The Race Nobody Sees

Tired before my race....

Living as an Athlete with POTS

When people watch me swim, they see a race.

They see a dive.

They see a turn.

They see a finish time on the scoreboard.

What they don't see is everything that happens before I ever step onto the block.

They don't see the planning. The hydration. The recovery. The moments where I have to stop and listen to my body before deciding whether I can push harder or whether I need to take a step back.

They don’t see the invisible battle.

For a long time, I didn't understand why everything seemed harder for me than for other athletes.

I trained hard.

I ate well.

I slept enough.

I did everything I was supposed to do.

Yet there were days when standing still felt harder than swimming a training set.

My heart would race.

I would feel dizzy.

Sometimes exhausted without any clear reason.

People would look at me and see a healthy athlete.

I looked fine. But looking healthy and feeling healthy are not always the same thing.

More Than Just Training

Most athletes think about training when they wake up.

I think about energy.

How much energy do I have today?

How much do I need for school?

How much do I need for training?

How much do I need for recovery?

Every day is a balancing act.

If I spend too much energy in one area, there may not be enough left for another. That isn't weakness. It's strategy every single day.

It's learning how to work with my body instead of fighting against it.

The Hardest Part

The hardest part of POTS is not always the symptoms.

The hardest part is that other people can't see them.

Nobody can see dizziness.

Nobody can see fatigue.

Nobody can see the effort it takes to simply stay upright when your body isn’t regulating itself properly.

Because it is invisible, people sometimes underestimate it.

Or misunderstand it.

But every athlete with a chronic condition knows the truth: Just because something is invisible doesn't mean it isn't real.

Redefining Strength

When I was younger, I thought strength meant pushing through everything.

No excuses.

No breaks.

No limits.

Now I see strength differently.

Strength is listening when your body is warning you.

Strength is adapting when things don’t go according to plan.

Strength is showing up on difficult days.

Strength is continuing to dream when the future feels uncertain.

POTS has changed many things.

But it has not changed my ambition.

It has not changed my work ethic.

And it has definitely not changed my love for swimming.

Why I'm Sharing This

I'm not sharing my story because I want sympathy.

I'm sharing it because awareness matters.

There are athletes out there struggling with unexplained symptoms.

There are coaches trying to understand what their athletes are experiencing.

There are parents searching for answers.

And there are young people who feel completely alone.

If my story helps even one person recognize the signs sooner, feel understood, or keep believing in their goals, then sharing it is worth it.

Still Chasing Dreams

I don't know exactly what my future will look like.

What I do know is this:

I will keep learning.

I will keep adapting.

I will keep training.

Some victories won't appear on a scoreboard.

Sometimes victory is simply finishing a training session.

Sometimes it is making it through a school day.

Sometimes it is trusting your body again.

And sometimes victory is refusing to give up on the dreams that still make your heart race for all the right reasons.

Because I am not defined by POTS.

I am defined by how I respond to it.

And my story is far from over.

See you at the pool.

Megan 🏊‍♀️💙