I gripped the edge of the podium with my fingers, my elbows shaking about slightly. This was it, Beijing 2008, and it may be my only chance to shine. I position my rear higher; enough to get a sharper kick off. I dare not look at the competitors to my left and right. I already know who they are, and how wicked fast they are. So fast, they are blurs in the water.
My teammate is two girls to the side of me, at podium 2. Well, I say teammate but everyone knows that once you hit the water you are swimming for yourself. Nothing you do in that pool is going to get the other girl gold, it’s just going to make the gold slip out of your own grip.
Do not hold back. Swim on Dolphin Girl, swim on.
The support from back home ricochets in my mind. My existing gold medals are in the back of my head, taunting me. I re-adjust my bathing suit at the shoulders from where it dug in against my sore muscles and find the most comfortable position on the board to kick off from.
I wonder if-
BANG.
No time to wonder as I throw myself off the board and into the pool, the chlorine scented water slapping my face like a slap of concrete as I propel myself further. I was competing in my speciality, the 200m butterfly.
Everything around me was a haze, I could hardly register my ups and downs. I didn’t even recognize what place I was in, just that I was nearing the wall to end it all. My back ached, and my chest injury tugged at me as I slapped my hand against the pools end. This was it.
“And she’s got it! She’s got the gold, that’s Lois Jones for Great Britain.”
I threw my head back in exultation and let out a loud shout, throwing my hands into the air. That was my fifth and final gold medal at Beijing.
It was then that I spotted him, the tall brooding American man frowning at me from across the stands. Though that day, I didn’t realise he’d soon turn out the be my largest rival. His name? Michael Fred Phelps.
