Chapter 26

Sunlight streamed in through the open roof of the Hamburg Wassersportzentrum. Toby and Dave had been unable to stop giggling when they realised the aquatics program would be held at a ‘water sports’ centre. A German water sports centre. I was just impressed with the notion of an aquatics complex with a retractable roof that gave way to the clear summer sky. Almost every competition and meet I had ever swum at had been held indoors. The air was less thick with humidity and chlorine, and it was not unpleasant to feel the warm sunshine and the movement of a subtle breeze on my skin during training. But training was in the past.

The trilingual French-English-German announcers began reeling off their introductions for the two-hundred metre butterfly semi-final as we entered the poolside. The Olympics were something else when it came to being organised. At the Village we were loaded onto buses for the different venues. Nobody, at least on my buses, was ever late. We were delivered into the service dock and shepherded into different change rooms based on the events we were competing in, I guess to make marshalling us easier. In contrast to my experiences even at nationals, nobody spoke to each other. We were all trying to keep our heads in the moment. Not for the first time I was grateful that my longest event was two hundred metres. I only had to keep my focus pinpoint for four laps of the pool. For all his joking and oddball behaviour, I recognised that Dave must have the mindfulness of a Tibetan super-monk to maintain focus for the fifteen hundred. I was a little envious, to be honest.

I heard my name called out and raised my hand in a blind wave. I didn’t look around. I knew mum and dad were in the stands. I knew my sister and her family would be watching on television, although my nieces would probably be asleep on the sofa given the time difference. I didn’t need any extra distractions. Nationals were one thing, but this was a whole different level. Of course, on an abstract level I knew that, but it wasn’t until I was on the starting block waiting for the buzzer that I really felt the extra adrenalin kick in. But knowing I only had to swim one race each day helped. I had six days of competition to worry about. The first three days were for the two hundred butterfly; the heats to the semi-finals and then the final. The next three days I would focus on the fifty-metre freestyle. Knowing this, I hadn’t loosed the Berserker. Instead, I’d started stronger and with the higher cadence I’d been working on since camp in the Netherlands. I’d beaten my personal best by a quarter of a second during the heats and those of us who qualified for the semi-finals were all within three and half seconds of each other. I had qualified ninth out of sixteen for the semi-finals, and that had taken a lot more out of me than I’d thought it would. My coaches were pleased with the outcome and had given me a few form reminders; slightly too deep on my entrance into the water which had thrown my start off which could account for up to a second, a little loss of rhythm during the third lap which could have cost another quarter of a second, slight hesitation coming into a turn which could cost yet more time. All down to nerves, but easy to remedy - I just had to keep focus for four lengths of the pool.
I arrived at my lane. Number four. I dropped my bag onto the chair there and nodded a greeting at the race marshal standing behind it. He inclined his head in return. I took a deep breath and began to really focus. I slipped off my sandals, peeled off the warm-up suit I was wearing and stuffed it into my bag. My cap and goggles were already perched on my head. I rolled my shoulders and neck to loosen the muscles as I stepped up behind the block, ready to mount it on the marshal’s call. I knew there were men on either side of me in the same position, but I pushed them out of my mind. I breathed in through my mouth and forced the air out through my nose, pulling the breaths in deeply and rhythmically, and focussed on the spot about three metres from the wall where I intended to enter the water. I visualised my start, feeling the firm push from the blocks, my body opening into the pointed curve that would pierce the water, imagining the rush of the water against my body as I dolphin kicked and torpedoed out to the point where the first wheel of my arms would send my body arcing up and out of the water in the first stroke of the race.

Three short sharp blasts of the referee’s whistle broke through my concentration. We all took our places next to our blocks. Another long blast signalled us to step up on the block. I pulled my goggles down over my face and focussed on my entry point.

“Take your marks!” came the starter’s call. I took one last deep breath, I bent down and planted my left foot against the slight incline at the rear of the starters block. Gripping the wet pebbly rubber and curling my fingers under the lip of the block, either side of my right foot. I set my toes just far enough forward to where I would have purchase with the edge of the ball of my foot when I pushed off and waited.

The crowd fell silent.

I felt a soft breeze across my shoulders.