The first thing I notice is the smell. It hits me like a wave crashing into the shore. The odor is of musty wet bathing suits and steamy locker rooms. I enter the imposing facility, straighten up, and put my poker face on. I want everyone to know that I mean business. There are certain things a confident teenage swimmer does not do. I do not look faster people in the eye. I do not associate with the rowdy obnoxious 8 and under runts. Most important of all, I do not show any of my weaknesses. I am here to dominate and win. My biggest hope is that my competitors will fear me. My biggest fear is that my competition will get into my head.
Pushing my way through the crowd in the lobby, I finally make it to the deck. I push open the door and let the feeling hit me like a blow to the face. The familiar tingling and sour sensation creeps over me like so many times before. It is that sickly, stomach turning feeling that I get when I know you have to win, for the sake of the team and personal pride. As I walk across the deck of the aquatic center, I take a long, slow look at the crystal clear chlorinated water. Scanning the 15 foot deep diving well, the 25 yard racing pool, the 85 degree warm down pool, I take it in as a reminder that swimming isn’t just my sport, it is my world. My world is going to rock today.
I walk up the stairs to the athlete seating and claim my space by laying my towel down to cover as much space as possible. Staking this important claim gives me a valuable asset: sleeping space to acquire crucial rest before and between swims. As I sit on my towel, reclusive and solitary, I proceed to write down the events that I will swim. Then, I see it. Oh, Lord, it’s the vexing number that could change my short term swimming career. My time for the 50 freestyle, is a currently disappointing 28.09. Every time I see that time I die a bit inside. It kills me to think that for so long I have been so close to that state cut, but have not achieved it. This is the time that breaks my coach’s standards and my own thoughts of myself. This is the one time that could change my outlook on swimming forever. My ultimate goal is the state cut . That is the one second between disappointment and redemption.
As I day dream about getting that illusive time, I am abruptly brought back to reality by the sound of my coach’s voice. His raspy Brazilian accent pierces my dream like a spear. Coach yells for me to get down to the deck for warm-ups. So I scramble to sloppily write down all of my events on my leg with my lucky green Sharpie. I then throw my clothes off, grab my cap and goggles, and race to the slippery deck with nothing but my team suit hugging my body. Unfortunately the warm cocoon of my fuzzy towel lays forgotten in the comfy nook I have left behind. As I screech and slide across the deck, cap in hand and goggles in hand, I hear the sound of Coach giving us our work out warm-up. There is nothing special this time. It is just our normal competition meet warm-up. Thank goodness, it is only 30 minutes long and enough work to get me warm, not tired.
As I dive in to the water from the deck, I let the cool wetness swallow me whole and wake up my senses. I take it all in: the taste, the smell, the goggle headaches, and that great feeling that I get when you pass someone supposedly faster. I let it all sink in for the entire 30 minutes. Afterward, I climb out and run back up the stairs to get my warm dry towel. Abruptly, I hear that familiar phrase, “Athletes, please rise for the national anthem.” I stand with my hand over my heart and body angled toward the flag. Anxiously, I wait for my event as my heart revs. When the time finally comes for me to head to the deck, I think I am ready. I have already spent the grueling 30 minutes required to squeeze into my fast suit. Thank goodness for the $200 dollar suit that qualified me for the state and county meets. I will cherish it forever, even though the crushing grip compresses my body down a size. I don’t mind the skintight embrace, I welcome it.
Standing behind the starting blocks, the feeling hits even more intensely than I have ever felt before. My stomach sinks, and I feel my heart beat in my neck, palms, and head. The time has finally come, after months of training and preparing for this moment. It is finally here. I prepare for my race the same way I always have: crack all of my knuckles, both thumbs, and all of my toes; stretch my arms, legs, shoulders, and feet; crack my back; touch my toes; swing my arms; slap my thighs until they are red. Now I am ready. As I stand there behind the blocks, I look left and right then realize that I am in the middle lane. It is the fastest lane, THE lane! Effervescent thoughts and feelings pour over me, and I suddenly feel more alive than ever!
The referee blows the whistle 3 times. This signal tells us all to claim our blocks. I put my right foot on my block and wait. One long whistle sounds and tells us to stand and mount the blocks. I step up, hunch over, and wait. Then the ref says the final words in a flat dry voice, “Take your mark.”… I wait for the sound, and process the, “BEEP!” I explode! I fly off the blocks with astonishing speed. My entry is faster, stronger, and harder than I have ever done before!
As I slice through the water, I streamline with my hands clasped in a triangle and kick as hard as I can before I break the surface. As I take my first stroke, I experience a piercing and terrifying thought of doubt. I am so afraid I won’t make it. I fear the feeling of disappointment as I had many times before. I dread that I will get to the wall and see that I add time rather than drop it like I am supposed to. But then, hope springs. When I get to the first wall, I see them, the rest of the swimmers in the race. They are so far behind me that I think I am mistaken. I complete the flip turn and realize that I CAN do it. This is my chance, my choice, my victory.
I power through the last 15 yards of the swim and hit the wall with such incredible force that the timer sanding above me takes a step back. I pause for a millisecond. I swim toward the flags and look at the score board. It is there. My state cute time is right there on the scoreboard clear as the water I’m floating in! When I see it, I pull my body to the block and swing up and over it, flexing all the muscles in the arms and back. I feel so strong, stronger than ever before; both physically and mentally. Obviously noticing my excitement the girl in the lane next to me (who got second place to me by 0.19 seconds) swims over and gives me a hug and sweet words.
Then, I turn to the other lane and look at my best friend, Tina. When she sees the expression on my face, hers changes to match it. “Did you get it?” she asks. “Yes!” I scream. Lina squeals with joy and flings herself over the edge of the pool and hops out. We run to each other like a couple running through a field of wild flowers. We throw our arms around each other and jump up and down. She tells me how proud she is of me, and we both run to the coach. I race up behind Coach, jump on his back, and shriek, “I got it! I got the cut!” But, before he can respond, I am already halfway to the warm down pool. As I slide across the wet tile, my friend Cole hops out of the pool and inquires, “Did you get it, short-straw?” “YES!” I holler. He gives me a big hug and then proceeds to throw me in the pool. On any other occasion, I would have grab him by the leg and pull him in after me, but not this time. This is an important moment that I will cherish forever.