[SwimTeamSpeedo]

The big pool was closed all day on Saturday for a fairly large swim meet, the big meet Greg was waiting for. Jimmy was forced to use the indoor pool, which was a much smaller 25 yard pool in a dark and dreary building that looked like a converted garage. The indoor pool was more crowded, a favorite of the town’s senior population and in the Summer the water was kept warmer than usual, partly by design and partly because the building just got hot. Jimmy shared a lane with an older lady who was not at all happy about it. In fact, she was rather rude, and she simply kept hogging the whole lane, making Jimmy work around her. With her size, it was no small feat. The one time Jimmy bumped her, she made a big scene and wanted him thrown out.

“Youngsters aren’t suppose to be in here, anyway,” she said to the lifeguard. He was cordial, let he gripe for a while and then politely told her she either obeyed the rules or she was going to have to leave. This made Jimmy smile and her mad. Such is life.

Jimmy’s turns got messed up, for no reason than just the new surroundings. Actually, swimming in a different pool was good for Jimmy’s skill development. As he swam, he noticed the different posters for the swim team Greg was on and for the two high school teams that used the pool as home in the swim season. Jimmy never even realized that the school had a swim team, and he was immediately intrigued by the idea of joining it. Of course, it wasn’t going to be as easy as he thought.

The crabby old lady finally left, and no one replaced her, so Jimmy had the lane all to himself. In the lane next to him, a guy in his sixties was swimming back and forth. He wasn’t real fast, but Jimmy watched as he went though a combination of back stroke, breast stroke and what Jimmy had learned from Greg was freestyle, or just free for short. The guy was really graceful in the water. Jimmy also noticed he had on a really colorful swimsuit that looked just like the kind Greg wanted Jimmy to buy, except way more colors. It looked great on him. “A real swimmer,” Jimmy thought.

Jimmy started doing some of his drills, first a series of kicks with the board. He really was concentrating on his breast stroke kick, which was not going as good as he liked. He watched the colorful swimsuit guy in the lane next, who seemed to kick effortlessly. Jimmy tried to mimic his kick as much as he could. If it was getting better, Jimmy wasn’t feeling it. He switched to his normal kick after five awful laps, working on the timing tips Greg gave him. The older guy had stopped at the wall and was now watching Jimmy, as he made his way down and back. Just as Jimmy finished up, the lifeguard blew his whistle. Lap swim was over, a full two hours burned up. Jimmy stopped and stood.

“Hey, your pretty good, young man,” the colorful suit guy said.

“Thanks, sir“, Jimmy replied. “My breast stroke kick sucks, not as good as yours,” Jimmy replied in a youthful sort of way.

“Well, you looked like you were doing fine. Are you on the swim team?” the guy asked.

Jimmy beamed with pride. He took the question as a compliment. “Well, no, but I plan to try out,” Jimmy answered with rising excitement.

“Good for you, swimming is a great sport,” he answered. “My name is Jack, by the way,” Jack added extending his hand.

“Jimmy,” came the reply with the return handshake. The lifeguard let the guys chat as he started to pull the ropes to open the pool for water aerobics. “Hey, I really like your swimsuit,” Jimmy added.

“Yeah?,” Jack replied. “Best swimsuits for swimming, and I like the colors. Gives an old guy like me some youth.” Jack chuckled.

“My swimming coach wants me to get a real swimsuit,” Jimmy added, referring to Greg “Where did you get yours?” Jimmy asked.

The lifeguard finally intervened and said they really needed to get out. Jack gracefully hopped out, almost as smooth as Greg did. Jimmy watched and tried to do the same. He planted both hands flat on the wall and then did a jump, thrusting up from his legs. To his total astonishment, his body cleared the wall and he stood on the deck. First time ever Jimmy had hoped out of the pool. He withheld his excitement, opting to take the cool swimmer route.

“I get my suits on line,” Jack explained as the two walked into the locker room. The young kid and the older guy chatted for quite a while as Jack got changed. Jimmy, of course, stayed in his blue swimsuit shorts, but was enjoying the conversation. Jack was full of sage swimming advice for the young man, and generous in offering it up. By the time Jimmy walked out with Jack from the locker room, he not only had made a new friend, but he landed his first job. Jack offered him $20 to mow his small yard once a week and do the trimming. He even gave Jimmy a $10 advance on his first mow. Jack had no idea if he’d ever see Jimmy again, but when he learned Jimmy’s story, he just felt the need to give the kid a break.

