Some say swimming in the sea is liberating, an almost spiritual experience. I would say it depends: liberating if the sea isn't trying to swallow you alive while your brain screams "abort mission!" with every wave that hits your face.
That's more or less what happened at the Setúbal Triathlon. The plans were good: swim 1.9 km, exit the water in style, flash a photogenic smile at the camera, and move on to the bike ride like it's no big deal. But the sea had other intentions: cold, wind, and waves in full "spin cycle" mode. My body was fine—strong, even. But my head? It turned around at the second buoy and declared, “Not today, my friend.”
I could’ve cried in the fetal position (and maybe I even considered it), but instead, I went back to doing what any sensible triathlete would do: I dove headfirst into Swim4Fun.
I started having waves for breakfast, with Bibiana reminding me (often enough for it to stick) that the sea doesn’t bite. I took several classes, built up my confidence and technique... and little by little, I started to realize that maybe the problem wasn’t the sea. Maybe it was just me, being dramatic — with flair.
And that’s how, with salt in my veins and training under my belt, I showed up at the Oeiras Sprint Triathlon. Here it’s “just” 750 meters of swimming in calm sea water — it looked like a zen pool — but of course, with a plot twist:: an almost simultaneous start for all the athletes, on the vast and spacious Praia da Torre (irony, in case you missed it). The result? An aquatic pandemonium of arms, legs, swim caps, and panicked expressions. That wasn’t swimming — it was aquatic boxing with human obstacles.
But you know what was different? Me. I managed to stay calm. I swam like someone navigating a crowded supermarket at rush hour: strategically, with focus, dodging carts (read: other athletes) and choosing the best line to avoid being smacked by a floating elbow.
I came out of the water calm, no drama, no escape plans, thinking: “Hey, turns out I can swim.” Not bad for someone who, just a few weeks ago, thought they’d drown just from the sound of the waves.
But this text wouldn’t be complete without a huge thank-you to Bibiana — the coach who’s seen me on good days, bad days, and those with tsunamis brewing inside. Thank you, Bibs, for helping me turn near-quits into victories — and for believing in me even when I want to give up and go sell custard-filled donuts on the beach.
If I’m here today, laughing at my own aquatic soap opera with a medal hanging around my neck, it’s also thanks to you. A coach who knows when to yell, when to laugh, and when to simply get you swimming your way out of your own head.
Flávia Ribeiro