Don't Swim A Mile And A Half Because You Don't Believe You Can Swim A Mile

The previous summer I'd been taught a valuable lesson about taking on new challenges, one I've tried to teach to every athlete I've coached.  My seven best friends and I were swimming in the Ohio River, as we were prone to do on a hot summer days, when one of our group came up with the bright idea that we should swim all the way across the river, about a mile at that point.  Whoever finished last would walk back across the bridge, get the car, and pick everybody else up.

"I'm not going," Nevitt Stockdale said.

"What do you mean you're not going?" I asked.

"I can't swim that far."

"You can make it," I told Nevitt.  "And if you can't, I'll save you."

"You would do that for me?"

"Of course.  You've got my word."

I was motivated to have Nevitt join us because he was the only one I knew I could beat.  In a race not to finish last, having one guy you can beat is a plus.

Everything went according to plan for the first three-quarters of a mile.  Nevitt kept up, but showed no signs of beating me to the finish.  I didn't worry about who was winning.  All I cared about was not being last.

Then, out of the blue, Nevitt said: "I can't make it."

"You can do it," I said.

"No, I can't.  Save me, Lou."

I'd promised him I would save him, given him my word of honor.  All of our other friends had already made it across and were sunning themselves on the riverbank.  Only Nevitt and I remained in the water.  So I did the only thing I could do: I left him there to drown and continued swimming to the opposite shore.

Nevitt thrashed about for a minute before doing the only thing he thought he could do to save his life: he turned around and swam back to where we'd started.  He ended up swimming a mile and a half because he didn't believe he could swim a mile.

Pgs 32-33