Faster.

I am unbeatable.

The next two races go the same way: I kick the asses of anyone who goes against me, sending them crying. My team congratulates me, cheering and hugging me close while I soak it all in, smiling like the champion I know I am. We are all of the new generation, although I am still better than all of them. They know it, and hate me for it, and love me for it, because I've won more races than any of them could ever hope to. The relays are next. I'm anchor, but SHE is right before me. SHE, who hasn't won a race since last year. SHE, who nearly cost us this meet in bakcstroke, in which she came fourth. SHE, who will lose this relay for us unless I pick up the slack. I will, but SHE is so slow and out of date that it might not be enough.

The first one pushes off like a bullet from a gun, speeding ahead of everyone and making it back before the other swimmer has had a chance to touch the wall on the opposite side. She climbs out, panting, as our second racer slices through the water. This is the fastest either have ever probably swam, since they know that SHE is up next. As soon as SHE dives in, it is already apparent that we have lost. The second racer of the other team reaches the wall, and the third quickly finishes as well. The fourth is already halfway down when SHE finally finishes, and I leap in. I could still catch her.

When I finish, the other swimmer is halfway down the lane, and I pull myself out of the pool, royally pissed off. Yes, I won, but I didn't win far enough. She should have still been completing her first lap. But SHE slowed me down, and now the other racer is finished when she should still be headed back, and SHE stands off to the side, looking guilty.

Good. She should be.