Freestyle Flirting: A Sweet Lesbian Romance

by Nicolette Dane

  I tried to think back to Mitch’s words. I tried to remember that no matter what happened, this wasn’t the end of the line for me. Win or lose, life was only just beginning. I had a lot more to look forward to and a win here would only be icing. I took a deep breath and smiled. My brain was flooded with the endorphins of happiness.

  Just then, I felt an arm slide around my lower back and a body slip up next to me. I looked to my left in surprise to find Dasha smiling back at me.

  “This is it,” she said. “I’m not even going to ask if you’re ready because I know you’re ready. I know you’re going to give it your best.” There was joy in her eyes, familiarity, love.

  “I’m trying to stay cool,” I said. I fluttered my hands out slightly as they were feeling a bit cold and numb. “This has been my dream since I was a little girl.”

  “I know,” cooed Dasha. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. You’ve trained hard, you’ve had the best trainers available,” which she said while motioning to herself and smirking. “And you’ve got an entire country behind you, the United States, cheering you on.”

  “And they’re watching live, aren’t they?”

  “They’re watching live,” she said. “One of the benefits of being in a similar time zone.”

  “So if I have an accident out there, they’ll see it floating,” I joked.

  “Oh my God!” said Dasha, smacking me lightly on the shoulder. “Stop that. Marie, that’s disgusting.” The two of us laughed together.

  “Just trying to lighten the mood,” I said. I reached over and pinched Dasha’s side. She giggled and smacked at my hand.

  “I’m sure all of your fellow competitors would just love you,” she said. “They’d call them all out of the pool, they’d have to drain it…”

  “And I’d just be standing there on live TV, shrugging,” I said, unable to suppress my grin. “Oops! It was the nerves that got me, you see.”

  “Marie,” said Dasha, leveling with me. “It’s going to be okay. You know you’re an amazing athlete. You know this is your time to shine. Just do your thing. You’ve done this a thousand times.”

  “I know,” I said. “I’m so ready. I really appreciate all you’ve done for me, Dasha. It’s been a strange ride for us.”

  “The ride isn’t over yet,” she said, giving me a serious nod. “It’s only just beginning.”

  Dasha and I eased into each others’ arms, embracing tenderly. I felt complete as she held me, I felt wanted. I gripped onto Dasha and felt all the negativity in my life washing away, cleansed, like water cascading down over me and washing away my tribulations. Some days, it felt like I would never be whole again, never feel like I was good enough, never feel like I would know love. But here I was, moments away from performing on the grandest stage I’d ever taken part in, holding onto the love of my life. I really felt like Dasha could understand me, more so than almost anyone else I’d ever met. I didn’t want to let that go.

  I felt Dasha’s lips lightly touch my cheek and then she pulled back from me. The other swimmers were beginning to line up, ready to have their name and country called, ready to stride out toward the starting blocks to try to make history. But even though the will to win was strong in me, even though I had trained so hard to get there, I felt like I had already won. I know that’s a bit of a cliche to say, kind of corny really, but it was true. There’s a reason people say it. Because people feel it.

  “I’ll see you out there,” said Dasha, giving me one last smile before turning from me and walking off. I watched her as she left, a gentle warmth in my heart, my lips upturned in a contented smile. Not a moment later, though, I was broken from my reverie by one of the production assistants for the Games.

  “Marie,” said the woman, a headset over her ears and a clipboard in her hand. “You’re being called first. Can I have you line up?”

  “Of course,” I said, looking down and feeling a bit embarrassed. I made my way over toward the line up of the other women. We had all traveled a similar path to get here, yet we each had our own story. Walking down the row, I felt Amber’s hand reach out and I took it, giving it a firm squeeze. I passed Naoko Ando, who offered me a friendly smile. We had spent some time talking at the Olympic Village one evening and I found her to be a really sweet girl. And there was Rita Müller, she too gave me a smile and wave. These women were just like me. We were all in this together, even though we were in competition. The camaraderie was palpable. I’d never felt more prepared for anything in my life.

  “Please welcome the women’s 400 meter freestyle field,” said the voice of the loudspeaker to more applause. “Marie Mullally, the United States of America.”

  I took a deep breath, put on a smile, and sashayed out from backstage. This was my moment.

  When you’re underwater, life just freezes. You’re holding your breath, you’re suspended, you’re using your body to guide your path. You can’t really think of much else but swimming. Your body is telling you, “keep moving, get to the surface, take a breath.” You know how long you can hold your breath, you know how long you can last, so you can go at your own pace, whether that’s fast or slow. You’re not thinking about whether or not you paid your bills this month, or that maybe you parked in a reserved spot, or that you might be out of eggs. There’s no time to consider these trifles when your body is most concerned with getting its next breath.

  That’s why swimming is so meditative. It removes the inconsequential and replaces it with the consequential. Survival. Of course, that’s taking it to an extreme. You’re not going to drown if you know what you’re doing. But your body’s automatic response can’t rationalize that like your brain can so you’re put in this wonderful state of limbo. It brings you back to what’s important. You don’t have time for silly worries. There’s only you, the water, and your next breath. It’s magical.

