Today’s blog post was written by my cousin, Caleb Dena. He’s an awesome teenager and amazing athlete, who inspired me by this writing. I know it’s long, but please take the time to read this in its unedited entirety. Thank you for writing this Caleb!
I guess it was when I was at a really old, run down pool that God finally spoke to me. I had swum at elite meets hosted in universities all throughout the state; A&M, Texas, Houston, etc. All the pools were well-kept and had new starting blocks and bulkheads along with some fancy timing equipment. But the one facility where I had the most incredible swim was not during a meet, but a mission trip. Last summer I was able to go down to Pleasant Grove, Alabama, to help with the disaster relief efforts after the tornadoes swept through that area. There I learned something about my swimming career; it is all completely worthless.
This does not mean that I didn’t gain anything from the sport. I am going to talk about that in a minute. It just means that I had wasted seven years of my life in a pool out by TCC twice a day for at least two hours… just about every day for 2,555 days. I had been swimming competitively through my elementary, middle school, and high school years without once questioning why I did it. In fact I never even let myself start down those kind of questions. Second guessing my commitment was like heresy to me. I WAS going to go to college on scholarship and I WAS going to make the Olympic team. It was something I would constantly push for no matter the costs; physical, emotional, and spiritual. Loosing my relationships, my family…my passion for Christ, all that was just what I considered necessary sacrifices for my selfish goal. This is my testimony of how God spoke to me through all this mess and turned my blind ambition into something for His glory.
My parents put me in the water from the time I was about six. Actually they put my sisters and me in a summer league swim team that met in a pool near our house. The main idea was that we wouldn’t just sit on the coach all summer long, it being too hot to spend the entire heat-fest outdoors.
To be honest, I stunk in practice. I failed swim school because I couldn’t float (and still can’t) and my dive ended in a pathetic somersault once I hit the water. Ya…great introduction to the sport. Practice consisted of a cadence of two or three stroked followed by gasping and clinging to the lane rope for life. My dad told me that I would have to swim an entire race in a meet. The next day and the day after that was the same thing; stroke, stroke, gasp, grab…and repeat. Finally, they decided to enter me in a meet.
As my parents stood on the side praying that I would make it to the other side without sinking like a rock, I stood behind the blocks flapping my arms like some injured bird trying to take flight. It was a nervous habit I still have to fight. : ) Then it happened. Maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe I realized it was a contest, but once I hit that water I took off down the pool never stopping once to grab the rope. My parent’s just stood on the side (mouths open) trying to figure out what kid got in the wrong heat and stole their son’s lane. I honestly don’t know what happened to make me realize that I could do it, but that was the start of it all.
I did summer league until I was about nine, collecting blue ribbons and gold medals in a box now stored in a cabinet in my room. After that we decided to switch to club swimming. I still shiver when I think about my first practice.
FORT WORT AREA SWIM TEAM (FAST)
Ron Forrest has been running a very professional program in Fort Worth for over three decades. He has coached world record holders, two Olympians and multiple Olympic qualifiers, national level swimmers, and age group champions throughout those years. Ya, he’s good. Anyway, for some reason or another the coach for my group (practices are separated into different groups based on ability and age) had to leave early so I got to experience his coaching first hand right at my first practice. You know that scene in Finding Nemo when Marlin is trying to chase the boat and gets flipped around the propeller and nearly killed in the ocean? Yup, that was me.
Needless to say I wanted to quit. I don’t know what kept me going during those first couple of months. I didn’t like practices because I never made any of the pace times and meets were terrifying. In fact, my very first race ended in a disqualification…I missed the wall. THE WALL!!!! So my swimming career was off to a rough start. But then just like that first full race in summer league, something happened that would get me hooked forever.
TEXAS AGE GROUP SWIMMING CHAMPIONSHIPS (TAGS)
This is the premier meet for swimmers in Texas under 15. Some of the times put up at this meet are national age group records and Olympic qualifying level swims. I spent more time looking at the qualifying times for this meet than is healthy to tell. My entire swimming career, I promised myself, was to get just ONE of those qualifying times. About a year after I started swimming, I got it. Age nine and my goal was complete! Ya right.
I guess I should tell you that I am hyper competitive. I live to race. Getting just one TAGS cut turned into getting as many as possible, and that turned into getting first. I came close several times. When I was twelve I got second about five times, just mere tenths away from first. But the next year I finally won. Fastest 13 year old 100 yard butterflyer in the state. That is one of the best memories that I have. For the next three championships during my TAGS career I would continue to place in the top three in my respective races, winning one more time. But all this success came with costs.
