Learning to Be a Leader
About a week ago, my swim coaches, Joe and Lauren, had a Zoom meeting with the members of the incoming senior class — the class of 2025. They wanted to go over some logistics for the next year and to announce who they decided to appoint as captains. Unlike other teams, our team does something called a Senior Council, where every member of the senior class has a voice in decisions and problem-solving. In this case, the captains mostly serve as the figure-heads and leaders of the team, but have some extra responsibilities as well. They are who the underclassmen look up to and go to if they have a problem, personal or team-related.
Shortly after the end of the school year, Joe had each of the incoming seniors write a letter, describing our leadership strengths and weaknesses. The coaches would read our letters, send out a poll to the rest of the team about who they wanted as captains, and then make the final decision based on both data sources. Since I was a captain last year, Joe also asked me to write about what worked and didn’t work with the Senior Council, considering last year was the first year we implemented it. I also took that opportunity to reflect on what happened with the class of 2024 — which was a lot, to say the least.
The leadership fell apart drastically last year. There were three women’s captains: H, K, and I. A few weeks before the first dual meet, H stopped acknowledging me. She dodged my attempts at talking, or just saying hello, or even making eye contact. Since we were also roommates and close-friends on top of being teammates and co-captains, the team started to catch on that something was wrong. And when anyone starts fighting with another, people start to take sides. I tried to talk to her to resolve our issues, but to no avail. I even went to Joe and Lauren and asked if they could mediate a conversation between the two of us, but when they brought up the idea to H, she refused. The entirety of my time as a captain was consumed with dealing with her — someone who was too selfish to put her duties as a captain above her personal issues. That’s not what being a leader is about.
K and I did the best we could considering the circumstances, but we knew anything we did wouldn’t solve the problem. In the beginning of the year, I had goals to foster a positive, supportive, and encouraging atmosphere among the women’s team. I wanted to build everyone up after years of being pitted against each other by the previous coaching staff, but I felt like I was just covering up fissures in a wall and praying that it wouldn’t collapse. The situation was terrible, but it got slightly better as time went on. Other team members began to realize what H was doing, and stopped feeding into her lies. At our championship meet, we all presented a unified front, but we also couldn’t wait for the season to be over. Dealing with it all took on toll on everyone, even if they weren’t directly involved.
I was so exhausted that I didn’t even know if I wanted to continue to be a captain the next year if I was given the opportunity. As a super-senior, I wanted to open up the floor for the true seniors to be the leaders, but I also didn’t know how much time I would have for swimming. This fall, I will be taking three physics courses and a math course, and my academics will come first. I had already confided in my coaches about my academic situation, and even talked about the possibility of taking my name out of the full-team captain poll completely. However, the more distance I got from the season, the more I realized that I kind of wanted a second chance. The entirety of my time as a captain was preoccupied by H’s nonsence, so I didn’t have the opportunity to implement anything that I wanted to. I think a part of me also wanted to be a captain because it would give me a more defined place among the class of 2025. Naively, I thought being a captain was the only way to make a difference and to be included.
I put all of my thoughts in that letter. It ended up being over 2,000 words, but it was really helpful for me to process everything that happened and my role in it. Even though last year was a disaster on the leadership scale, I realized that I grew immensely on the personal level. I learned how to deal with difficult personalities and stand up for myself. My performance in the water was no longer a measure of my worth. Unlike the previous year, I didn’t break down every time I thought of swimming or racing. I didn’t swim as well as I wanted to, but I was still proud of myself for giving each race my best effort. These were giant leaps of progress for me. And I told my coaches all of this, hoping that they would see I’m in a better place and give me another shot. I wanted to have the chance to be the leader I knew I could be. But it was not my decision.
I ended up taking the Zoom call on the Boston Green Line. There was a disabled train on the tracks (typical Boston), so we were at a stand still for thirty minutes and I was unable to make it home in time to take the meeting there. After ten minutes of logistics, Joe announced the captains. He said that the polls were pretty consistent across the team, so he and Lauren decided to go with what the team wanted.
I was not appointed a captain.
Initially, my heart sank. I was so happy for the girls who were picked, but a part of me was devastated that it wasn’t me. I wouldn’t get that second chance. On my walk home, I called my boyfriend, hoping he could give me some good advice. He said that I probably wasn’t appointed captain because I served as a reminder of what happened last year. The team wanted — and needed — a clean slate in regards to leadership. I was sad, and incredibly angry at H, but I could understand that sentiment. My boyfriend was right. Even though I wanted to redeem myself, that wasn’t what is best for the team.
After feeling my emotions, I realized that this decision was probably a blessing in disguise. I was about to go into my most intense academic year yet, and didn’t know how much time I would have to dedicate to the team. Swimming is already such a time and energy consuming sport — who knew how much extra time and energy I would have to devote to being a captain, and a good one at that. The seniors that the team did elect as captains were the right choices — all of them have been excellent teammates, role-models, and positive forces on the team all three years that they’ve been here so far, and I know that they will continue to be for this last year. None of them carry the baggage from last year, and I probably would have dragged the team down without intending too. The team is better off with me not being a captain, and I’m okay with that. I’ve realized that there are other ways for me to leave my mark.
Even though I’m not a captain, I still feel like a “matriarch” of the team in some ways. I am the oldest and most experienced member of the team, and I really want to share that knowledge with everyone else. I want to help the current captains navigate their role if need be and freak out with the other seniors about graduating. I want to be that upperclassman that always comes to practice with a smile on her face, who is uplifting her teammates, who is having fun while also working hard and pushing herself to her limits. Swimming has always just been about the sport for me, but I’ve realized that when I leave this team, I would prefer to be remembered as a great teammate instead of just a good swimmer. There are more important things than athletics — friendships are one of many. Last year, as hectic as it was, really solidified that for me.
“Congrats on captain!!!” I texted the three girls who were appointed. All of them thanked me and commented on how excited they were for the next year of swimming with me. I don’t think any of them realize how much I needed to hear that. It was reassurance that I belong on this team, that I am wanted on this team, that I can be a force for good, despite what happened in the past. I can be a positive role model, even without the captain title. I hearted their messages and responded with my own excitement. I let go of last year.