  For the longest time I’ve been far happier underwater than I’ve been walking on dry land. But I could feel the dichotomy of the two lives dripping away. There in the water, my long limbs propelling me forward as fast as they could, I could sense no division between swimming and walking. I knew that I had very little control, I knew that bad things might happen, but I also knew that good things most certainly happen and they do so far more than bad. No up without down, no good without bad, no wrong without right. I just had to be, I just had to keep pressing forward, keep striving for what was next, pushing myself to achieve no matter what the obstacle. The obstacle was the way, it was the path I had to swim, and it was my charge in life, just as in yours, to overcome whatever challenges happened to get in my lane.

  I dove down toward the wall and flipped, my feet pressing hard into the tile wall of the pool, and giving me a huge boost of momentum as I turned around. By my count this was my last length, the finale 50 meters in my race. I knew that I was flanked to either side by Rita and Naoko and they were so incredibly close. But it would have been foolish to think about them, to concentrate on how close they were to me rather than how close I was to the finish. I could feel the crowd as I hurried my stroke, as we all hurried our strokes in that last leg. Although I was sensing a bit of fatigue coming on, I knew that I had to stay present, I had to focus, I had to dig deeper than I’d done in any race before.

  Although I had been slightly worried about my speed post turn, I didn’t feel any of my past sluggishness at all. I felt like I was flying. I felt like I was effortlessly slipping through the water. Okay, there was effort, surely, but my movements felt exponential compared to how much work I was doing. Like I was in my natural state, a state of flow. This is what I was meant to do. I could feel it. It was amazing. My heart raced, my body was eager for oxygen, my muscles flexed and bulged, my calves especially as they kicked furiously against the drag of the water. I stretched as I bobbled there in the water, one hand over the other, one goal in mind, one focus. I was close. I could see the white wall closing in.

  When you watch on television, for the normal person I think it can be di
fficult to appreciate all the tireless work competitive swimmers put in to reach the level of an Olympic athlete. It’s not just the hours we dedicate to the sport, it’s also what we give up. It can be tough to have a normal life when you’re so goal oriented. You’re eating on a strict schedule, sleeping on a strict schedule, training in the pool, training in the weight room. It leaves little time for some of the normal activities that we grow to think are just part of being human. But with my final reach toward the wall, contented in what I knew was both my first and my last Olympics, I knew that a return to my normal life was awaiting me. And that return was embodied in Dasha.

  My fingertips touched the wall and with that touch the sensor in the wall sent up to the computers that Marie Mullally of the United States had finished the race. I immediately bounced up out of the water with a splash, feeling the women on either side of me come up as well. When you’re at this level of competition, races are won by tenths of a second, hundredths of a second. The remainder of the other swimmers came up with us, every swimmers’ head looking up to the board to see what the final times would be. Some of the women knew they had lost, you could see it on their faces. But I sensed something really good. I hadn’t seen anybody emerge from the water before me.

  I looked down a few lanes to Amber and caught eyes. She grinned wide at me, a craziness in her eyes, a ferocity that signified that she thought good things for herself as well. I couldn’t stand the wait. In reality, it wasn’t that long. But when you’re wondering if you’ve won a Medal in the Olympics, well, a minute can seem like ten.

  The times flashed up on the board as the announcer came over the loud speaker to call them out. My eyes widened and my jaw dropped. With one hand on the deck, I bobbed there dumbfounded in the water. First my eyes caught with Naoko’s, who was grinning wildly at me. She swam over to the buoys that separated our lanes and reached out to me. I obliged, moved toward her, hugging her tightly. She said something to me in Japanese that I couldn’t understand. Then I looked down the lanes at Amber who was shaking her fist up in the air at me. The roar of the crowd was deafening. I really felt like I was going to break down and cry.

  But the good kind of crying.

  I stood atop the podium with my shoulders back, my wet blonde hair corralled into a ponytail, a silly grin chiseled into my face. They played the National Anthem and I saluted the flag, feeling a strange sense of pride in my country that I hadn’t really felt up until that point. I know that’s an odd thing to say, but it’s true. Three flags were lowered from the rafters, two American flags and one Japanese. I had a Gold Medal around my neck, Naoko the Silver, and Amber the Bronze. Although I knew that Amber really wanted a Gold, I could see how great she felt about adding another Medal to her collection. There was a subtle tear in her eye as the Anthem played. Naoko was elated as well. She looked slap-happy as the three of us saluted our flags as the music went on.

  Cameras flashed in our direction, the crowd cheered as the music came to an end, and I took a deep, full breath and exhaled, coming to terms with the fact that I had won two Gold Medals in Rio. They were both sweet for different reasons. My medley Gold reminded me that I had patched things up with Amber, surprisingly, and my individual Gold made me feel like I had, in some weird way, avenged my parents. They always wanted to see me stand atop that Olympic podium and I knew that they were watching me, somewhere above or however any of that works. I don’t know. I wasn’t very religious, I wasn’t very spiritual, but I knew that my mother and father could see me, holding up that Gold Medal, grinning from ear to ear, knees wobbling lightly as I accepted the applause and adulation.

