What goes on at a swim meet is truly miraculous. While there may be hundreds of swimmers at a given meet, there are only a dozen or two meet officials. Who are these people, and why do they matter? Many meet officials began their journey as the proud parents of a swimmer or two within their family.

It makes a lot of sense for them, seeing as they have to go to swim meets already. These stroke and turn officials first have to learn all the rules of the US Swimming organization which will cover starts, turns, and finishes. Many a time these parents find themselves in the uncomfortable spot of disqualifying their own child as they watch him or her swim. As a former swimmer I can still remember the dread and heart dropping feeling when I saw an official raise that one ominous hand, a sure sign that someone did something illegal. As a direct recipient of the yellow slip, I remember the overwhelming sadness as I would finish a race that I felt was great, only to climb out of the water and see an official waiting by the starting block, holding out in his or her hand the little yellow slip of paper. A feeling of numbness would wash over me as the official would explain what I did wrong. Friends would try to comfort me, telling me how it was still a good race and that I got a good time. My coach would roll his eyes and say that the official was on the opposing swim team and was out to get me, being the faster swimmer. But how did this all begin? How did I become the swimmer I was, and how was I so naturally talented? Well, let’s find out.

How I got my feet wet

Swimming for me began after I had my first asthma attack at 10 years old. It was a remarkably strong attack, as I found myself mostly unable to breath. In this instance it was more than slight wheezing. Air was simply not entering my lungs in a capacity to keep me functioning for long. My mom quickly rushed me to ER at South San Francisco’s Kaiser where they attempted to force me to inhale Ventolin. The wheezing got bad enough that I wasn’t able to actually inhale any amount of the airborne particles. At this point in time the doctors decided to strap me down and more forcibly get the medicine into my system. After forcing me to inhale several times the doctors were eventually able to get the drugs into my system, however, so much of it was in me that I was becoming nauseous. After that I collapsed and vomited quite a bit.

Recommending swimming and singing to my Mom, the doctors stated that this would be a good way to strengthen my lungs in order to lessen the impact of asthma in my life. This is where it begins. My mom took me to Giamonna pool in Daly City to try out for the Daly City Dolphin’s summer Pre-competition program. I failed spectacularly. After being rejected by the swim team my mom sent me out to a private coach who taught me and 11 other home school kids how to swim at Orange Pool. During this time I could not overcome my fear of diving in the water. Each time I dove, I had the nasty habit of pulling my knees to my chest, so afraid of belly-flopping I was. Through this coach I learned the basics of freestyle, backstroke, and a sorry attempt at breastroke. I discovered that breaststroke was something which I was completely and utterly a failure. As for backstroke, I hated not being able to see where I was going, and would often panic, flipping back to my face in order to swim freestyle. As time went on, most of the home schoolers began joining swim teams. The Kim’s to DCD, the Aker’s to SSF, and soon, Jason Chen and myself to the Daly City Dolphins.

Now for the worst three words in history:

To be continued…