From the time I joined swimming I liked doing the hard stuff. If the required attendance was three practices I would come to all of them. Once the training load became higher I would push that much more to get on top again. Training became a challenge, something that I had to beat if I wanted to go home and sleep without worrying about the end of the season meet. Once I reached the elite group on our team (coached by Ron) I experienced a new level of pain. Sore muscles became my friend. If I didn’t make every single pace time in that practice I would sulk around for the entire rest of the week because I was not “perfect”. For my goals, I HAD to be perfect.
Like most athletes I wanted to make the Olympic team. For me it was more than a dream. It was something that people seemed to expect, and I came to expect it myself. I was not the fastest swimmer in the nation in every race, but I was talented and had a lot of potential. This potential almost came to haunt me. If I had a bad meet at a crucial training period I would panic, thinking my chances at THE GOAL (Olympics) were lost. But this obsession did not stop at the physical training, but also the mental.
I would almost censure my thoughts to the extent that I focused on nothing but swimming. For example, all of the following were “banned”:
“Am I going to get injured if I keep pushing like this?”
“I really wish that I could just have one day off.”
“Why am I swimming this much?”
“Would it really hurt to take this one practice off?”
Later, as I grew more and more discontent with swimming, I had to limit my thoughts even more. I barely allowed myself one negative comment toward swimming or practice.
“I am tired and sore.”
“This set is hard.”
“I want to stop swimming.”
“I feel sick and want to take today off.”
“Why am I doing this?”
This continued for a while. I refused to allow myself to ever question THE GOAL or stop my hectic training pace for one second. I refused to give up on my dream- EVER – and nothing was going to stop me. Not pain, not friends, not family…not God.
I sacrificed going to youth events because I thought I was too busy for any thing like that. I grew up in the church, but I felt like I was still on the outside. I thought of myself as being socially awkward, hating going out with friends solely because I did not know what was happening in their lives. I was that absorbed in my sport that I would merely shrug off my reclusiveness as necessary for THE GOAL. They would ask if I would be going to camp and it would be the same response. But it didn’t end with friends.
It seemed that as my speed increased, my passion for Christ decreased. Waking up at 4:30 in the morning made it tough to get a Bible study in. Instead of being a Christian who swam, I was a swimmer that happened to be a Christian. In other words, I was an athlete first and a follower of Christ second. If God fit in to my goals and my training schedule than I would be willing to serve Him. If not, it was just another lost experience like all the others.
I was burned out. As a fifteen year old, this was my weekly schedule:
Monday:
- Wake up at 4:45 and go to practice for two hours.
- School until 4:00, then off to practice again for two and a half hours
Tuesday
- Wake up at 4: 45 and go to practice for two hours.
- School until about twelve, then a 2 hour weight session before heading back home for more school.
- At 4:00, back to the pool for another two and a half practice session.
Wednesday: Same as Monday
Thursday: Same as Tuesday.
Friday: If there was no meet, just one two-hour evening practice.
Saturday: If there was no meet, three hours of swimming before going home and cramming in school.
The three-a-days were taking a toll on my health. Waking up at the crack of dawn each morning was terrible. I constantly felt sick and had frequent headaches. There were times were I had to literally crawl out of bed because walking hurt too much, or when breathing was painful because of strained muscles in my back. I was getting injuries left and right, ignoring my body. But never once did I stop and question THE GOAL. I simply fed off of the pain. Being sore was like a drug. I would console myself after having to miss another youth event by reminding myself that I had to train. I was taking my refuge in training and swimming, not in God. But eventually, it all had to stop.
I was forced to start it, but I immediately fell in love. Speech and debate. Nerdy? Yes, but tons of fun, probably because it was the first time in seven years that I had tried something new. I was hooked right away. I finally found something that I liked just as much as swimming, possibly more. At first I was afraid that it would crowd out THE GOAL. Soon, it became an escape from THE GOAL. A few days out from practice for a tournament was heaven. I couldn’t wait for the next one to come along so that I could have a few days all to myself, away from THE GOAL. Soon it was the most important thing in my life. Swimming was falling out of favor.
I remember very clearly the first time I brought the topic up to my dad. It was on the way to a Monday morning practice after I had stayed up late the night before spending time with my sister who was back from college. I was quiet for the first ten or so minutes of the ride, figuring out in my head how I was going to put this to my dad. Then I finally said it. “Dad, I am not sure I want to keep up swimming like this.” That was it, and he asked me if I wanted to go back home (I could barely keep my eyes open). I said yes. Once we were back in the door, he turned to me and said that we should take it one step at a time, praying for guidance.
