Page 69 of Diving In
I scroll through my phone looking at photos of my last Olympics, the ones with Mum in them. I remember how she used to make brownies, and bring them to me in the hotel for after the race.
A text from Coach Miller comes through, snapping me back into the moment.
Coach:Glad you actually listened to me and got some sleep this time. We all know you’re shit on less than seven hours.
I huff out a laugh, some of the tension easing in my chest.
A second ping:
Coach:Enjoy the weeks off. Then I’ll see you back in the pool.
I grab some clothes and start changing. Josh has flown home, but Kath and I are going out tonight and I need to cheer up. I should be happy. I should be having the time of my life.
Thirty minutes later the pair of us are heading to a bar just outside the Olympic Village to meet my friends. Kath’s got a short flowery dress on and is even wearing heels, making me realise that she’s taking the idea of a ‘night out’ seriously. The streets are buzzing around us, flags from all around the world being brandishedon corners. In the throng of people, the heat is oppressive, and sweat prickles at the back of my neck.
The colours, the sound, the heat. It all feels like it’s been dialled up a notch. I can smell food from street carts, and somewhere nearby a drum rhythm kicks in, thrumming through the crowd like a heartbeat.
“Hey.” Kath nudges my shoulder just before we walk through the door. “You did it. Congratulations, Sam. Truly.”
“Thanks.” I give her a small smile before pushing through the entrance and being hit by another wall of noise. It takes my eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness. Craning my neck, I look through the sea of people for anyone I recognise. A bar runs almost the entirety of the length of the wall on one side and there’s a huge dance floor and DJ booth at the back. I take a step in and my feet stick to the floor. I grimace.
She tugs on my hand. “Are you proud of yourself?” Her brown eyes are surprisingly serious when she looks at me.
“I guess so?” I squirm under her gaze.Am I?I don’t know. I currently feel a strange mix of guilt and grief. Or at least I think that’s what the emotions are.
“You guess so,” she scoffs. “Come on, Sam. You’re coming home with three individual gold medals and a silver and bronze from the relays. You’re now one of the most decorated British athletes of all time and you set an Olympic record. You should be proud of yourself.”
“I think I see the guys,” I tell her, avoiding her question and dragging her over to the corner of the bar where I can see Austin and Seb.
“This conversation isnotover,” she shouts to me over the music as we wend our way through the crowd.
Austin and Seb are at a table surrounded by a group of people. There are some British swimmers, my Florida teammates, their American swimming friends and some of the Canadian guys. Then a mixture of non-swimmers who must be family and friends. It’s something else Ilove about our sport. So many of us train together that there aren’t really any big rivalries. Generally everyone gets along. If I lose, I’m annoyed. But it’s usually tempered by the fact that I generally know and like the person who beat me. I’m frustrated with myself for swimming badly, not with them for doing better.
“Fletcher!” Austin stands to give me a hug. “How are you? I hear you’re all over TV in the UK.”
“It’s only during the Olympics.” I shrug awkwardly. “Hopefully they forget about me by next week.”
“Oi.” Kath shoots me an unimpressed look. “You wonmultiplemedals. You’re not allowed to be self-deprecating until at least November.”
I smile, but she’s not done. She turns to the rest of the group, her glare softening into something warm.
“I’m so impressed with all of you,” she says. “I know how hard you work.”
“Are you going soft on us, Ford?” Austin teases.
“Never.” She rolls her eyes. “But seriously, I just wanted to say I’m really happy for you guys. I feel aggressively mediocre sitting here surrounded by this much raw athletic talent. Frankly, it’s a bit rude.”
“You’re anything but mediocre,” I tell her as Seb starts enthusiastically waving at AJ, who’s just arrived with his brother.
“Kath!” AJ beams as he spots Kath. “You look ravishing, as always.”
I groan internally. At least he didn’t call her KitKat.
“Why thank you; you do too,” she says, grinning. “Hey, Corey,” she adds, waving at AJ’s brother—who responds with a wink so smug it should come with its own soundtrack. Must be genetic.
“Fletch!” AJ turns on me dramatically. “Why don’t you have a drink in your hand? This is a party, not a library!”
“You know what? You’re right,” I tell him. “For once,” I caveat as he opens his mouth again. “I think I’ve just become so used to never drinking that I forgot that this is one of the few nights where I actually can.”
