My muscles tingle as I walk inside the centre. The familiar stench of chlorine greets me. It has been eight months since I have competed – eight months since the biggest failure of my career, where I failed to make the Australian Olympic team. I was planning on giving up swimming, particularly competition but after a few months out of the water, I decided to try my hand at something completely different and give triathlons a go. The training that I have been doing for the triathlon has really helped my swimming. So, I thought it would be fun to enter state titles, catch up with some old friends and have a bit of fun. I am excited about seeing my friends again, friends who have been a part of national teams with me. I am also excited about catching up with a few of the coaches.
I walk into where the warm up is. I see a lot of familiar faces. I smile at a coach, one that I have been away with on Australian teams. He is a coach that I worked with on the 1991 World Championship team as my own coach had been placed with the long distance swimmers. We worked well together. As our eyes meet, he turns away without so much of a smile or acknowledgement.
Did he purposely turn away or didn‟t he see me?
I sit down and stretch. I put my earphones in my ears and listen to music because I feel uncomfortable. I cannot understand why I have this feeling of
uncomfortableness as this environment was one I once strived to be in, one that I loved being in. A group of four female swimmers from another club approach me. Three of them I have been on Australian teams with. I smile at them, an invitation, or so I thought for them to come over. They giggle and whisper to each other and keep walking. This dishevels me, I feel like I don‟t belong. It is like I am no longer
131 accepted, that I have become an outsider. I question what I am doing here and contemplate leaving.
I try to ignore the smirks, the whispers and the snubbing and remind myself that I have returned to racing because I am curious to see how I fast I can swim without the pressure of others‟ expectations. I am in the first event so as soon as I
complete the warm up, I head straight to the marshalling area. As I am being marshalled, I notice that some of my male triathlon friends are in the grandstand; they have come here to support me. This brings a smile to my face. I sit in a row of seats next to my competitors who I am racing. One of the girls who I have roomed with on previous Australian teams, a person who I considered to be a friend notices me waving at my friends in the grandstand. She looks at me and says:
Paula: “Are they your boyfriends?”
I do not respond to her question. Her comment dishevels me and a state of
melancholy overcomes me. It is not so much the words of her comment, it is more the fact that she failed to acknowledge me before making the comment even though she walked past me in warm up. Up until today, I had considered her to be a good friend – somebody that I could confide in, someone that I thought that I had camaraderie with. As fellow team members of numerous Australian
swimming teams we had shared in something unique and now it seemed as though nothing had ever been shared.
We line up behind the blocks for the start of the race. I feel a little nervous but more excited about racing – a contrast to how I used to feel. The gun goes off and I dive into the water, everything that I need to do comes back to me automatically almost as if I had never taken the time off from racing. I feel good as I swim. I finish the four laps strong. I touch the wall and look up at the scoreboard. I have finished second in a time that is only one second outside my best. I feel excited, happy about what I have just achieved. My training load has cut down from 90 kilometres a week to about 20 kilometres, along with a few runs and rides, yet I still have managed to swim a fast time. I look up into the grandstand to find my friends. They are jumping with joy, so excited by my achievement.
132
Mandy
“15 years old”
I look up into the steep stand of the Valley pool and I see my Mum and Dad sitting there amongst the crowd. I smile as my eyes lock with Dad‟s. He is sitting beside Mum and has come today especially because I have asked him to. I have
something special in store, am feeling good and know I am swimming fast and want both Mum and Dad here to share it with me. Even though it is National titles, a high pressure meet, I feel confident.
I stand behind the start blocks with the other seven finalists for this event. I shake my arm muscles, loosening them off, trying to keep the tension associated with my favourite event at bay.
Mustn‟t be too confident, there are still people that are trying to knock me off my perch.
This is my event and I don‟t want anyone to take it away from me. Only last night, I won silver in the 100 metres.
It should have been gold.
I put last night out of my mind and focus on the race ahead. I love racing the 200 metres and I am going to show everyone what I am made of.
The whistle blows and I dive into the water in preparation for the start. I crouch up into the start position. My muscles are tense, alert in anticipation for the sound of the gun. The gun sounds, I take off. I control myself, careful not to expend all of my energy in the first lap. I swim strong, building each 50 metres as I go. I come in for the final lap noticing that I am well ahead, in fact over four metres in front of the rest of the field. I touch the wall. I know it is fast as I have clearly beaten the rest of the field. I look at the time keepers trying to hear what time I have done. By then, the rest of the field has touched the wall. The whistle sounds soon after the last competitor has finished. This is the signal to exit the pool. Soon, after I exit, I find out my time. I am so pleased as I have done my best time by almost two seconds. The only down side is that I have just missed the
133 the world. Even though it is my best time, when reflecting, I realise there are certain areas where I could have improved, areas that I will work on for the Commonwealth Games in a couple of months. I am sure that at the
Commonwealth Games when I am racing head to head with some of the other competitors from other countries, that I will be able to dig that extra bit deeper in the final lap.
I dry myself off with the towel and pull my tracksuit on to keep warm. I grab my belongings and then climb up the stairs of the grandstand to see my coach and family. I am keen to celebrate and share my victory with them. Am really pleased with the swim and what I have achieved – did a best time, won a national title, broke the national 100 metre backstroke record during that 200 metre event. So, all in all – not bad. As I approach my coach, I can see that he is not happy.
Surely he is not upset with me? I approach him first.
Bob: “what was that?”
His voice is raised. It is loud enough that a lot of people in the surrounding seats can hear what he is saying.
Mandy: “what do you mean? It was a great swim.”
Bob: “you swam like an amateur then. There were just so many mistakes. That was terrible. You are hopeless.”
Mandy: “I realize there were a few areas where I could have improved but I did swim my best time and I did just win a national title.”
Bob: „It was an amateur performance.”
My heart sinks. I look around and notice that a lot of the people have just heard him tear my swim and me apart.
Feel embarrassed, ashamed of myself.
134 I head over to my Mum and Dad. They give me a slight smile. They have just heard what has gone on. I sit down in-between them both. My Mum pats me on my leg but does not say anything. They can see that I am visibly upset from what my coach has just said to me.
I was on top of the world less than five minutes ago. Now I feel like my confidence has hit rock bottom. I put my face into my hands as my eyes are brimming with tears. I will not let anyone see me cry. I wait until the car and the tears start to cascade down my cheeks.