In theory, swimming in rainy weather should be the same as swimming under clear skies. You’re wet either way, so the rain shouldn’t make a difference, right?
Wrong.
In my freshman year, I learned this truth the hard way. It was during a swim meet against Homestead — my third time ever participating in a swim meet.
I wasn’t expecting rain that day, but not long after I arrived at the pool, clouds soon began to cover the sky, followed by a steady downpour. At first, the rain felt refreshing and rejuvenating. I was excited to warm up before the meet started — with a leap, I jumped into the cool embrace of the pool, gently massaged by the drizzling from above. For a moment, the experience felt like a relief — a shower of nature merging with the soothing waters. Little did I know, this fantasy was about to take an unexpected turn.
“Event 23, boys’ varsity 100-meter butterfly,” the voice from the broadcast said.
It wasn’t yet my turn to compete, so I exited the pool to make way for others. As I hoisted myself over the edge of the pool to get out and let other competitors take their place, my initial exhilaration waned, replaced by an awareness of the growing cold seeping into my bones. The rain was getting heavier and heavier.
While waiting for my event, I crossed my hands around my chest, shaking, enduring the chill of the wind and gradually becoming numb to the cold. The worst part was that I had adjusted to the pool’s temperature during my warm-up, and now the air outside the pool felt like the inside of a refrigerator. The frigid raindrops landing on my skin didn’t help, either.
Finally, after other swimmers completed their event, I stepped on the swimming starter block, ready (and desperate) to reenter the pool and swim the 100-meter freestyle.
The moment the instructor commanded my competitors and I to “take our mark,” time seemed to slow to an agonizing crawl. To feel the warmth of the water in the pool became my only wish. It felt like the instructor took an hour before pressing the button.
When the sound of the horn eventually blasted into my ears, everything became hectic: I jumped (more like fell) into the water and then took an extra 5 seconds to recover from falling to the water surface. In the pool, I lost my sense of direction and couldn’t seem to remember any swimming techniques due to the chaos in my brain. My only desire was to finish the terrible run and embrace the warmth of my clothes.
Even though the pouring rain dampened (pun intended) my experience, I managed to pull myself together and finished my event in 5th place. As I clung onto the edge of the pool with relief, I took a deep breath and savored the joy of surviving this ordeal.
In the aftermath of my drenched adventure, I found solace in the warmth of my dry clothes. While some may enjoy swimming in the rain — as admittedly, hearing the sound of rain falling on the water does feel cozy — I hope to never endure the experience ever again.