At the time I agreed. Completely stopping an activity that I had done for my entire life would be crazy. But soon after, as I grew to love debate more and more, spend more time with friends and family, and live a little, swimming became a nuisance. Once I tasted freedom from my bondage in the sport I didn’t want to have anything to do with it. I was done. Even though I still came to practices, I had already checked out and quit in my mind. My dad could tell the change. To have someone that used to want to get to practice as early as possible suddenly find petty reasons to skip was an obvious clue that something was wrong.
The events leading up to the mission trip are pretty cool when I think about them. After sectionals, the senior level championship meet, I clumsily sprained my ankle playing basketball. You would think that I would be devastated. I was never that happy in my life. Finally, I had an injury that would keep me out of the water for at least several weeks. I reluctantly did my therapy, not really in any hurry whatsoever to get back in the pool. After I did recover, coming back to practice was once again a nuisance. I half-heartedly went through the motions. My body seemed to be falling apart as well. During the season, before sectionals, my endurance seemed to be dropping for no apparent reason. Finishing a practice took all the effort I possibly had. My arms tightened up and my legs burned out during warm-up. Something was not right. Add the physical, emotional, and spiritual exhaustion together, and you have a major problem. I had to quit.
No discussion, no more questions, nothing. I refused to listen to my dad. In fact, I tried to persuade him that it was what God wanted me to do, even though I felt guilty inside. I quit for selfish reasons. I had grown tired of something that I used to love. That was all that I thought of it. Nothing more. I tried to convince him that I was like all the other child prodigies that burn out once they get older. What’s more, I tried to convince God that it was what He wanted. It had gotten that bad.
So I took the summer off, under the pretenses that I would return after recovering from all the injuries. That’s what my dad and I agreed on, but I could care less. I was out of the water for good as far as I was concerned. Done. Forever. Seven years of zealous ambition ending in a mere two months.
During that summer I expected to enjoy my “freedom”. Getting out of my slavery to swimming would be great! Wrong. Outwardly I was happy. I had more free time than ever before. But inside, I knew that quitting was wrong.
During that break, I got Facebook messages from old teammates telling me not to stop. My friends would ask when I was going back, and my family continued to press me to continue in the sport. They told me how talented I was, how much they were blessed by watching me swim, and so forth. I didn’t care. It was my life. I would decide what I was going to do…or so I thought.
Our church was planning a mission trip into Alabama to help with the disaster relief efforts taking place in the state after the series of tornadoes. My sister was planning on going, and my mom just casually asked me if I wanted to go along. I, not thinking much of it, casually agreed. I just thought it would be a fun way to spend time with my sister. It ended up being one of the most incredible moments in my life.
The first day we drove out to see the wreckage was a humbling experience. Witnessing an entire group of trees being leveled left you feeling uneasy. Finding teddy bears in the trees made you sick. Although we came to serve, we were the ones who got served. Being able to listen to the incredible faith of those who lost everything gave you a sense of resolve. You had to work all the harder and be all the happier because of the standard that they set.
Most of the week was fairly normal; moving trees, clearing roads, etc. As my first mission trip, being able to really get into the work that we as Christians are called to do was liberating. I really felt like part of the body of Christ. Even more awesome was seeing how everyone used their respective talents for God’s purpose. Talent. It would suddenly have a new meaning to me.
On the last day of the trip, we took some time to relax at a public pool in the area. It was old but still had water. I guess that is all you really need. It was one of the few times that I had been in the water during that summer. It always feels so natural. You don’t think about how you walk, you just do it. That is the way it is with me in the water.
I had swam before that summer at our local pool (the same pool where I had that first meet experience), but doing it on the mission trip after having such an incredible time was different. I found myself looking around and admiring all the different talents that were represented there. Some people were great with tools, while others had a way with words and people. All the different talents worked together to get things done on that trip, and the results were incredible. I began to be envious of other people’s talents. Why can’t I just be able to sit down with someone who is hurting after loosing everything and help them? Why can’t I be a natural at working machinery? I began to wish that I had a talent like theirs, one that can be used for God. Then it hit me, not necessarily full on, but quietly, gently.
