Race-Day Jitters: My Weirdest Tricks for Staying Calm at the Blocks

Heart hammering. Goggles fogging. The roar of the crowd turns into a distant buzz. I've stood on the blocks more times than I can count, and every time, my brain tries to convince me I'm about to embarrass myself. You know the drill: you've done the yards, shaved the seconds, but when the gun goes off, the real fight is with the voice in your head that whispers, "You're not good enough."

Swimming is weird that way. It's just you and the water. No teammate to cover your mistakes, no coach screaming from the deck. Once you push off, it's all on you. That isolation? It amplifies every doubt. One negative thought—"I'm falling behind"—and your stroke falls apart, your breathing goes haywire, and you lose tenths you've worked months to shave off. In a sport where races are decided by a fingertip, that's the difference between a personal best and a shrug.

Why Swimming Messes With Your Head

I remember my first big meet. I was 14, standing behind the blocks for the 200 free, and my legs were shaking so bad I almost slipped. I'd trained hard, but my mind was a mess. I thought about the guy next to me, about the time I needed to qualify for state, about everything except the race itself. I swam like a robot, stiff and scared, and finished a second slower than my best.

That race taught me something: swimming isn't just physical. It's a mental game, and if you don't train your brain, it'll betray you when it matters most. The pool is lonely, and that loneliness magnifies every doubt. You can have the strongest pull in the world, but if your head isn't in it, you're done.

Pre-Race Rituals That Actually Worked for Me

I used to think pre-race rituals were superstitious nonsense. But after years of trial and error, I found a few things that genuinely calm my nerves and sharpen my focus.

• Visualization: I close my eyes and run the race in my head, vividly. I feel the water on my skin, hear the turn signal, see my hand touch the wall. The more real it feels, the more my brain thinks, "Been there, done that."
• Breathing: I do box breathing—inhale for four, hold for four, exhale for four, hold for four. It sounds simple, but it drops my heart rate and shuts up the chatter.
• Self-talk: Instead of "Don't mess up," I tell myself, "I've done the work. I'm ready." It sounds cheesy, but it works because it shifts my focus from fear to confidence.
• Music: I have a playlist of songs that get me hyped. One song, in particular, "Eye of the Tiger," always gets me pumped. It's like a switch flips in my brain.

Dealing With the Butterflies

Even Olympians get nervous. The trick isn't to get rid of the butterflies—it's to make them fly in formation. When my heart races on the blocks, I don't fight it anymore. I tell myself, "This is my body getting ready to go." The adrenaline is fuel. Use it to explode off the blocks.

I also use a cue word. Mine is "smooth." When I set my feet, I repeat it over and over. It blocks out the noise and centers me. You can pick any word that works for you.

Staying in the Moment

The middle of the race is where I used to lose it. I'd start thinking about the final 50 before I'd even finished the first 100. That's a recipe for disaster.

Instead, I break the race into chunks. Each lap is its own mini-race. I count strokes, feel my rhythm, and focus on making every turn crisp. I set process goals, not outcome goals. Instead of "I want to win," I say, "I want to keep my stroke rate above 30 per minute." That's something I can control, and it keeps me grounded.

Finishing Strong When Your Body Screams

The last 50 meters of a 200 are pure agony. Lactic acid burns, your arms feel like lead, and every instinct says to ease up. That's where races are won or lost.

I remember a race where I was dead last at the 150 mark. My coach had drilled me on running through pain, so I started repeating my mantra: "Strong. Fast." I imagined someone chasing me, and I focused on the wall getting closer. I ended up passing two swimmers and finishing with my best time.

How do you build that mental strength? Practice. In training, I do "race simulations"—swimming the last 50 at race pace when I'm already exhausted. It teaches my brain that the pain is temporary and that I can keep going.

Learning From Every Race

After each race, win or lose, I ask myself: What worked mentally? What didn't? Did I get distracted at the turn? Did I doubt myself on the third lap?

I keep a journal. I write down how I felt before and during each race, then compare it to my time. Over time, I've noticed patterns. Like, if I don't do my visualization, I'm more likely to choke. So now I never skip it.

Mental toughness isn't something you're born with. It's a skill, and it improves with practice. The more races you swim, the better you understand your own mind.

Bringing It All Together

Look, swimming is hard. It's lonely, it's painful, and it's unforgiving. But that's also what makes it great. It's a chance to prove to yourself that you can handle anything.

So next time you're on the blocks, remember: the race isn't just against the clock. It's against every doubt in your head. And you can beat them both.