Chapter 21

It wasn’t until Friday night, when we were planning our trip to State the next day, that the location clicked for me. The State Championships were at Columbia International University, which was essentially the host of Ben Lippen School. Who knew? Unlike a football game or especially a baseball game, the home swimmers don’t have any real advantage. They might have more supporters in the stands, but once the race starts, we can’t really hear them. Even if we could hear them, we certainly wouldn’t know who it was or who they were cheering for. They did have a great locker room. I knew that for a fact.

I knew that a lot of people were going to make the ninety-minute drive from Porter-Gaud, but I wasn’t in a talking mood. Kim drove the Rabbit, and I stayed warm in my cozy poncho, visualizing each race in my mind.

When we pulled into the parking lot, Kim gave me a kiss, wished me success, and I went straight through the locker room to the pool deck. I checked in at the officials’ table and asked about race lane assignments. These guys were organized. They gave me a start time and lane assignment for each race. The big news was that I had lane six for the breaststroke. That meant I had the fourth-best time. Lane assignments work from the center out, so the four lane has the fastest qualifying time. Then five, then three, and so on. It seems weird, but it makes sense, and after three years of swimming, it seemed normal.

I found our team and stashed my gear, then jumped in the pool to make sure the water wasn’t any wetter than anywhere else. I liked to do a few turns to get a feel for the walls. There are minor differences from one pool to the next, and they usually don’t amount to much. However, this was a fast pool. It was deep, with ten lanes, meaning the outside lanes would go unused. On top of that, the gutters were wide. The starting blocks were brand new, and I didn’t see the bonehead who had disqualified me on a previous meet. In short, things were just about perfect.

“Hey, Jack,” I heard when I jumped out on the deck.

“Hey, Art,” I answered. Art Muscleman and I were competitors, but we were friendly competitors, and that was the best.

“Are you feeling okay? No cold, soreness? Nothing like that?”

“No. I feel great.”

“Well, shit,” he said, smiling. “Seriously, I’m glad of that. Ben Lippen lost a guy with the flu or something. I don’t want an asterisk next to my name in the record books.”

“Do they put your name in the record books if you come in second?”

“Nice. I hope you have a great day. In fact, Jack, I hope you come in first in all the races where you’re not competing against me.”

“Pretty generous.” We shook hands and went back to our own team.

I joined Coach Miller, Gil, and Brian at a section of the far bleachers they’d staked out. Some guys were there alone, their school’s only qualifier, but there were three of us, and that was pretty cool. “When I was swimming in high school, my coach told me the only conversation I want you to have with the competition is after the race. ‘I guess I kicked your ass, didn’t I?’ What he wanted for us to be focused on the race. I think you can be friendly and focused. Also, you can tell Muscleman, ‘I guess I kicked your ass’ in a friendly way after the race, too,” he said, and we laughed.

“Jack, Gil, this is your last meet at the high school level. You’ve put in the miles and done the work. Put your game faces on. One race at a time, and don’t take anything for granted. You can safely assume that everyone else here is hearing about the same thing right now. No one is planning on coming in second, and if they are, they’ve already lost. Everybody hydrated? No problems? Good.”

“Brian, this is just like any other meet.” Gil and I both laughed. We couldn’t help it.

“Sorry, Coach,” Gil said.

“They’re right. That was bullshit. This is the toughest competition you’re going to face. The good news for you is that you’ve already competed against Jack and Gil, so it’s nothing new for you. That’s a huge advantage. Use it. Stay focused, and enjoy the day.”

“Some advantage. Going to kick your ass, freshman,” Gil said.

“Not until after the race. No talking,” Coach said, and we had to laugh.

That was it. Coach had given us a little pep talk, made sure we were ready, and let us laugh a little. I’d remember that. I figured that by that point, it was probably the best you could do. I was ready to race, and we had fifteen minutes until the first start.

I walked over to our little corner of the bleachers and greeted our Porter-Gaud crowd. We actually had a pretty good turnout. I thanked everybody for coming out and told them I’d been added to the breaststroke competition. I’d be racing in seven out of eight events and probably wouldn’t be back over until we’d finished. Mom gave me a hug and said she was proud of me, and I went back to our spot.

Waiting.

Waiting.

Waiting.

