As my face hits the water, my body recognizes the familiar shock of the cold water whizzing over my skin, the collapse of my lungs as they rid themselves of oxygen. Time to do what I do best - the fish has returned to the water.

Mount Hood Community College. My fast skin, double caps, and mirrored goggles transform me into an Olympian. The last couple minutes before the race still bounce around my head; those were the last minutes before, and about five minutes and forty-nine seconds from now, it will be after. After this, I can accomplish anything. It will be the final proof, to everyone and myself that I can do it - from here on out, I can box up my insecurity and chuck it away.

She shouldn’t be swimming.

My thoughts switch to my hype song Back in Black. Yes, I came back, beating all odds, and ready to give up a few times, but I’m back. The journey to the blocks is short, and too soon, they loom before me. The final cries of Brian Johnson and ACDC trail away, until, for the first time, I fully comprehend the water in front of me. 25 yards. 20 laps. 5:49. Kick. Pace. Turn. Breathe. My counter Emily waves at me. My coach nods. Take your marks…

19 laps. I have always been a water child - that’s what my mom called me when I was little: a water child. Even before birth, destiny seemed positive that I would one day become a swimmer; it was written in the stars. I was born under the constellation Pisces – sign of the fish, ruled by the planet Neptune, god of the seas. My birthstone? Aquamarine. A future spent in the water seemed indisputable.

17 laps. Emily’s hand on the large, black number waves back and forth. What’s wrong? I sneak a quarter second glance at my coach on my next breath. Slow down, he mouths. He’s right, I must save my energy for later.
15 laps. The number is still. Right on track. Now in the groove of this long event, my mind drifts. I notice the ominous creaking of my shoulder that reverberates through my body.

She shouldn’t be swimming.

This thought circulates another wave of adrenaline through my body. Not yet, save it for when you need it. 
13 laps.  Damn shoulder.

11 laps.  The number bobs up and down. Pick up the pace.

9 laps. I allow the memory to flood in. The scene flickers to life, as though projected onto my goggles. Ten years old. The x-ray. The tests. The Injuries.

She shouldn’t be swimming they said. My heart throbs wildly. My old Coach called it clumsy; my doctor called it Ehlers. A genetic disorder, he called it, contortionist disease. She shouldn’t be swimming, he said. If only they could witness me now. The wave crashes down.

7 laps. Showtime. As though someone flipped a switch, my feet roar to life. Why did I allow myself believe them? Why did I quit for those precious 11 months? No matter, I’m “Back in black, I hit the sack, I've been too long I'm glad to be back.”

5 laps. ACDC continues to blare in my ears “Yes, I'm let loose, From the noose, That's kept me hanging about. I've been looking at the sky 'Cause it's gettin' me high, forget the hearse 'cause I never die" (ACDC, 1980) 
4 laps. “I got nine lives, Cat's eyes, Abusin' every one of them and running wild” (ACDC, 1980)

3 laps. My lungs seem to burst, but I will not be defeated. Every whip of my arms, every kick of my feet shatters each challenge thrown my way, with me coming out stronger. Ehlers: smash. Injury after injury: smash and smash! Disqualification in the f***ing 200: SMASH SMASH SMASH! Every person that ever stood in my way: SMASH! I am holy, Neptune of the 500 freestyle!

2 laps. My eyes don’t register the bottom of the pool race by. They don’t perceive my coach pacing the length of the pool with my, urging me on and on. My skin no longer acknowledges the water slipping past me. My ears fill with triumph. I have reached Nirvana.

1 lap. The cowbell clangs somewhere in the distance. Emily thrusts the orange squares wildly into the water. Someone is shouting at me to go. My arms, legs move violently, reaching further and further at something I cannot see. The stars drive me on and on, destiny pushing me forth until, suddenly, the rough black time pad appears under my hand.

I did it. The water comes into focus. My trembling fingers delicately peel off my first cap, my goggles, and my second cap. Waves of success flow from my body. I did it. Emily cheers and removes the numbers. My coach gives me a single nod.

In this lane, on this day, I am God.  

Works Cited

Johnson, Brian, Malcolm Young, Angus Young, Cliff Williams, and Phil Rudd. Back in Black. ACDC. Epic, 1980. CD.