The Heart of a Penguin: The Bittersweet Life of a Student Athlete

The mid-August breeze signalled a promising September, but school didn’t start for another three weeks. The air smelled of the salt from the Hudson, a scent that one could only smell in the summer, and I was already being buzzed into Stuyvesant through the main entrance. Although the summer was still meant for sleeping in and lazing around, the girls on the swim team were huddled at the pool entrance at eight in the morning. The old faces beamed with love when they saw someone showing their ID to the security desk, and the new faces sat nervously on the benches with their phones.

It was August 18, 2025: the day to try out to become a Stuyvesant Penguin. All swimmers, including returning swimmers, had to swim the 500-yard freestyle to test endurance, the 100 Individual Medley to test all strokes, and the timed 50 freestyle for the final cut. Then, the girls lined up on the deck, waiting in anticipation as Coach Alan Zhu, the girls’ and boys’ swimming and diving coach, named the 25 swimmers who made the team. The air on the deck was mixed with tension, excitement, and the smell of chlorine. At tryouts, Coach Zhu felt ruthless. No one was guaranteed a spot. But after the season’s batch of Penguins were chosen, everyone jumped in the water. That day marked the beginning of pre-season.

This is when I officially became a returning Penguin. As a sophomore, I already knew that high school sports are nothing short of competitive. I knew that the next three months would make my body so sore that I’d laugh with tears of joy and pain, that my grades would tank in the first marking period, and that I would spend hours wondering if this is what death feels like during practice. I already knew why I decided to try out again, even after the most gruesome season last year. 

Practice is two hours a day, five days a week. Two or three times a week, we have one hour in the weight room—building strength or running outside the school. Swimming starts off slow, practicing technique and slowly building up endurance. 

The day after tryouts, the swim team’s beloved divers start as well. We spend the tiny breaks we have in between sets when we’re too tired to talk, watching the divers dive gracefully off the block and clapping for them once they get up. 

The second week of practice—still summer—the school starts filling up with students from other PSAL sports. Apart from the little swim corner, there are the badminton benches, the track hallway, and the volleyball girls going up the stairs right away. This is when PSAL energy at Stuyvesant is at its highest. When school starts, sports will be a forgotten treasure—second to schoolwork and clubs. But in late August, swim is still cherished.

In the locker room, we warn the freshmen to appreciate the dry floors because after swim gym starts, the room becomes its own little pool with crawling little swimmers. In addition, the returning swimmers tell the freshmen that we have a reputation to uphold. Coach Zhu has led both the girls’ and boys’ swim teams to victory for two years in a row. Swim will feel like our entire world for three months. We will cry in our goggles and pass out from cheering on the deck. We will be a family for three months. 

This is because nobody will know the experience we share except for the girls on the team. On October days, I’d wobble to my class and watch as the door gets shut in my face because, of course, my legs couldn’t carry me up the stairs in time. It wasn’t much of a surprise either when I realized I wasn’t able to prepare for my AP European History test because I couldn’t miss a single day of practice. And of course, no matter how much my side hurt from not getting enough air, I felt like I was barely put in the lineup. I either had to be the best or be nothing. I confided this to a fellow Penguin on the E train home at night. She said that she felt the same. But despite the doubt and frustration, there is never a moment when our desires go unnoticed. We cried with each other and hugged, creating an environment where we felt safe to be emotional and honest. 

And between those struggles, we harmonized in the locker room and laughed at the fact that none of our friends wanted to go watch us swim (since they didn’t want to watch a ton of girls in swimsuits). We stalked the other teams and wondered how far we would go into the season. And when school was out, we would complain about how we gave up our ideal long morning and dragged heavy bags back to the school instead. 

Coach Zhu, almost annoyingly, always showed up. But we still talked about how lucky we are to have such a great coach as him. Not only was he our deemed “Insta girl,” but also our mentor who instilled determination, discipline, and confidence on the team. Those values were clearly reflected in the long nights and early mornings, with aching legs and chlorinated hair in between. 

Swimming was our one enemy that we couldn’t live without. And of course, who could forget about how we are basically the loudest team in the league when it comes to meets? Our “whoosh!” at the beginning of the first event (the 200 Individual Medley Relay) and the “go Stuy relay, let’s go!” on the last event (the 400 Freestyle Relay) definitely give the team the vibes that it runs on. And our chant? Classic. 

As the swim season ended and our chapter of being a Penguin closed, the post-swim depression arrived. What would become of our long locker room talks? Would our relationship be diminished to the single “hi” in the halls? All that pain and 1,000 photos on the photo album felt like a fever dream. 

And barely anyone understands. 

Because when your time is engrossed in your team, the entirety of your energy is spent on keeping the vibes and the spirit. The pre-meet chants and the adrenaline of sweat and ambition could only be offered through a sport, and that is the beauty of PSAL. It’s the bittersweet life of a student athlete.