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Breath Like Water
Author: Anna Jarzab

PROLOGUE


   1,063 days until US Olympic Team Trials

 

 

FINA World Aquatics Championships

Budapest, Hungary

Women’s 200m Intermediate Medley Finals


   THE WATER IS BREATHING. At least, that’s how it seems. I’ve always imagined it as a living thing, benevolent and obedient and faithful. A gentle beast at first, like a pony, but over time something faster. A thoroughbred, maybe. A cheetah sprinting across a flat, grassy plain.

   But, of course, the water isn’t breathing—it’s rippling, with the echoing wakes of eight elite swimmers as they poured themselves into one last swim, one final chance to grab the golden ring. Now they’re gone, and in half a minute, I’ll be right where they were, reaching for my own shot at glory.

   This is my first international competition. I turned fourteen in May, so I’m the youngest member of Team USA. In January, nobody knew who I was, but by my birthday I’d broken the women’s 200 IM record in my age group twice and finished first in the same event—my best—at World Championship Trials. My summer of speed earned me a lane here in Budapest. All I have to do now is not screw it up.

   Earlier, in the semifinals, I clocked my fastest time ever in this event, and I’m coming into finals seeded third overall. I have to beat that by almost a second if I want to win.

   The announcer introduces me over the loudspeaker. I wave to the crowd but my mind is far away, already in the pool, charting out my swim. I shake out my limbs and jump to get my blood pumping, then climb onto the block. I adjust my goggles, my cap, my shoulders. These little rituals feel solid and reliable. The rest is as insubstantial as a dream you’re aware of while you’re dreaming it.

   “Take your mark—”

   The signal sounds and I’m in the pool. My mind lags half a second behind my body, registering every breath, stroke and turn only after it happens.

   First: butterfly, arms soaring over the water, fingertips skimming the surface.

   Then: backstroke, concentrating on the lines in the ceiling while waves boil around me.

   After that: breaststroke, stretching, pulling, kicking, gliding.

   And finally: freestyle, bursting off the wall like a racehorse released from a starting gate.

   I go six strokes without taking a breath and snap into my highest gear for a mad-dash last push, coasting along the razor’s edge of my perfectly timed taper. No thinking, just doing. No drag, only flight.

   My hand touches the wall, and my eyes begin to burn. It’s over. Instinctively, I look for my coach. Dave’s on the sidelines, frowning, and I think: I blew it.

   He notices me watching and breaks into a rare grin. Hopeful, I turn to the board. I can’t find my name, so I force myself to look at the top spot. There it is: RAMOS. Number freaking one.

   I whoop and blow kisses at the people in the stands. They’re on their feet, chanting, “USA! USA!” American flags billow like sheets.

   It cost my parents a fortune to fly themselves and my sister all the way to Europe on such short notice, credit cards stretched to their limits. I can’t even see them in the crowd, but I know they’re somewhere in that jubilant crush of people. My heart feels so full it’s like a balloon about to pop.

   As soon as I’m out of the water, Dave wraps me in a bear hug.

   “How do you feel?” he asks.

   “Great!” I sigh and shake out my arms. “Tired.”

   “Gold, Susannah,” he says. His voice is tight with something like awe.

   Gold. It doesn’t feel real yet—won’t, until that medal hangs around my neck, until I can hold it in my hands while the national anthem blooms through the natatorium speakers with patriotic brio. Maybe not even then. I could have more wins here, but right now, this seems like more than enough.

   “You’re a world champion,” Dave says. “Next, I’m going to make you an Olympian.”

 

 

FOOLFORTHEPOOL.COM


   The #1 Source for Swimming News on the Web

   Freshman Phenom Flops Flat into Sophomore Slump: What Happened to Susannah Ramos?

   By Kris McNamara

   Posted July 25

   It’s a familiar story: a kid with some talent breaks out for a split second way too early in their career, then disappears from the rosters, never to be heard of again. Sometimes it’s an injury, sometimes they can’t handle the pressure and sometimes it is plain old biology dragging them down by the heels, which is what seems to have happened to Susannah Ramos.

   You remember her. The fourteen-year-old wunderkind who came out of nowhere two years ago and hopped from one national competition to the next, tearing up the pool in the 200 IM, then took home a gold from Budapest?

   Well, it looks like all the up-and-comers who were quaking in their flip-flops over Ramos’s meteoric rise can rest easy. The Illinois swimmer, who enters her sophomore year next month, hasn’t placed in a single national competition since her world championship win, and though she’s got a full schedule of events at the upcoming GAC Invitational, she seems unlikely to fare any better on her home turf. If she has any hopes of triumph at next year’s US Olympic team trials in Omaha, she’s got a long way to go.

   You have only to look at a recent picture of her to figure out why. A growth spurt during this year’s long-course season transformed Ramos from a petite powerhouse into a broad-shouldered Amazon, and her new build seems to be weighing her down in the water. It’s a sad fact of the sport that some swimmers peak young and never find their way off the time plateau. Surely Ramos, who competes with the Gilcrest Aqualions Club, hopes she won’t be one of them, but the statistics aren’t on her side.

   For the sake of her college prospects, here’s hoping she can beat the odds.

 

 

CHAPTER ONE


   330 days until US Olympic Team Trials

   THERE’S NOTHING LIKE the moment a race begins. It’s the highest height of the roller coaster, the top of the drop, all potential energy and anticipation.

   That powerful feeling of launching off the block is my favorite thing about swimming, the weightlessness of flight before slipping neatly into the water. Despite all the disappointment of the past eighteen months, that excitement right before the start never left me. Today is no exception.

   The simple act of climbing onto the block floods my body with adrenaline. My vision narrows, and all the noises of the pool—the slap of waves against the gutters, the shouting from the stands, the voice of the announcer as he calls out the names and positions of the swimmers already in the water—recede like a tide until I can hear nothing but the sound of my own breathing.

   The 400 IM relay starts with the backstroke, and the breaststroke comes next. The third leg of this race—the butterfly—belongs to me. Jessa’s behind me, hands on her hips, dripping wet and still panting; she started us off strong, touching the wall first with one of her best backstroke splits to date. Casey, our anchor, stands to the side, watching and waiting for her turn. Amber’s in the pool now, holding on to Jessa’s lead with her high-velocity whip kick, coming at me full speed.

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