SwimSwam welcomes reader submissions about all topics aquatic, and if it’s well-written and well-thought, we might just post it under our “Shouts from the Stands” series. We don’t necessarily endorse the content of the Shouts from the Stands posts, and the opinions remain those of their authors. If you have thoughts to share, please send them to [email protected].
This “Shouts from the Stands” submission comes from John Lupton, a longtime year-round and summer league coach in South Carolina.
Last week my wife and I took our boys to see Inside Out 2, Pixar’s animated portrayal of a 13-year-old girl’s mental struggle during hockey camp. In Riley’s outer world, she’s on the cusp of puberty, destined for a new school away from her current friends, and eager to impress at camp so that she makes the high school team. Meanwhile, in her inner world, anxiety helms the control panel, leading her to make a series of desperate choices and inadvertently guiding her towards a newfound belief: “I’m not good enough.”
The film is resonating with people, drawing rave reviews from critics and audiences alike, and it’s racing up the list of the top animated box office hits of all time.
“Do you ever feel like that?” I asked my boys as we drove away from the theater.
“Sometimes,” said Cartter.
“Never,” said Scotty. I’ll concede that Scotty is generally more confident and at ease than his older brother, but even he is not immune to pre-race jitters. “I’m pretty worried,” he said on the way to his first-ever swim meet.
As a preteen and an early teenager, my anxiety would build for weeks leading up to a year-round swim meet. I had perfect attendance and the best work ethic on an elite club team, and I’d collected a laundry list of awards and accolades over the course of my young career. Still, I had very little faith that I would ultimately perform well enough. I lay awake at night dreading that when the time came, I wouldn’t live up to my ability; recognition would go to less deserving swimmers; and I would fall in people’s esteem.
Young athletes are good at focusing on things outside their control – people’s opinions, competitors, the clock. It hurts their performance and worse, their confidence. “What’s your plan?” I asked a group of 10-and-unders at a qualifier meet last weekend.
They all said a variation of the same thing: “To get my state cut!” I failed to convince them that a desired time wasn’t a plan, and they swam poorly, much to their chagrin.
“Look at your lane, and think about what you’re going to do,” I told a group of more experienced athletes four days later. They dove in and executed an effortful race strategy, and some of them went best times. In practice. It’s remarkable how much better we are when we’re focused on what we need to do rather than on awards we want to possess.
It occurs to me, though, that even as we weep for the anxiety-ridden 13-year-old in a cartoon movie, and even as we celebrate top-tier athletes preaching mental health, awards rule the day. When I wrote an opinion piece about the value of sportsmanship vs. prizes, the response was largely negative. I got called a grumpy old man, an irresponsible parent. I was told I’m trying to create a narrative against ribbons, that my tongue-in-cheek comparison of ribbons to heroin was insensitive, and that I need to “Be better.” One person asked if I think we should do away with grades at school too. I assume the irony of telling me I’m no fun and that I need to “let kids be kids” is lost on this humorless bunch.
Kids are natural competitors. They compete on playgrounds all over the world without any help from adults. They do it in swimming pools too. They race. They play sharks and minnows. They make up games. They care about winning and losing and about where they stand in relation to their peers. Adults introduce awards, not kids, and while awards may incentivize some of the behavior we want, they help foster anxiety too.
I understand that for some, the powerful incentive of awards far outweighs what appear to be my overblown (some might say imaginary) concerns about their costs. Personally, I prefer to heed the lessons of the aforementioned children’s movie. Ultimately, it’s embarrassment at her status-seeking behavior that frees 13-year-old Riley from anxiety, and it’s the appreciation of others that brings her joy. This is what I want for my own children, to trade the awful belief that they aren’t good enough unless they win for the joy of doing their best and respecting their peers.
While we watched the Olympic Trials on TV, I directed the boys’ attention to what happened at the end of every race: “Do you see what they’re doing?” I said.
“Uh huh,” they answered quietly, watching the most elite swimmers on the planet glide over lane lines to talk with their opponents and shake hands. It didn’t matter who won spots on the team and who didn’t: Everyone shared respect.
My boys went on to win four ribbons at our team’s final summer league meet the next week. Of course, they were happy about it. It meant that they were part of the club, the haves instead of the have-nots; they had not lost out on the status and rank that is inherent to competition and that adult organizers reinforce. I too was glad they didn’t get shut out. I won’t deny my kids their awards, even though I think they’re a cheap, exploitative means to a questionable end. (Is it about teaching them to swim and compete or validating the adults in their camp?) Thankfully, though, the night brought greater victories than just ribbons. As the sun set for the final time this dual meet season, the boys stood at the end of a lane in the late afternoon light, cheering their hearts out as they watched their friend race, sharing in his joy when he won. If we as parents and coaches can get kids to respect each other’s efforts, then we’ve accomplished something, but if we think that handing out ribbons is the same thing as letting kids be kids, well, maybe we need to “Be better.”
ABOUT JOHN LUPTON
John is a longtime year-round and summer league coach and the winner of many awards, all of which pale in comparison to his respect for the sincere efforts of young swimmers everywhere.