C

I was fortunate that early on my doctors told my parents that swimming would be the best exercise for my muscle disease. I believe that is a big part of why I am still walking as much as I do. It is still a staple in my life to this day.

When I was in elementary school, I joined the Noblesville Swim Club. Many of my friends were swimmers, and it was something my parents thought could be a good fit for me. The fact that my friends were there made that true.

Living with a physical disability, there are a lot of real-time realizations that happen in the moment – a moment when I realize something isn’t going to work out for me, physically speaking. That was hard as a child and is still tough now. Often, these realizations happen when I am surrounded by others, but I feel like if I voiced what was happening, no one would understand.

It seemed like I was swimming just as hard as the other swimmers, but I was swimming in place compared to them. I swam as hard as I possibly could, but I was always way behind because my muscles were not the same as the other kids. That was frustrating and embarrassing to me. Yet, I kept going, kept showing up for the early morning practices, dreading getting in the icy cold water not yet heated by the summer sun.

A big part of what kept me going was my friends. There was also another huge reason that kept me going back and kept me believing that I belonged there, too.

Coach C is another one of my life’s heroes. It didn’t matter if it was a practice or a meet, I could always count on her to walk on the pool deck beside me as I swam. She would yell, “Kick kick kick, come on Amy, you are doing great!” She coached me as if I was the best swimmer on the team. She gave me advice, critiquing me as she did everyone else. She showed me that I, too, had value.

At the end of the year banquet, she called my name as I sat in the crowd, assuming I would not be getting an award, as I did not have any great swimming accomplishments. She presented me with the mental attitude award. At eight years old, that award didn’t hold as much meaning as it does to me today. After going up to receive it, I sat back down, silently tucking it away. At the time, I felt embarrassed of that award because I felt it was given to me out of pity. Now, I understand that is not true. Today, I see the little girl who didn’t give up … who showed up and participated. I was supported by some amazing friends and one heck of a coach, even though I was the slowest swimmer on the team.

It reminds me of watching countless cross country meets my boys have run in. There is usually one runner who is very far behind and comes in several minutes later than the other finishers. It never fails: the crowds form and cheer that person on as if they were about to win the race. I always think to myself … I know that kind of courage, the kind where you keep going when everyone else has left you behind. That kind of courage creates warriors who refuse to give up. Just as the winner of the race has a unique perspective, so does the person who comes in last. Learning very different lessons, each life shaping in their own ways. Each engulfed in the pressure to finish with many eyes watching.

If you are reading this and you happen to be a coach, remember that even if you are not getting the same performative results from the “worst” kid on the team, your investment in them likely means the world to them. Your encouragement may help them soar in other areas of their lives because you chose to invest in and believe in them, too.

Until next time …

Amy Shinneman is a former National Ambassador for the Muscular Dystrophy Association, disability blogger, wife, and mom of two boys. You can find her blog at humblycourageous.com and reach her on Instagram @ashinneman.