The Moments Before the Race

        My legs nearly froze in the moments before the race. I had warmed up previously, so I was all wet, but, at least, my arms had my Nike jacket over my wet swimsuit.
        The announcer breaks in onto the intercom, announcing my race in five minutes. I unzip my jacket throw it on a littered bench in the hallway and shudder at the breeze. Feet away, a girl in a red swimsuit shakes her arms. I look down at my own purple one, pull it up, and stride out to the pool deck, opening my lungs by raising my arms.
        While I get with my teammates to perform our school (GO MINNOWS!), the other team scoffs at our childish behavior. My cheeks heat up, and I'm sure I blush a crimson red.
        The announcer gets on the intercom once again, announcing the 100 Freestyle lineup. I take my spot next to the #8 starting block.
        "Swimmers," I take a deep breath as the voice cackles throughout the silent room, "Step up."
        I step up the metal step to the plastic board. I can look out to the still, empty water, placing one of my feet so the tips of my toes hang over the edge of the platform and the other behind in a ready stance, but still stand straight.
        "Take your mark."
        I bend over, the tip of my fingers resting on the edge of the block. My rear sticks up in the air, and I stare into the blue water and the blue stripe.
        I am intent on winning, or at least not allowing the red Cheetahs to take the medal.
        My lungs expand and contract.
        A horn sounds in the distance, ringing in my ears. I push off  the block, arching my back and pointing my fingers in a triangle over my head. My toes curve like a ballerina going on point and I plunge underneath the icy water.

The Water Round

The day of the Family Olympics Water Division, I dressed in my blue swimsuit and trotted down to the lake, where Uncle Tom was stretching in his rippled speedo. His hairy chest wobbled up and down as he struggled to touch his toes. I look away, disgusted at the sight. The sky was as blue as a cerulean crayon, white clouds skimming the horizon liked stretched cotton balls. I uncapped the sunscreen and sprayed my bare arms before a stampede of cousins come dashing down, dressed in bikinis and floating rings. But there he was. Lucas. Lucas had trained, back in Colorado, to become an Olympic swimmer. He had been swimming, every morning, for about an hour. Practicing. I only practiced 30 minutes in the morning, and only took a conditioning class back home. We were the top competitors. The swimmers lined up in the shallow water. Though I was only covered up to my waist, younger family members were practically drowning in the chin-deep water. When Aunt Autumn blows her whistle, I kick off of the sandy lake floor and position my foot on a leg of the dock to push off. I spiral through the murky water. I feel so alive, as I see fish scattering below me through my purple goggles. When I am feet away from the far dock, I curl into the smallest ball possible and spin. My bare foot grips the dock's post as I push off. I streamline through the waves, 'squeezing the cheese' as Coach Geoff instructed me to back home. The flip turn was extremely over-rehearsed, but it all paid off as I streamed forward, pushing off the minuscule post. Lucas is ahead of me, but barely. I cycle my arms frantically as I perform the crawl stroke. I can see his knees. Then his hips. He, too, is swimming freestyle. It's the fastest stroke. I can see his shoulders. His head. I kick as hard as I can. Think of everything you love. Do this... For them. My legs become a kicking machine as I thrust one arm forward, feeling for one of the dock's legs. Everything around me goes dark, as if I've floated under a cloud. Where sunlight can't exist. I continue kicking, determined to win, and emerge on the other side of the dock, breathless. I stand up and see Lucas sitting on the other side of the dock with his face in a beach towel. Uncle Tom has just now reached the far dock, and 2-year-old Rebecca is not even there in her pink arm floaties. I laugh as I pull myself up onto the dock. I don't care if I won anymore. I had fun, isn't that all that matters? Aunt Autumn hands me a blue ribbon, and I step up onto a tree trunk. Lucas sulkily accepts a red one and takes his place next to me. "Well, Lucas," I smile. "I guess you need a bit more training before you become the new Michael Phelps."