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Monique watched and screamed as Greg hit the first turn of his IM, the conversion from fly to back. Greg was literally “flying,” at least half a body ahead of the next swimmer. This was his star event, and the one that would get him onto a college team. The turn was perfect, a solid push and rotate off the wall, Greg was now moving powerfully down the lane on his back. His reach was great, one of the weak spots in his swim, but not today.

Greg knew he was swimming well. He just felt it. Out of the peripheral of his vision he could see the hands of the swimmer next to him. They were arguably the two best IM swimmers in the region. Back was the weakest link in Greg’s IM, but if he could end this with a slight lead, he knew he could kill the breast and free. Midway down the length of the 50 yard old distance pool, Phillip had closed Greg’s lead. Greg reached farter and pulled harder as he could now see Phillip’s almost entire arm next to him. “Stay focused,” Greg commanded himself. He had two challenges, don’t let Phillip’s speed frustrate him, and nail the turn. His back to breast turn was the other bad spot in his medley.

“Go Greg,” Monique yelled. Greg could actually hear her cheers. He smiled inside and his male ego fired into an even higher gear.

Greg and Phillip hit the wall almost dead even, Greg a slight advantage, maybe a fraction of a second. Greg flipped and thrusted with everything he had. It wasn’t a great turn, but it was enough to not let Phillip get past him. The crowd was going crazy. This was the race of the meet. Six college coaches crowded the side of the pool watching, taking copious notes on everything about the swimmer’s techniques. Phillip was swimming shockingly strong on breast, which was to have been his weakest link. “Eat wake,” Greg thought as he tried to pull away. Apparently Phillip wasn’t that hungry for water because he stayed right with Greg’s challenge. Greg needed a solid lead entering the free, which the two were a toss up.

Greg hit the wall and made a solid flip, gave it his best push off ever. It was his best turn of his swimming career. All the work coach had been making him do was paying off. But, not enough. Phillip actually pulled ahead by mere inches on a solid turn and stronger free off the wall.

Between the two teams chants one could not make out the Greg from the Phil as the crowd was going wild. It sounded more like a basketball game than a swim meet. The last 50 yards of the free seemed like an eternity. By mid pool, the two were neck and neck, no discernable advantage for either. “Come on, Greg,” Monique prayed. Her hands at her mouth, he heart in her throat. This was a huge race for him, for both guys, actually.

“Push,” Greg thought. He had 25 yards left, he gave it everything he had. The pace picked up, the final kick. Phillip answered, staying right with him. Depending on angle, it was either Greg ahead by a finger or Phillip ahead by the same. Both tall, lean bodies, gliding through the water, their tiny swimsuits barely visible in the wake of water coming over their backs. The crowd screaming, the two hit the wall. Greg’s head popped up first, followed by Phillip. The two guys had nothing left, gasping for air. Their hearts pounded in their chest. The officials had no idea who won.

Greg and Phillip reached over the ropes and shook hands, then immediately they embraced each other. “Great race,” they both said, followed by declarations that the other guy had won. The cameras and cell phone captured the embrace, which became the photo on the front page of the Sunday paper in the small town. Rarely did the paper run photos of guy swimmers in their small race suits fully exposed, but this photo was just to perfect a story to pass on.

The guys waited, the other swimmers on the teams wrapped around them. The officials checked the photos and videos of the finish. The touch mat showed one winner by less than a tenth of a second, but the officials wanted to see if they could back that up, the race so close. Greg tugged at his swimsuit, pulling away the cling. He pulled out the strings, his symbolic declaration that he was finished for the day. Phillip had already done the same. What was a few minute wait seemed to take forever.

“After a review of the photos and the videos, along with the touch mat, we can officially state that the race was won by the swimmer from…..” The official announcement came. Greg heard none of that info, at least none of it registered. All he heard was the name.

“Congratulations, Phillip,” Greg gracefully extended his hand. “You swam an amazing medley.”

“You, too,” Phillip answered.