Some people chase finish lines. Ilda chases silence, power, and presence. Some people swim for medals. Ilda swims because not swimming would mean drowning.
Her story didn’t start in a polished pool with coaches and schedules. It began with chaos — a little girl so full of energy her parents didn’t know what to do with her. Even as a baby, water calmed her. Baths, showers, pools — it was the only place where her restless spirit found peace. The first time she was thrown into a dark diving pool, terrified and uncertain, she surfaced not in panic, but with butterfly strokes that stunned the trainers. One coach saw her emerge and didn’t just rescue her — he claimed her. “This one,” he said. “I’ll train her.” And so began a love story between a woman and the water.
But that love has never come easy.
Life, like the sea, isn’t calm. Injuries pulled her out of the pool more than once. In those years, she turned to archery — and not just recreationally. She became a national-level archer, finding in the tension of the bow a movement almost identical to her swim stroke. But as she says: “Life is pretty okay when I have another sport… but when I’m injured and can’t swim, I drown outside the water.”
Ilda’s motto is “inspired by the fear of being average.” It's not about status or medals — it’s visceral. Even the word “average” makes her twitch. Weight, speed, performance — she doesn’t want to be in the middle. She wants to be great or to fall trying.
And so she trains. Two hours a day, often at the crack of dawn. She works, she mothers, she moves through life with strength and discipline. And when people ask why she pushes herself so hard, she says nothing. She just swims harder.
Behind the competitions and medals is a deeply human woman. A woman who craves deep conversations more than small talk. Who prefers a quiet morning coffee with one friend to loud nights out. Who finds joy in a good vermouth, Italian dinners, meaningful chats, and – always – Nutella after a tough race.
Her races? They’re not about victory anymore. Not exactly. They’re about the feeling. The adrenaline before the start, the raw mix of excitement and fear that she loves more than anything else. The silence underwater, the rhythm of her own breathing, the solitude of knowing it’s just her and the sea for the next 15 kilometers. That’s where she thrives.
She once swam so far off course in open water that a jetski had to come find her. Another time, at the national championships in Colombia, she chose to swim butterfly in a freestyle race — and won. The judge disqualified her, thinking she broke the rules. Her coach had to show them: freestyle means freedom. She didn’t break the rules. She redefined them.
Has she wanted to quit? Yes — hundreds of times. But unlike the jobs she left, the relationships that no longer served her, the countries she moved on from — swimming is different. “Quitting swimming,” she says, “would be like quitting my heart.”
What most people don’t understand about athletes like Ilda is what happens off the podium. It’s the early mornings in freezing water, the injuries no one claps for, the missed parties, and the constant self-doubt. It’s dealing with anxiety, the stomach cramps before a race, the mental battles mid-swim. It’s not glamorous. It’s exhausting. And it’s what makes her powerful.
Because when Ilda swims, it’s not just a race. It’s a conversation with her own mind. It’s her way of staying alive, staying awake, staying her.
She may not have been inspired by anyone to start swimming. But we’re pretty sure she’s inspiring a whole generation to never, ever settle for average.
This is Ilda.
Underdog. Fighter. Wave-maker.