Chapter 20

A day and a half on a bus with a one-night stopover in a budget chain motel, three to a room. I drew the short straw and had to sleep on the roll-away. Neither the bus seats nor the bed were designed for anybody over six-foot but every other guy on the team felt the same way, so there was some comfort in that. By the time we arrived at our accommodation for the National Swimming Championships I felt like I’d already swum a week’s worth of competition.

“Well folks,” said our head coach as we stumbled off the bus, “there’s motivation for those of you shooting for a slot on the national team. They can afford to fly. Grab your bags and come through to the foyer to collect your room assignments and keys.”

Just from the foyer, I could tell this hotel was a marked improvement on the one from the night before; the absence of a vending machine selling toothbrushes and condoms was a big hint. I was paired up with a distance swimmer named David (“Call me Dave”). He swam the 1500m and was also a possible contender for the national team. Apparently one of the team assistants had been saddled with playing human trading cards, taking two days at a whiteboard filled with post-it notes trying to work out rooming combinations so that one person could have uninterrupted rest time whilst the other was at the aquatic centre two blocks away. It would have taken them only a day but they either forgot or didn’t know that ‘Kerry’ could be a male name too. Guys were on the fifth floor, girls were on the eleventh, and our team meeting room was on the third floor.

Dave and I picked our beds, dropped our bags, and checked out the room: bathtub with shower head, minibar locked, pay-per-view locked, tiny fridge with UHT milk, complimentary tea and coffee, and an expansive view of the rough concrete of the office tower next door. Evidently the hotel had been built first and the other buildings thrown up around it. Oh well. We weren’t here for the view. We headed back down to the third floor for the scheduled team briefing.

As we entered the meeting room another assistant handed us each a packet and made us sign for our competitor credentials. They were encased in plastic with our photos and details of the events we were registered with. We were warned not to wear them outside our clothes, and only produce them as we went to enter the venue; the Nationals were a big deal and tickets always sold out in an Olympic year. Plus, there were always some crazies.

“All right. Everyone here? Good. Let’s get started.” The head coach stood before us. His name was Brian Lawson. Yes. That Brian Lawson. Two world records, three golds and twice as many silvers. The main reason I had passed up the opportunity to do college at home. After my initial orientation interview, he had spoken to me maybe five times in the three years I had been in his program, but you always felt his hand in the advice and directions you got from the associate coaching staff. “I’m not going to make this a long spiel. This is probably the last time we’ll have everyone together here until the week is done. Over the next seven days, you’ll be in one of three places; the aquatic centre, this room, or your rooms. Your own rooms. There are three other teams staying in this hotel, and they have their own split floors like you do. They also have their meeting rooms on this floor. I don’t want to see any high school hook-up bullshit. You’re all big boys and girls, but don’t forget why you’re here. Wait till the end of the week to celebrate or commiserate.”

“Or consummate,” someone called out, prompting laughter from the assembled team.

“Witty, Fuller. At least you’ve got that going for you,” replied Coach Lawson drily, prompting another round of laughter from the room. “In your packets are your schedules for heats and training. Don’t bitch to me or my staff; this is all based around the events you’re gazetted in, the availability of training pools and the two gyms at the centre. Mealtimes are rolling, as per your schedule, in this room only. One of the reasons they put three teams in this hotel: we’ve all been liaising with the head chef here for a month now. You’d never eat here like this normally. Some of you are nervous eaters, and that’s fine. This week is a big deal but even if you don’t feel up to it, make sure you’re eating as per your plans. Feel unwell? Talk to the docs. Muscle pain or tension? Trainers are here. They wouldn’t let us set up ice baths in this room, but there’s ice machines on each floor at the end of the corridors if you feel the need to improvise in your own rooms. Our team bus will shuttle to the venue on the hour from the lobby and will depart back to here at twenty past each hour. I don’t want anybody walking, hitching rides with other teams, getting a cab. You’ve invested a lot of time and energy, and our supporters and the university have invested a lot of dollars to get here; we need to treat those investments with respect. You’ll notice Friday night is free. It’s the finals. If you’re in one, you’ll have plans. If you haven’t been lucky enough, you’ll be in the stands.” He paused and looked around the room, scanning our faces. He continued on, a little gentler “For some of you, this is your first chance at a national title. For some this is your last chance with this club. But this year is an Olympic year, so all we care about is getting that qualifying time. You guys and girls got this far. A lot of your teammates didn’t. You all have the talent, and you’ve all put in the hard work to develop that talent. Now’s the time for it to pay off. We’ve got one day tomorrow to settle in before the heats begin. Don’t be late for your training slots at the centre. There’s space for twenty-six men and twenty-six women on that Olympic squad, and around four hundred of you competing for it. Good luck! Now, they’re gonna bring dinner in and then you can hang out here for a bit or head back to your rooms and try to get a good night’s sleep.”