I Asked Swimmers What Their Version of the “Worst Set Ever” Would Look Like
There is a certain moment in practice when the pool deck gets unusually quiet.
Warmup is over, the pre-set is done, and everyone has finally earned a short break. For a few minutes, the deck feels almost peaceful. Swimmers grab water bottles, adjust goggles, talk with teammates, or just stand around trying to catch their breath. Then the coach walks toward the whiteboard, and slowly, almost automatically, everyone starts making their way over.
A few swimmers still talk as they gather around the board, but the conversation gets quieter as numbers start appearing. People read ahead, trying to figure out what they are looking at before the coach even finishes writing. Then your teammate sees something they don’t like. You hear a soft groan. Another teammate whispers, “Oh, no.” A few swimmers glance at each other with that unmistakable, “You’ve got to be kidding me expression,” followed by the sarcastic little laugh that is not because something is funny.
Just when you think the set can not get any worse, your coach writes something else.
×2.
Suddenly, the quiet groans turn louder and into gasps.
For me, this is usually when I start doing math in my head. How long will this set take? How much time is left in practice? Is there any possible way we won’t have enough time to finish? Because every swimmer knows there are sets that are challenging, and then there are sets that make you stand around the whiteboard wondering what you did to deserve this.
I decided to ask more about those sets. I texted several of my team group chats with one simple question: What would your version of the worst swim set ever look like? About 30 swimmers had the opportunity to answer, and within minutes, the responses rolled in. After reading them, I realized just how creative swimmers are when it comes to designing their own suffering.
WARNING! Coaches Do Not Get Any Ideas
Before we go any further, I would like to state one thing: For all the coaches reading this, I am sharing these sets for research purposes only. Please, for the sake of all your swimmers, do not write any of them on a whiteboard. Thank you.
The first response I got was probably the least realistic and somehow still terrifying.
“30K fly.”
That’s it. No intervals. No explanation. Just 30,000 yards of butterfly.
This is not a real set. At least, I hope it is not. Logistically, at some point, your arms would simply stop cooperating. If a coach wrote this on the board, thoughts wouldn’t be, “How am I going to finish this?” Rather, they would be, “This is not happening.”
Another swimmer sent me a set that was much more frightening because it could actually happen.
16 × 200s on 2:10, alternating fly/free
16 × 100s on 1:10 fly
8 × 50s on 1:00 chest press
8 × 100s on 1:10 IM
When this swimmer texted me the set, they sent it one piece at a time. I read the first part.
Sixteen 200s.
Okay. That’s a bit aggressive. Then came the next part.
Sixteen 100s of fly.
My reaction was immediate: “OMG, there’s more?!”
And there was, more 50s and more 100s. The terrifying part is not even how hard this set would be. It feels just realistic enough that I can picture standing around my team’s whiteboard and watching my coach write it down. Sixteen 200s would already be enough to make me question my life choices. But alternating fly and free means arms that will feel like actual spaghetti. Then, after all those 200s, you have to swim even more without the slightest hint of a break. By the end, I would probably be staring at the clock, wondering why I still swim.
Then there’s the set that made me realize just how much swimmers apparently hate 200s.
Four rounds:
4 × 200 IM on 2:30
4 × 200 prime stroke on 2:30
4 × 200 IMO on 2:30
4 × 200 free on 2:15
My immediate reaction was, “Oh, that’s wayyy too many 200s.”
One of my teammates agreed, responding simply, “Damn. That’s horrible.”
They are right. Here, it is not necessarily one individual part of the set. It’s the sheer number of times you have to push off the wall knowing you still have another 200 waiting for you. One 200 is manageable. A few 200s? Fine. But when you finish one round, look back at the board, and realize you still have three more rounds of 200s waiting, the pool suddenly feels a whole lot longer.
And just when you think we’ve reached the limit of how long a set can be, someone decided to add a little mathematical nightmare.
Two rounds:
16 × 100s on 1:20, alternating fly/free
32 × 50s on :45, alternating fly/free
64 × 25s on :30, alternating fly/free
200 fly on 3:00
200 free on 2:30
The first round alone is already a commitment.
Sixteen 100s. Then 32 50s. Then 64 25s.
Yes, Sixty-four.
By the time you reach the 64 × 25s, you’ve already been swimming long enough to start wondering when this set is going to end. And then, after all of that, there are two 200s waiting at the bottom. But there’s one tiny detail that changes everything.
Two rounds.
Yikes.
Finally, there was a set that might be the most mentally cruel of all.
1 × 100 on 2:00
2 × 100 on 1:30
3 × 100 on 1:20
4 × 100 on 1:15
6 × 100 on 1:10
12 × 100 on 1:05
At first glance, it doesn’t look as terrifying as some of the others.
That’s the trap. It starts easy. One 100 on two minutes? Easy. Then two on 1:30? Still fine. Then three, then four, then six. And finally, you’re staring at 12 × 100 on 1:05.
The entire set gets progressively harder, and that’s what makes it mentally horrible. If you flipped the set around, at least you could tell yourself, “Just get through the hard part, and it’ll get better.” Here, it only gets worse. Every time you finish a section, there isn’t relief waiting for you. There’s another grueling section that is harder than the last.
After asking around 30 swimmers for their worst ideas, I expected ridiculous answers. I definitely got those. But what surprised me was how different everyone’s versions of a nightmare could be. Some swimmers wanted an impossible amount of distance, some wanted no rest. Some wanted endless fly and others wanted to repeat the same thing until they forgot what day it was. And apparently, we are very good at imagining sets we absolutely never want to swim.