I smack the wall. Immediately I’m drenched with the tidal wave of water that is my wake. I feel the water dripping down my face, getting caught in my eyes and running into my gaping mouth, as I gulp in huge lungfuls of sweet oxygen. I am in a bubble, a quiet world all of my own, where all I know is the powerful rush of blood through my veins, the unique taste of chlorinated water mixed with my own sweat and the rasping and intense burning of my lungs that have been set on fire. I know that I came first. It’s a swim-off, there are only two of us, so my real question is “What is my time?” I wipe the water from my stinging eyes and grip the wall for a few seconds, waiting to regain some control over my body, before I dare glance at the big blue clock lit up with bright dandelion yellow numbers.

At that moment, as I squint up at the clock and register my time, sound comes rushing back to me in an almighty crash. The whoops and cheers of excitement from my teammates, coaches and family gathered on the side of the pool mingle with my own breathless scream of euphoria. 29.99. A sub-thirty second time!

Without delay, I turn to my left, lean over the lane rope and congratulate my equally breathless competitor. “Thanks for a great race!” She is resigned to the fact that she will not move on but still happy with her time.

Finally, I take off the huge suction cup that is my two swim caps and my goggles, dunk underwater to loosen my hair that is plastered onto my head like a helmet and dive like a penguin under the lane ropes, from lane 4 to the edge of the pool. Once I arrive at my destination, I am greeted by my jubilant friends who have stayed to watch me race. They are babbling with excitement for me and bouncing up and down like jumping beans. “Did you hear us cheering?”, “That was amazing!”, “I can’t believe you broke 30 seconds!” Comments fly my way at top speed as I lumberingly attempt to pull myself out of the water. Even though my body is pure lead, I am on cloud nine. Now on land and grinning ear-to-ear like the Cheshire Cat, I try to respond to some of my friends. “No I didn’t hear you when I was swimming, but I think I saw some of you cheering.”, “I know! I can’t believe it either! I really wasn’t expecting to break 30!” As I chatter, I dole out high fives and hugs like a celebrity and slowly make my way to my bag to grab a towel, then over to my coach to begin the post-race interview.

Later, when I am back in the water warming down, the reality of my achievement starts to sink in. I think to myself “29.99! Finally!”. To most people, that means absolutely nothing, but to me, reaching this milestone, it is the payoff of ten years of competitive swimming. This one race makes it all worthwhile. The absurd 14 hours of practices a week, the killer kick sets, the sore, bruised hands from mid-pool collisions with the lane rope or with other people, the lengthy days that “I hurt everywhere”, the dreadful 4:30 am wake-up calls, the bitingly cold pool that is like an ice bath, the droopy eyes in class after morning practice, the dry itchy skin pulled tight over your face like plastic wrap and the soft, slightly salty smell of chlorine that is my collateral perfume. To swim 50 meters, a lap of the pool, there and back, in less than 30 seconds has been one of my goals since the day I donned the “Bluephins” cap as a seven-year-old girl. It is the goal of every young competitive swimmer.

As I reflect on my success and swim or rather drag my tired body through something that looks like water but feels like molasses, I consider my next goal. I have never really thought past this point. I wanted to break 30 seconds but what about after that? My imagination starts running rampant. I could win the event. Qualify for national level meets. Go to the Olympics! Now that I have tasted victory once, I am thirsty for more; to once again feel that feeling of pure euphoria.