Four short blows of the whistle echoed on the pool deck, a signal to the fifteen thousand people packed into the sold-out natatorium that they needed to quiet so the race could start. And then a drawn-out whistle prompted the starters to take the blocks. Talia was our lead, followed by Chelsea, Sydney, and me as the anchor.
Once the beep went off and all eight women dove into the water, my mind went from being on Earth to a galaxy far away. Nothing else existed except lane five. No other lanes. Not my parents and brother watching in the stands. No city outside and definitely no girl watching in Brooklyn. It was only lane five and my three teammates. I’d gotten pretty good at mental training. I think my psychology degree helped, and it was half the reason why I wanted to major in it, to understand how the brain worked and how to use techniques to minimize anxiety and distractions because they were always looming over Olympians’ heads.
A 100-meter swim never went as fast as this one. Before I knew it, Talia was patting me on the shoulders for good luck, and Sydney was doing her flip turn fifty meters away.
When Sydney was halfway to me, I stepped on the block. My heart pounded. My body was ready to explode from all the pent-up adrenaline. I took one last deep breath, exhaled through my mouth, and then sprang into the water when Sydney touched the wall.
Diving into the cool water and releasing all that adrenaline I’d saved up for weeks was the best feeling in the world. With zero hair on my body, I really did feel like a dolphin zipping through the water. I wanted to send Amira a message that just because she dominated Rio and was favored to win gold here, Tokyo wasn’t going to kiss the ground she walked on. I wanted to be a part of the relay that brought home the first gold medal for Team USA swimming. For that to happen, I needed to deplete all my energy and oxygen so my three teammates would have to hoist me out of the pool. That’s how people won gold. The race had to pump all the oxygen out of us.
When I smashed my hand against the timer, the wave from my race thrashed me into the wall. I gasped in the biggest inhale of my life and spun to the scoreboard on the other end of the pool. I couldn’t take my eyes off the number one in front of lane five. My team jumped ecstatically behind the block, and my heart showed no signs of slowing. American flags danced throughout the natatorium as the crowd roared. Our relay had beaten the American, Olympic, and world record by a second. I almost sank to the bottom of the eight-foot pool when I tried wrapping my head around the knowledge. As I tried catching my breath and processing the three records we’d barely beaten, I drifted over to the lane line we shared with the Hungarian team. Amira met me with a handshake and a one-arm hug.
“Congratulations, Yankee,” she said, as out of breath as I was. I could hear the disappointment in her tone, but I wasn’t even sorry. All that panting was because she was trying to catch me. I was glad I’d given her a workout.
“You too.” I leaned in close. “Looks like your butt doesn’t distract me anymore.”
Then I pulled myself out of the pool. Two could definitely play this game.
After the medal ceremony, I spent the rest of the afternoon resting, which helped me advance to the finals in my 400-meter free. After the night session, Team USA celebrated the medals we’d won on our apartment floor with loud music, the medals around our necks, and bottles of water that we pretended were champagne.
Right when I was about to change the song blasting through the Bluetooth speaker, I noticed Kennedy had sent a text twenty minutes before. I smiled wider than I had all night.
OMG. YOU WON A GOLD MEDAL AND GOT ALL THESE NEW RECORDS! THIS IS THE COOLEST THING EVER! I’m SO incredibly proud of you.
My smile was already big. Her text made it reach capacity. I quickly snapped a selfie of the medal around my neck and sent it to her.
It’s crazy! We’re celebrating right now. Also, you read the spoilers.
She responded. I couldn’t help it. I’ve been thinking about you all day, and I had to know. I’ll try to avoid them so I can be surprised for your 400 final.
Or maybe you should watch it live. You’re my good luck charm, remember? Help me win my first individual gold.
All right, maybe I will.
* * *
The nerves in my stomach felt like a spinning whirlpool when I woke up on Monday, the day of my first individual race. My stomach pain and adrenaline were ready to bust through my skin, a feeling I loved because once I hit the water, it turned into energy like a chemical reaction.
I stood behind lane four with Amira in lane five, and stripped off my warm-ups and jiggled my legs and arms. I took in the sights to make sure I remembered this moment for the rest of my life: All the people packed into the seats. The rounded ends of the cameras pointing at me and seven other women. I skimmed the stands until I found my family in the first row against the railing, sporting their homemade T-shirts: “Quinn’s mom,” “Quinn’s dad,” and “Quinn’s awesome twin brother.”
I wish you were here, Ken. I allowed that one thought and shut off my brain.
The official blew the whistle, signaling the crowd to hush. The event couldn’t start until you could hear a pin drop. Swimmers were trained to jump into the pool from the start sound, and any little movement could result in a false start, which meant all those years of hard work—blood, sweat, and tears—would result in disqualification. I had nightmares about that so many times during training. It was a horrible thing to witness live, and if I, the top American swimmer, got disqualified from a false start, I would forever be known as a complete laughingstock to my country and my sport.
Once the pool deck became dead quiet, the official told us to take our mark. As I leaned over and gripped the block, I inhaled a deep breath and exhaled from my nose.
Buzz.
We flew into the pool, kicking as fast as we could to get as much distance underwater since we were faster there than at the surface. The first half of the race, I had to give eighty percent of my energy. Even then, I couldn’t shake Amira. She was almost a full body length ahead, and I blamed her height.
Stop looking at her. Swim your own race.
The second half of my races were always my strongest. I cranked my energy up to one hundred. No, more like a hundred and ten. I wanted to finish and have the timers drag me out of the pool because I’d used every bit of energy to snatch the gold from the favorite. Each length, I inched up to her. Slowly but surely. But if she and her coaches had done their research, they would know that my superpower was that final flip turn that tossed me forward. At that last flip, I kicked as hard as I could and popped up right at Amira’s head. We were neck and neck. I could hear the crowd whistling, chanting, and yelling a thunderous roar. I could see my coach jumping up and down, using all his energy to wave me to the wall. I could see the crowd on their feet. American and Hungarian flags rippled in the stands. I could imagine Kennedy livestreaming it in her Brooklyn apartment. I could hear her screaming. My heart pumped out of my chest.
Breathing felt like sucking in and expelling cement in that last hundred meters. With the last twenty-five, I couldn’t afford to breathe every stroke. I didn’t need oxygen for the last twenty seconds. Breathing only slowed me down. Twenty seconds. No breath. Go.
I slammed my hand against the wall and breathed in all the oxygen I’d starved myself of the last twenty seconds. When I popped out of the water, the sounds from the crowd reached the highest I’d ever heard. With barely any energy, I huffed and puffed as I checked the scoreboard. There, lane four had the number one followed by a WR.