The Slow Lane Anonymous

I'm going to be honest. My mom has not been diagnosed with Huntington's Disease, my best friend has never jumped off the Sears Tower, and I am not scheduled to compete in the Olympic Games while sporting a missing leg, two broken arms, and a lazy eye. For once, unfortunately, it seems that I have to describe myself as a "normal kid." So when I asked my dad if he could think of any amazing and incredible feat where I valiantly rose above all odds, all he could say was "swimming." At first, I found no relief in his one-word answer-until I took a moment to think about his simple response.

From ages seven to ten, I participated on a summer swim team. I was a horrible swimmer. Absolutely, utterly, undeniably, embarrassingly horrible. Despite this obvious truth, I'd set my alarm for 7am every day and, in-between yawns, get ready for practice. I would strut confidently to the pool area with my gigantic blue and white swim bag draped over my shoulder, squeeze on a swim cap, fiddle with my goggles, and finally slide into a pool of water fit for polar bears. Now before you slap on your sympathy face for this poor young girl desperately trying to find a place to fit in, please take note that I was quite a...