This First Person column is the experience of Alberto Ortiz Rosillo, who lives in Regina. For more information about CBC’s First Person stories, please see the FAQ.
There I was, standing on the edge of a pool in pink swim trunks. The smell of chlorine hung in the air, sharp and familiar, mixed with something harder to name.
At the age of 37, it wasn’t my first time at the pool, but it was the first time I’d been at a swimming class with such a big goal at the back of my mind.
Nerves. Self-doubt. Everyone else looked prepared, wearing fitted suits and gear and exuding confidence. I felt exposed in a way I had not expected.
The coach glanced at me, then looked again. “What on earth is this guy doing here?” her expression seemed to say.
I wondered the same thing.
“What’s your goal?” she asked me.
“Completing an Olympic distance triathlon,” I said.
“That’s easy,” she replied, like it was something people did all the time.
I nodded, even as my stomach tightened. Most of my swimming in my adult years had been at a resort pool, covering the short distance between my lounge chair and the bar.
By the end of the class, after a lot of awkward breathing and very little grace in the water, the instructor pulled me aside.
“At first I wasn’t sure what to expect,” she said, almost apologetically. Then she smiled. “But I think we can work with you.”
It was more encouraging than I expected — and enough to make me come back the next session.
How a joke became a mission
Training for a triathlon happened almost by accident.
I moved to Canada from Mexico to pursue my studies when I was 22. I learned to be realistic about life. Stability came first. In any case, I’d never been that athletic, and without realizing it, I had accepted the idea that success in sports only came to those who started training at a younger age.
Then during a Christmas gathering with cousins in 2023, someone joked that we should sign up for a triathlon. There was no real expectation that anyone would follow through. Still, for me, the idea lingered quietly long after the evening ended.
Water had always been a place of joy for me, but dipping into open water was just about floating and cooling off. There had never been clocks, drills, or a sense that I needed to improve.
But once I started training, that started to change.
I had only started swimming lessons in January 2024 when my coach suggested I sign up for a short race in March. She recommended doing something manageable, such as a half distance with a 375-metre swim followed by a short run.
Somehow, I found myself signing up for the full distance of 750 metres.
On the race morning, standing at the edge of the pool, I felt the same tightness in my chest I had felt during my first class.
The water felt heavier than it ever had during training. When the horn sounded, adrenaline carried me through the first lengths. Then the noise faded. All I could hear was my breathing and the splash of my own arms.
Lap after lap, I negotiated with myself. Just make it to the next wall. The next. The next.
I was not fast, but I kept moving, and for the first time that morning, I felt good.
When I climbed out of the pool, I realized I was the last one out of the water.
For a split second, that stung. I stood dripping at the edge of the pool, hearing the echoes of cheers and footsteps fade as volunteers moved on to the next heat.
My old doubts came rushing in. Maybe this really was too much. Maybe I was out of place after all. Maybe I should have listened and done just the half.
Then I started the run.
Within the first few minutes, I passed someone. Then another. And another. With every step, something shifted. I was no longer measuring myself against who had finished first. I was moving forward, finding my rhythm, doing exactly what I had come to do.
By the time I crossed the finish line, I was tired, proud and surprised. I had not been the fastest. But for the first time, I knew I belonged.
An unexpected surprise
After a summer of more races and many firsts, something unexpected happened. I received an email from Triathlon Canada. I opened it, expecting a “Thank you for participating.”
Instead, it confirmed I had earned a spot to represent Canada at the 2026 Triathlon World Championship in Spain.
I read it slowly, then read it again, struck by disbelief.
I thought about that first swim class, of me in pink swim trunks surrounded by more experienced swimmers in full gear. I thought about a younger version of myself who arrived in this country focused on learning how to fit in, not on standing out.
The idea of wearing Canada across my chest felt heavy in the best possible way. It made me realize I not only could swim the distance — I had done it.
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