Chapter 4

The call connected but brought not the cheery tones of a brother but the now overly-familiar sound of yet another voicemail request to leave a message after the tone. The last few days had been a litany of missed calls and crossed text messages. Whenever he had a break between training and physio appointments the family seemed to be watching another event with phones off. Whenever he returned from a gym or pool session there would be another blinking icon waiting for him. Another failed attempt at contact.

It was great seeing the messages wishing him good luck followed by messages offering congratulations as he cleared his heat but it would have been nice to speak to his family in person. Everyone else on the squad seemed to be able to schedule video calls with loved ones. You would have thought that with such a large family he would have struck lucky at some point.

Gordon scrolled through the call history. Alan. Scott. Virgil. Even John, the least sociable of his siblings and apparently with an allergy to small-talk, had made two attempts to reach him over the last few days. And there, right at the bottom, one single attempt from his father to make contact shortly after his initial heat. He wondered how the call would have gone. Would he have received congratulations for making it to the final or would he have had to justify his second place finish? It was too late to speculate now. His coach was rapping impatiently on the door; it was time to head to the pool for the race of his life.

The changing area was filled with the incomprehensible babble of a multitude of languages. Old rivals sat alongside new upstarts. Gordon plugged in his earphones in an attempt to drown out the sound and get into the zone. He had been competing for long enough to know what worked for him; even his coach knew better than to try and intrude at this point. The familiar playlist hammered into his head as he leant back against the cool tiles. Eyes closed. Breathing regulated by the sound of the beat. He waited to be called through for his race.

The playlist wasn't working. He wasn't normally prone to nerves but this was the big one, the race everyone had been talking about. From the early whispers as a kid on the junior circuit through to actual squad selection the word 'Olympics' had never been far away. This was the dream. This would be his defining moment. It was as if none of his other achievements mattered. This was what he had been training for all these years. Everything else was just a warm up.

He checked his phone one last time. Nothing new. Of course there wasn't, everyone would be up on the balcony already but it gave his hands something to do. Every muscle felt jittery. The announcement that it was time to go pool side had him bouncing up as though the starting gun itself had gone off.

xoxoxox

Alan practically hung over the balcony rail, straining to see the far end of the pool where the competitors would be making their entrance near the starting blocks.

A heavy hand on his shoulder pulled him back and stopped him leaning out too far.

"Steady there. He'll be out soon enough. Don't want you going into the water."

Alan huffed at Scott but complied, sitting heavily back in his seat, eyes roving to the big screen that was showing a shot of the top end of the pool. It was difficult to be patient when his brother would soon be competing in an Olympic final. For most of the spectators it was just another race in the session but for the Tracys it was personal.

It wasn't just Alan that fidgeted with impatience though, there was an air of barely repressed excitement running through the family group, the atmosphere in the venue just served to increase the tension. This was a big medals day in the pool and Team USA had already added a gold and two bronze to their total haul. The swimming squad was representing their country well and showing that USA was a sporting force to be reckoned with.

A cheer rippled through the venue as the athletes entered. A kaleidoscope of tracksuits parodying the flags and emblems of their nations appeared at the top end of the pool. The yellow and green of Australia shone out amongst the variants of red, white and blue worn by the representatives of USA, Russia and France. Eights athletes filed in to take their place on the seat behind their block. Eight bodies jiggled legs and stretched out arms and shoulders. Take a drink. Adjust goggles. An array of displacement activities and rituals as each competitor did what was needed to mentally prepare themselves for the task ahead.

At a signal from the officials eight figures stood and disrobed, exposing honed muscles and expanded shoulders. Gordon, placed in lane six after his narrow inclusion in the final, bounced on the balls of his feet. Slightly shorter than the average swimmer in the line up he was dwarfed by the Norwegian in lane five, his neighbour in the pool towered a good eight inches above the young American.

There was no holding Alan back now and even his more self-controlled family were leaning forward against the railing to get a better view than that already offered by their front row seats. Eyes were fixed on the distant figure fifty meters away at the far end of the pool.

Giving a start of realisation and guilt that he had almost forgotten Alan dug into his backpack, pulling out the banner he had cajoled Virgil into painting. He shoved the two ends into the hands of Scott and John who proceeded to tie it to the balcony so it could be seen hanging down from the guard rail. It was impossible to read the expressions of the swimmers from this distance but Alan swore he could see Gordon turn and smile in their direction. Whether this was true or not the others couldn't tell but their squid certainly seemed to gain an air of calm after the banner was unfurled.

A further signal from the officials had the competitors stepping up on to their blocks. Silence descended over the crowd.

Poised.

Taut.

Ready.

The starting gun had eight figures launching into the water with enviable grace and speed.

Stroke. Glide. Breathe. Repeat. Each competitor found their rhythm and gave the performance of their life.

Ordinarily the pack would form a V shape. An arrowhead through the water as those that had won their heats were graced with the more desirable centre lanes.

Today was no ordinary day.

Today was the day Gordon Tracy dredged into reserves he barely knew he had. Start strong, stay strong, end strong. There was no let up in his pace and determination. Focus and rhythm aligned. The arrowhead was broken. Soon the commentary was focussed on lane six and the seventeen year old competing in his first Olympics.

Cheers erupted from the Tracy section as the swimmers reached the final board and triggered the timing pads. From their seats aligned with the end of the pool they were in the perfect position to see Gordon hit home in first place.

For the swimmers in the water the rankings were less clear cut. Without the benefit of a grandstand view eight sets of eyes were focussed on the board awaiting the final results. Moments stretched into eternity as they waited for the official times.

1 USA GORDON TRACY 1:44.20 WR

There, on the first line of the board was the confirmation of not only his success but an achievement surpassing all hopes. A world record.

The family watched as down in the water Gordon shook hands over the lane dividers with the swimmers to left and right. He was a sportsman to the core and he congratulated those who had provided stiff competition. Only then did he turn and wave to the balcony, acknowledging the family that had supported him through years of training then followed him to the opposite end of the Earth to witness his crowning glory. The cameras tracked between the Tracy in the pool and the Tracys in the stand, capturing their moment of shared joy for eternity.

xoxoxox

The fluttering feeling in his stomach was off-putting to say the least and probably wasn't helped by the two celery crunch bars and a glucose tablet he had inhaled after getting out the water, he knew they were needed after his intense energy usage though. The last time he'd tried to skip the obligatory post-race refuel he had nearly taken a header off the podium as his blood sugars crashed. He wondered if throwing up on an official was more embarrassing than fainting on them.

The call to head out to the podium soon put a stop to the nerves as he was ushered back pool-side between the other two medallists. This time there was no escaping the fact that all eyes were on him but there was no performance required; the joy spread across his face was pure and true. This was the culmination of years of early morning training sessions. Gym, yoga, vitamins, nutrition schedules. Every missed party. Every rejected invitation to go bowling. The sacrifices he had made had come together to create one perfect moment.

The medal, the anthem, the flowers; everything played out as he had imagined. The flash of a thousand camera bulbs only partly responsible for the tears in his eyes.

His dream.

Complete.