Swimming
That was MY talent. I am a swimmer. I think I just stood there for a while once I realized this. You’re probably thinking, what a genius, right? I mean, the guy has been doing this for how long and he just now realizes it? Well…ya…pretty much. All my swimming life I was obsessed with being just that much better, being THE best. I was never happy with just one win, I needed hundreds. I was never happy with just one qualifying time, I needed them all. Being second best was a constant nagging. Not winning in everything was soooo annoying. All this ambition, all this drive, had blinded me to who I was, to how God had made me.
I am Caleb Dena. I got my first state qualifying time after less than a year of swimming. I won state twice, and placed in the top three the other times. I have gotten within tenths of state records. Some of my times have been some of the fastest ever swum in America for my age group, just a few tenths off of another swimmer by the name of Michael Phelps. I have been in the top 50 swimmers, the top 10 swimmers, the top 3 swimmers in the nation, and am still one of the fastest swimmers in Texas. I have set meet, team, and regional records. I have been at meets with Olympians and train on one of the best teams in the state.
Before this mission trip, I despised all the above because the number 10 to my name was not the same as the number 1. But just then, at that shabby little pool, it was a revelation. I have been given a talent, not for my own satisfaction, not for THE GOAL, but for the Kingdom of God; for HIS GOAL. I may not be the fastest (I am not the fastest) but that doesn’t matter to God. For MY GOAL, I had to be perfect, but for HIS GOAL, I already am. I am perfect in His eyes because I have Christ as my savior. He delights in everything that I do. He wants me to swim for His glory, for His pleasure. The fact that my flopping around in a puddle of water brings glory and pleasure to God is something that I cannot even begin to grasp. But it does. He enjoys our talents and works through our imperfections.
This was the awakening that I experienced briefly in that run down pool; away from the cheers of swimmers in finals, away from the grueling hours of training, and away from my selfish ambitions. The next day as we left, God continued to speak to me. I began to regret all those wasted years (in my eyes) of mindless swimming for THE GOAL, and began to look forward to a renewed purpose, not only in swimming, but in life. I determined to make every talent that God gave me something for His pleasure, not mine.
Once I got home my family and I enjoyed some time together before school started. We watched the movie Soul Surfer, documenting the life of Bethany Hamilton. Her passion for her sport, coupled by her desire for the will of God, cemented what I had learned on the mission trip. I wanted to be like her, someone that seemingly lost everything but found purpose by serving God through her sport.
The next day I told my dad all that had happened on that trip. It was very emotional. I had shoved his comments aside and now I was able to come and tell him that he was right. The coolest thing about it all, is that had I not sprained my ankle, the chances of me going on that trip would be slim, seeing as how I would have to “train” the entire summer. God works in ways that seem terrible at first, but end up being the best thing ever.
There is a line from one of my favorite movies, Secretariat. The opening scene is a narration of a verse from Job. God asks Job questions to illustrate His power. God talks of the might of the horse, ending by saying, “he cannot stand still, when the trumpet sounds.” Watching that movie and seeing the power and the speed of that horse is why I swim. The sheer thrill of seeing the person next to you die out and you push on past them is unlike anything else. Using this talent for God’s glory is the cherry on top.
I am now back in the water, and God has blessed me beyond my expectations. After taking an entire summer off you feel like dying once you start training again. It was, and still is, one of the toughest things I have done in my entire life. But God is so good. Already I am much faster than I was before I left. I have set numerous personal best times. We recently had our Sectionals Championship, and I went several best times and am actually inching my way to Trials. I still have like two seconds to go (which is like a lifetime in swimming, but, hey, it better than nothing).We have changed my schedule around so that I am able to be more active in church and my youth group, and I continue to enjoy speech and debate. I will still have to make sacrifices and everything, but it’s for a bigger purpose than just my selfish goals. I have been swimming for seven years, but in this past season, I have had more fun in and out of my sport than I have ever had before.
Will I be the next Tim Tebow, the next Bethany Hamilton? Who knows, if God can take a wreck like me and change my heart then I know He is more than able to mold me into whatever He wants me to be. I don’t know what swimming has in store for me as far as college and beyond, but right now, I am just pushing on because it is literally what God made me to do.
P.S. Prayers would be appreciated right now. For some reason, beginning just before I quit swimming, I have really been struggling in practices with inordinate muscle fatigue. I know it sounds funny, but after you have been doing a sport for so long you learn to recognize the typical pain of working out from what is dangerous, but this is something out of the ordinary. Anyways, it’s making swimming really difficult. We have a hunch it might be some kind of nutrition problem, but were not sure yet.
Intracranial Hypertension Research Foundation
