After training that Monday morning, I went home and sulked to Braydon about how I don’t get to have a life anymore. I confided everything from the past few days to mum to get her opinion about what I should do. At first she was disappointed in me, however, like the loving mother she is, she helped me; talked everything out and laid down my options.
“You can quit now; join the gym or go back to Eastwinder, or you could stick it out at Blackstone. You’re young, you’re learning and experimenting and my advice is that you don’t take the easy way out. But whichever you choose, I’ll support you 100%,” she had said.
And so I didn’t and haven’t taken the easy road out of things as of yet. For the past two weeks I have trained much more than the required amount, eaten right, pushed my body to the max and followed every single one of Mr Carmichael’s rules in preparation for the meet today. It may not have been the ideal way to spend my holidays but I’ll get a bigger one in eight weeks’ time, and it’s not like I could go to any parties either.
Right now I’m in the car driving to my first swim meet in about three years with Amy and Zander in tow. Saying goodbye to mum, we haul ourselves and our duffel bags out, equipped with tonnes of bottles of Gatorade and dressed in the blue and yellow bumble bee colours of Blackstone.
The first thing I see is hundreds of swimmers, ranging from amateur to the national league stretching, socialising or warming up for their events. We move over to where Mr Carmichael and the rest of the coach’s favourites are and exchange greetings. Ever since he enforced his new rules, the squad has been much more reserved around him. I'm feeling really awful because I think the main reason that the rules were enforced was because of what happened at the party.
Lachlan said to me at one point in the week, “We have also been really close with Coach. We pretty much considered him a friend because we could always joke around and have fun. Now, he’s so focused on winning again, he basically breathes competition. That’s why us performing well at the meet on the weekend is so important. Eastwinder is going to be here.”
That is another thing that has got me worried. Darvad and my entire old squad are going to be here. Thankfully Braydon has forgiven me for moving but what will the rest of them think when they see me? Surely word has gotten out to their school but I think it will be different actually seeing it in the flesh.
“Alright team,” says Coach, once we are gathered around our designated warm up lane before we jump in. “Today is a very important day in terms of winning the interschool cup next March. Today we need to lace fear into the eyes of our competitors; let them know from the start that we are here to win. I want all of your game faces on. Do not let all of your hard work from the past few weeks go to waste. Now get out there and show them what you’re made of!” he concludes his pep talk, to be met with a roar from the rest of us. “Over to you Captain.”
“It’s not going to be easy to win your races today guys, I understand that. But I want every single one of you to give it your best. I’ve watched you all at training and I’ve felt all of your pain. We are Blackstone. We aren’t going down without a fight!” Says Zander, causing us to again roar with agreement. “Who are we?” he yells.
“Blackstone Bees!” we yell back.
“Hands in; on three, two, one…” Zander continues.
“Blackstone Bees!” we all chorus with a clap, before getting ready and warming up.
I try my hardest whilst we are warming up to keep my head down. I don’t want to run into any of my old team mates from Eastwinder, or stare directly at my competition. I’m incredibly nervous about my races today because I haven’t actually competed in such a long time. I’m nominated with N/A times for all five of my events, so there’s no denying the fact that I’m going to be in the first heat, versing twelve year olds.
Much too quickly, I’m changed into Amy’s old racers and waiting at marshaling to be called for the 100 backstroke. Fourteen minutes and it’ll be done, I tell myself. Thirteen. Twelve…
“Charlie Lyons?” the marshaler calls out. That’s my call. I walk up and sit down at the seat for those in lane 6. Eleven minutes and I’ll be done.
Heat 5 of the men’s hundred backstroke begins. Seamus is in this race. Ten minutes. Seamus’ race finishes. He won. Nine.
We move up a row in the seats as the last heat of the boys goes to wait behind the blocks. I look over and see another girl with no time nominated who is about my age and three other twelve and thirteen year olds. Eight.
Suddenly someone taps on my shoulder. It’s Braydon. I’ve never been so relieved to see him in my life. “Good luck Char! Don’t look so scared, this isn’t a big deal. You’re versing twelvies, who cares if you lose to them; there’s no expectations on you at all. You’ve been training so hard, I know you’ll be fine! Now chin up beautiful, you’re going to do fine!” he kisses my forehead and quickly walks away, leaving me blushing slightly, before either of our coach’s catch us talking to each other. Five minutes until I’m in the water.
As we get up to wait behind the blocks and the last race of guys start, I think about what he said. There are no expectations out there on me. I’m practically completely new to the entire field of competition. All I’ve got to do is go out there and shock them. These people in my heat are nominated with times thirty seconds worse than what I did in grade 7.
Finally, it’s our turn. The whistle blows and I dive in, positioning my feet firmly onto the wall and strengthening my grip on the bar. The starter calls “Set” and I pull out above the water, positioned to release the moment we can go.
He pulls the gun and we’re off. I hold the tightest streamline, kicking hard until I emerge from underneath the water. My stroke rate is high as I power through, head still, legs going their hardest. When I reach the wall I do a perfect tumble turn, leaving the referee’s nothing to fault me on and then I’m off again. It feels great so I steal a quick glance at my competitors. They are only just turning into the wall now. I’m almost half a pool in front of them.
With the final flags insight I kick in as best as I can. Fatigue sets in and I can feel the burn. Braydon’s words pop bag into my head. “There’s no expectations on you at all,” he had said. But what if I want expectations? What if I want people to think great things of me? This is my chance to prove that changing squad’s has been the right choice.
It is there, as I wait for the rest of the girls to finish, that I decide I want to take up swimming professionally again. No more parties, no more alcohol – I’m going to steel myself and get back on track. I’ve made a good decision by moving here and it is going to teach me so much about myself that I never even dreamed of.
Who knew that it only took winning a race against twelvies to realize it?
~~~~~~~~~~
Authors Note
I'd just like to thank you guys for getting this to number 927 in the humour catergory! i know that that's really not that great, but it's the first time either of my stories have been ranked and that is super dooper exciting!
So if you read all that and you're feeling really kind today, could you quickly press the vote button or drop a quick comment because i really want to get a bit higher (:
And I would LOVE to know how you think this story is going and if you have any suggestions just PM me :)
Thankyou all for being fabulous
xoxo Kataa
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Rival Squad
Teen FictionA girl to guy ratio of about 2:70 in a swim team can be defined as both heaven and hell. Charlie Lyons had been a swimmer her entire life. Until three years ago, when everything changed. She took up athletics and soared to all new places, whilst st...