Man, I hated waiting. Let’s get on with it.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the South Carolina State Swimming Championship. Today will decide the championship in the following eight events,” and he continued listing the events, then the schedule of events, and all of that. I guess they had to take care of the spectators. I figured that if you were a spectator at this, you’d probably already been a spectator at Regionals and a half dozen other meets and didn’t need all this.

Waiting.

Waiting.

Waiting.

Did I mention that I hate waiting? We were finally called to the blocks for the first race of the day. I stepped to my starting block in the five lane with Billingsly to my left. I didn’t know anyone else in the race. It didn’t matter. This was my race. Billingsly had edged me out for the four lane by a couple hundredths of a second. That was about the length of a fingernail. I’d trimmed mine the night before. Suddenly, the absurdity of that got to me, and it was all I could do to keep from laughing.

I took my spot and waited for the call to marks. I had that strange sense of time slowing down again. Sometimes it could be really helpful, and others, it just seemed to make me wait longer. I felt like I was waiting. I looked at the far end of the pool and tried to imagine it closer than it was. I was as focused as I’d ever been.

The horn sounded, and I was airborne. The race was over much too soon. Much too soon. I swam it exactly as I’d imagined it, pulling off the slight upset victory by a tenth of a second. That was it. I didn’t have a lot of time to savor it before the start of the IM. While I enjoyed competing and especially enjoyed winning, when it came down to it, the IM was what it was all about. If I won that, anything else would be gravy. One win down and six to go. Right.

I never really understood why the order of events was the way it was. It seemed to me that there should be a final race of the day, and it would be the most important race. I guess people could argue that it should be the fifty free or maybe the five hundred free. No one would say it should be the breaststroke, but that’s what it was. For me, the race of the day was the two hundred individual medley. You had to be good in all four disciplines to win it. Whoever won that race was the best, at least according to Jack Pierce.

I could imagine it. ‘Thanks for coming over to the officials’ table. We were wondering if you’d like to change the order of events. Do you have a favorite, or think we should start with a particular event or end with one? No one ever asks the swimmers, and we thought we would ask you, Aquaman.’ As though that would ever happen.

I heard the long whistle and stepped onto the starting block. It didn’t really matter. In fact, the only race that mattered was the one I was about to swim. I checked the lanes next to me to see Muscleman and Billingsley. I thought this would be the toughest race of the day. These two guys had earned their lane positions, and they wanted it. I wished time would slow down for me so I could visualize the race one more time, but that experience was fickle, and it didn’t happen.

I had a clean start and took an early lead with my butterfly. I really pressed it, knowing I had one of the best. If I could make the other guys chase me, perhaps they’d run out of steam making the effort. By the end of the first lap, I had a full body length lead. When we switched to backstroke, that lead began to erode.

I struggle to maintain my lead, working my little flippers furiously. I held on, and at the halfway point I still had a half-body length lead over Billingsly, with Muscleman right behind him. Switching to the breaststroke was the real test for me. It would answer the question if I deserved to be racing that event later in the day. I wanted to increase my lead. Smooth is fast, knees in, glide, repeat.

I wanted to pull farther ahead, but I wasn’t sure if that was happening. I wasn’t losing ground. How could I be this fast and not be pulling away? Because these guys were good. Dang. I kept at it and by the end of the breaststroke, I thought I had picked up a little more separation, but it was tough to tell. Finally switching to freestyle, I really turned it on. I hit the turn perfectly and sprinted home, winning by a full body length. I have never had a confidence boost like that. Never. This was my day.

I heard my cheering section going nuts, turned to wave, then went to our spot to throw on my poncho. The temperatures were a little cool, and I didn’t want to freeze up between races. Art came over and congratulated me on swimming the perfect race, and I thought that was pretty cool. I could have quit right then and been happy. For about ten minutes. Next up was the fifty free. Who was the fastest man in the pool?

I tried to stay warm, and the poncho worked, but my feet were getting cold. I tried to keep moving, thinking that if my feet were cold, Billingsly’s feet were cold. That didn’t help much. My qualifying time was only slightly faster than his, and maybe he’d been under the weather at the time. Who knew?

Standing next to the starting block, waiting to be called for the start, I looked at who I thought would be my main competition. He was taller than me and wiry. Either he was prematurely bald or had shaved his head. He very definitely looked capable. I wondered if that’s how he would size me up.

“Jack,” I said, when our eyes met.

“Bill,” he answered.

“Bill Billingsly? Really?”