Geese Are Never Swans by Kobe Bryant & Eva Clark

Author:Kobe Bryant & Eva Clark
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Granity Studios
Published: 2020-07-20T16:00:00+00:00

48.

Everything’s faster in a race. Too fast, almost, but my entry’s sharp, clean, followed by the wild rush and squeeze of cold-struck lungs. Any hint of panic and this is when you fail, when the liquid underworld sucks you in and pulls you under and has its way with you. It’s all over then, and there’s nothing you can do because the start doesn’t happen when you hit the water but in all the times you’ve hit it before.

Bubbles clear. The black lane lines come into view and I surge forward with full-body force. There are no limbs down here. No mind separate from the body. There’s only execution and form. Swimming or stillness. My whip-crack dolphin kick propels me along the cool belly of the pool until the laws of physics shove me to the surface and I corkscrew my way into my stroke.

My pace is strong, even, pure torque and pull, and I surrender to the near-perfect rhythm of my ability. This is the speed I’ve practiced and the power I’ve mastered. It’s only when I’m confident in what my muscles, my blood, and my breath tell me that I push for more. Then more again. It holds; there’s no slipping in my timing, my strength—I want this. I want it all.

I can’t tell where anyone else is, but it doesn’t matter. The path to victory is the one I fight for. I push my speed again, chewing through the water, and after the first turn, I know I’ve got this. It’s in me. I take the second turn clean and throw myself into the final hundred.

The crowd cheers, a wild, throaty roar, and something’s happening. This race is close or someone’s making a last-minute break. My body responds before my brain can tell it what to do but I rise to the call, imploring every part of myself to Push, push, you stupid bastard. You’re nothing if you give up now. Do it, you asshole.

The pain sets in. My lungs burn, my arms tire beneath the drag of the water, but the last fifty’s where the work goes. Not the day’s effort, what I’ve done in this pool—but the countless laps, the stolen hours at night, the years of self-loathing and the lifetime of guilt. This is what it’s been for. This is when it matters. And so I fight and I keep on fighting. There’s no fade in my homestretch. No weakness in my attack. Only a full-throttle sprint for the end.

First my hand hits the wall, then my head, knocking my goggles askew and ringing my ears. The crowd continues to roar but why? I see nothing but foam. Chlorine burns my eyes, water rushes up my nostrils, down my throat, but I whip around to look at the scoreboard. The letters, the numbers, defy me, and I can’t tell for sure how I’ve done until Coach Marks comes, grabs me by the arm.

“Did I win?” I gasp. “Did I make the final?”

He laughs. “You did more than that.

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