  Off to the side I saw Dasha, she too looking as though she could cry. She was just so beautiful to me. My coach, my friend, my lover. She put a fire in my heart, a fire that I knew would burn bright for a long time. Although I knew my competition days were coming to an end, these Olympic Games the denouement of my swimming career, it didn’t mean that I was finished in spending my time in natatoriums. I wasn’t an historic star like Paul Drake and I didn’t care to be. I would help train the next class of Olympic stars and I would do it standing next to Dasha.

  The Olympics are a magical thing. I hope you feel the same way as you watch on TV. Sure, it’s a competition between countries, a way to show off our athletic prowess, a game to quantify how talented we are at sport. There’s always that Medal count, who has the most, who’s doing the best, who will take home the most Golds. But that’s all just a superficial part of the Games. It’s necessary, sure, because friendly competition — and sometimes not so friendly — is what it’s all about. However, there’s something much deeper in sport that I don’t think the casual observer realizes.

  We do it, first and foremost, for love. Love of the sport. Love of the game. Love of each other. You can let jealousy take over, trying to convince you that winning is the only important thing, but that takes you down a bad road. You can end up like Amber did, letting envy envelope her heart, causing problems, instilling hatred, battling the very people who actually understand you and everything you’ve put into your training. Or you could let love reign. You could give in to the magic of the game, push yourself harder than you’ve ever pushed before, and realize that we’re all in this together. We’re sisters and brothers. Both on our own individual teams and in the world as a whole. I was competing against Japan and I was competing against Naoko, but I would have been just as happy for her as she was for me had she taken the Gold. I know that as fact. The better person always wins in sport and there’s nothing you can do to alter that.

  I was fundamentally changed by this experience. I knew that my life was getting better all the time. The past, I couldn’t change that. The future, I couldn’t predict it. But as I stood atop that podium, suffused in praise for my accomplishments, right then — in that one moment — I knew on the most basic level that I was going to be okay. Everything was going to be okay. And that was certainly a comforting feeling to have.

  “I’m blown away,” said Dasha, resting her hands on her hips, leaning back, looking around my condo. She had a handkerchief over on her head to keep her hair back, dressed in khaki shorts and a tank top. The two of us had decided to fly back to Chicago together after the Olympics to settle things up in my condo and to prepare for what was next. “You really don’t have much stuff here at all.”

  “Right,” I said, hefting up a garbage bag. “It makes it super easy to convert into a furnished rental.”

  “So you’re just going to leave the furniture, the dishes, this television?” she said, reaching out and lightly placing her hand on the back of the flatscreen. “You don’t care what happens to it?”

  “Not really,” I said. “I never cared for this stuff anyway. I just bought it to make this place somewhat livable. Really, we’re just here to purge and clean. I’ve got a management company all lined up to take over after that.”

  “What about these?” said Dasha with a grin. From the painted-white mantle over my non-functioning fireplace, Dasha lifted up my two Gold Medals and dangled them. “Will these be included for your tenant?”

  I laughed at her and shook my head.

  “I know you’re joking,” I said, stepping closer to her and taking the Medals from her. I let them hang off my hand as I gazed down into them. They had a nice weight to them that you wouldn’t really expect. Just one of them weighed about as much as a full bottle of water. “But I don’t know if I’m going to take them with me.”

  “What?” said Dasha, surprise peppering her face. “You’re not bringing them?”

  “I might just loan them to the Lakeshore Aquatics Club for safe keeping,” I said. “I mean, I’m not going to carry them around in my backpack.”

  “You could leave them at my place in Baltimore,” said Dasha.

  “Lakeshore did so much for me on my path to the Olympics,” I said. “It would be only fitting to let them hang on to my Medals for a little while. I can always take them back.” I smiled over at Dasha.

>   “I can’t believe you talked me into this,” said Dasha with a half-embarrassed grin. She stepped closer to me and wrapped her arms around my waist, letting her hands settle at my hips. After a sweet moment of silence, we leaned in toward each other and delicately kissed.

  “It’s going to be fun,” I said. “And besides, you’ve never been back to Ukraine since your family left. Traveling through Europe together is going to be a great experience.”

  “But for six months?” intoned Dasha incredulously. “We’ll see how it goes.”

  The two of us kissed again, this time with greater fervor. I was so happy to be with Dasha, excited for what laid ahead of us. We had decided that traveling to Rio and not really getting to take in the sites was a bit of a tease, so as a reward for the hard work we’d put in to train and compete in the Olympics we would take a backpacking tour around Europe. Dasha had never done anything like it and I was curious as to what travel would feel like with a partner. My time in Asia was somewhat lonely. But this trip, it could be something far greater. Maybe we wouldn’t travel well together, maybe the relationship would destruct on a train to Prague. I had more hope for it than that, however, I knew what we had was something different.

  “And then what?” continued Dasha after a few more kisses. “Once we get back?”

  “I’ll come to Baltimore,” I said. “I’ll hook up with your club there and see what happens!” I smiled, I shrugged, I threw it all to the wind. I was giving in to the universe and feeling the effects. I had never considered moving to Baltimore, but meeting Dasha changed all that. It was synchronicity and I was happy to accept it.