Share your story series: Discovering oneself outside of sport, learning emotions are okay
MY NAME IS TORUN MCGILLIS & THIS IS MY STORY
DI Swimmer | University of Delaware
From the age of four, when I was tossed into my local swim club in the good ol’ state of Minnesota, my life changed. I wouldn’t say for better or worse—it just changed. By the time I was five, all I wanted to do was swim, with my shark swim cap and hot pink kickboard. Swimming wasn’t a chore; it was where I played mermaids with my friends until we got in trouble. By nine, I was swimming countless events at my state meet, carefree. I was a swimmer, a basketball player, a dancer, and all I wanted to be when I grew up was an interior designer. Swimming was just a little chapter of my life. Then, it became the entire book.
As I hit my preteen years, I chose swimming as my main sport. Suddenly, it wasn’t fun anymore. Instead of playing, I was showing up to a cold pool, grinding through workouts, and seeing no results. My days became a relentless cycle: wake up at the crack of dawn, swim, go to school, swim again, do homework, go to bed, repeat. For years. I didn’t hang out with friends, didn’t go to parties. I was in bed by 8 PM every night. I missed school dances, football games, even extra credit opportunities.
During my freshman year of high school, I was asked to list my hobbies on a “Get to Know You” worksheet. The only thing I could think of was swimming. My meet times were slow, and my practice times were even slower. I cared so much about performing well but hated every second of the process. And because I hated the process, I hated the results. Every season, I couldn’t wait for it to be over so I could finally do something I enjoyed. I was stuck in a cycle of frustration, and as high school went on, I began questioning whether I was meant to keep swimming at all. That’s when the emotions hit. All the time.
I’ve always been a crier, the “emotional one.” By freshman year, crying had become routine—tears filling my goggles at least four times a week. Swimmers call it “croggling,” or crying in your goggles, and I was a professional at it. My coaches and teammates stopped reacting:
"Don’t worry about Torun; she’s just crying over a bad swim.""
No sympathy groups.""
Torun is wheezing and crying again, just let her get it out of her system."
I was always the emotional one, crying over bad practices, bad days, bad races. It was inevitable. It happened every single time. By my junior year, when I started getting recruited, I was terrified. I knew I wanted to keep swimming, but what program would want to deal with such an emotional athlete? I worried I would drag the team down, slow down relays. During a call with the University of Delaware, I admitted how emotional I was. The coach simply said, "That is welcome here." That was one of the many reasons I knew I belonged on the East Coast.
Now, as a freshman at the University of Delaware, I still get overwhelmed when things don’t go my way, and I still cry. I still wonder if people think I’m weak or overreacting, but those thoughts don’t linger the way they used to. I am surrounded by such a strong and supportive group of people that I finally feel welcomed to cry.
Swimming was my entire life. It dictated all my decisions. I made unnecessary sacrifices in the hopes of shaving .01 seconds off my time, missing out on so much. I wanted to win. For years, I wondered why I cried so much over a sport. Then I realized: I cried because I cared. I cared too much. Way too much. I had nothing else to cry over. I was an athlete-student. I had no hobbies. All my friends were swimmers. No wonder I cared too much—no wonder I cried too much. Swimming was my entire life.
I didn’t realize it at the time, but being “Torun the swimmer” meant I was drowning in a sense of self-worth tied solely to my performance.
Now, I am in the process of finding myself outside of athletics. If you feel like an athlete-student, I hope you join me in discovering hobbies, interests, and things to care about beyond your sport. I’ve started crocheting, baking, saying yes to hanging out with friends when I normally would have chosen sleep for practice. I’ve started going to church and strengthening my relationship with Jesus. I’m making decisions based on what I want to do, not what will make me .01 seconds faster.
Obviously, this comes with balance. But every athlete should ask themselves: How do I want to be remembered?
It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to be the “emotional one” on your team. It’s okay to be upset with yourself. It is totally okay to care.
But what’s not okay? Letting your sport define you.
Be your own person who happens to be an athlete.
I’m still Torun, the swimmer. But I am also so much more than that.
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