Synchronised swimming is a strange and often misunderstood sport. To the untrained eye, its feet sporadically bursting through the surface of the water, garish eye-make up and obscenely high-legged costumes. The untrained eye isn’t exactly wrong. It is, after all, a strange sport. But as an ex-synchronised swimmer, I’m oddly protective of it.
In 2022, its demanding nature was evidenced when an Olympic-level athlete fainted in the water mid-competition. Having spent years of my life in the pool, training to hold my breath whilst simultaneously being upside down, moving my legs, I can understand how the incident happened. In reality, it’s an aquatic form of ballet but with two key differences: you’re not allowed to touch the floor and you’re not allowed to breathe. However, it shares the beauty and grace of ballet: designed to look effortless, I’d forgive you for thinking it was easy. You’d also be wrong.
At the age of 11, I was already dedicating around 12 hours a week to the sport. My Saturdays and Sundays consisted of training sessions from 10am until 4pm. I competed at a national competition for the first time in 2012. From there, as my skills grew, the training and competitions became more frequent and intense. At its peak, I was requested to train on Monday, Tuesday and Friday evenings, and all-day Saturday and Sunday. Most of my friends socialised at the weekend or would hang out after school. I had to decline their offers so often they stopped asking. Thankfully, the sport provided an excellent social hub and I formed close relationships with many of the girls I trained with, a handful I am still close with today.
It’s an aquatic form of ballet but with two key differences: you’re not allowed to touch the floor and you’re not allowed to breathe
Across 2015 and 2016, I competed in three international competitions. Balancing longer training hours (sometimes even 5am sessions) alongside GCSE’s was tricky. I occasionally had to miss school for training camps or to travel to competitions. Although I managed to succeed at my GCSE’s, I couldn’t manage both my A-levels and the sport. I grew tired of missing out on social opportunities and not having my weekends to revise or rest. I was also struggling with the pressure to perform in the sport.
As a team sport, it was important that everyone swam their best: if one person messed up the routine, the whole team suffered. While team sports craft a sense of community and belonging, as I got older, I also saw they could be ugly. What was most distressing was having to compete against my team members, my longest standing friends, to be selected for the competition squad. We spent every weekend together, saw each other grow up and mature and supported one another on difficult days.
But we all wanted to compete and win medals and, unfortunately, there was only room for a select few. Having to compete for a duet place against one of my closest friends was the final straw. On my 18th birthday, and at my last championship competition, I quit. I spent a few years coaching but when I moved to university to complete my undergraduate degree, I lost contact with the sport entirely.
It is now nearly seven years since I made the decision to leave the synchro world. Would I go back? Probably not. In that time, I’ve got an MA degree from one prestigious university, and I’m studying for an Mst at another. I lived in Italy for a year. I have a long-term partner and, somehow, I’ve finally found time to socialise. Do I think I could have managed all that whilst training? Personally, I don’t think so. Sacrificing the sport for my education and well-being was the best decision for me.
Nevertheless, as a 25-year-old, I appreciate the experiences my 10 years as a synchronised swimmer gave me. I fondly remember my coaches and teammates who always believed in me. Synchro taught me resilience and determination and, importantly, how to respond positively and proactively to disappointment and failure. Sometimes, I even nostalgically miss those pool-side days, laughing with teammates and the incredible feeling of success when our hard work paid off. Yet at the same time, the competitive nature of sport made me feel like I wasn’t good enough. It taught me that a bronze medal was good but not good enough.
Seven years and countless therapy sessions later, I have learnt to be proud of all the medals I have stashed away at home, whether bronze, silver or gold. I admire my former teammates who persevered and made it to the highest level possible. But I am also happy I stopped when I did.
And yet, despite it all, I still can’t help but feel a sense of warmth whenever I catch a glimpse of synchro-legs in an advert, or snuck into a film. It certainly deserves more attention and appreciation than it currently gets. The important thing is, I don’t regret my decision to be a synchronised swimmer, and I actively encourage people who are interested to search for their local club and give them a call. At the end of the day, this is just my own experience of the sport. To anyone who still considers it easy…
Well, dive in and give it a try.
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