“I know, Luke. And I do want to encourage everyone. I’m also scheduled to swim six races, possibly as many as nine, if Adam and Bob decide to put me on all three relay teams. So cut me a little slack if I want to sleep in.”
“You didn’t sleep in. I saw you leave your room at eight. What’s going on, Isaac?”
Isaac and Luke had known each other since they were kids. Luke knew about all of it. Luke had taken more drinks out of Isaac’s hands than anyone else in his life, had watched Isaac puke enough times that he deserved a medal, and had been the first one to encourage Isaac when Isaac said he wanted to get back in the pool. They were old friends. Isaac didn’t need to lie, even if he did resent Luke keeping tabs on him, at least a little.
“Well, if you must know, I’m not loving the way everyone stares at me when I go to eat, so I had breakfast with a friend in his dorm room.”
“A friend you’re sleeping with?”
“No. A friend I have meals with. You’ll note I left my own room this morning.”
“Keep it in your pants until you’re done swimming. Sex screws with your focus.”
Isaac sat at the edge of the warm-up pool. “No, sex screws with your focus.” No one else was in earshot, except Conor and Randy, who were already swimming slow laps. “Should I be giving you this same lecture about Katie?”
“Katie and I have an understanding.”
“That you’ll bone as soon as you’re both done swimming.”
Luke grinned. “Hey, I like Katie. We both know this is her last Olympics. She’s great at the middle distances, but she doesn’t have the speed she used to. Hell, this could be my last Olympics too. So we’ve decided to celebrate once it’s all over.”
“How long have you been seeing each other? Isn’t she kind of young for you?” Isaac asked, reading between the lines.
Luke sat next to Isaac at the side of the pool. “She’s only six years younger than I am. And I dunno. We’ve been dating three months? Give or take? I really like her. I mean, I’ve always liked her, but I don’t know. We went out to dinner after practice one night and got to talking. We’ve been friends for a million years, and now we might be more.”
“Well, if you’re happy, I’m happy for you.”
“This breakfast friend of yours. Is it someone you plan to, uh, celebrate with?”
“Maybe,” Isaac admitted. “Still deciding.”
“Do I know this person?”
“Uh. Not sure. Probably not personally, but if I told you, I’m guessing you’d know who he is.”
“He?”
Isaac shrugged.
Luke slapped his back. “As long as it’s not a beach volleyball player. I hate those guys.”
“No. Not beach volleyball.” Isaac laughed. It felt like some kind of truce had been reached. “Look, I’ll support the team in any way I can. But you know I’m not very good at the rah-rah-cheerleader bullshit. I’ll cheer everyone on during their races. I’ll be there for anyone on the team who needs something. But that’s all I can do. The shared meals and the viral videos and all of Melissa’s insanity? That’s not me.”
“I know. Just don’t be an asshole. That’s all I ask.”
“I can do that.”
“Did you see that Pearson dyed his hair green?” Pearson was an Australian swimmer, Isaac’s chief rival in the breaststroke races.
“Did he?”
“Yep. Matches the officially sanctioned Australian swimsuits. It’s a trip.”
Some commotion caught Isaac’s attention, and he looked up in time to see Randy and Conor goofing around at the far end of the pool. Luke shook his head. “Come on, old man. Let’s swim some laps.”
Chapter 5
ISAAC HAD the official Ralph Lauren ensemble hanging in his closet, but he didn’t want to put it on. What he wanted was a drink. The craving was intense and had been since he’d spotted the Spanish volleyball team passing around beers a little while ago. Well, the craving was always there, an itch in his chest he couldn’t scratch, the need to just make everything go away. His body ached from training, he missed the familiar comfort of his apartment in Raleigh, and his anxiety about the beginning of preliminary swim heats the next day ran high. He did not need to put on boat shoes and a blazer. He needed to figure out how to calm his nerves enough to swim well tomorrow.
And that reminded him of that massage he’d gotten from Tim. Maybe he needed a distraction after all.
Instead of changing into the costume and heading to the stadium for the festivities, Isaac put on pajamas, grabbed the fleece blanket he’d packed, and walked down to the lounge at the end of the hall to watch the Opening Ceremony on TV.
A few of the other swimmers popped in to say hi. Most of the athletes competing the next day—which included a good third of the swim team—were not attending the celebration, opting to rest up instead. The male gymnast Isaac thought was hot—his name was Jake—also popped in to watch the ceremony for a few minutes. Isaac tried not to let the guy’s arms distract him, but this guy was jacked, and his broad shoulders pulled at his T-shirt. He walked into the room as if he had no idea how attractive he was.
“I gotta sleep,” Jake said, “but I’m too wound up.”
“I know what you mean. I’m Isaac, by the way.”
“I know. Everyone knows who you are, Isaac Flood. Wheaties box and all that.”
Isaac sighed. “Right.”
“I only bring it up because I’m jealous. I want a Wheaties box. This is my second Olympics. Everyone’s all Jake Mirakovitch, he’s the one to beat this year, but I’m terrified. I’ve been nailing every one of my routines in practice, but I did four years ago too, and we all know how that went.” He shook his head.
“I don’t know how that went,” Isaac said.
Jake grimaced. “Probably best not to relive it. Let’s just say, the team was a mess. First place going into the team final, and then we all choked. Me especially. I fell off the pommel horse. Whiffed one of my release moves on the high bar. Tenths of deductions here and there add up if you make enough mistakes. We were the gold-medal favorites, but we came in sixth. Sixth!”
“I’m sorry.” Isaac knew well what the weight of all that pressure felt like.
“Qualifiers tomorrow, and I want to make at least two event finals and qualify for the all-around. Because the women’s team has been raking in medals for years, but the men’s team is a joke.”
Isaac laughed softly. “Aren’t you supposed to be all ‘We’re the best! We’re gonna win gold!’”
“Publicly, sure. But you get it, right?”
“I do. Nothing you can do, man, but your best.”
“Yeah. How do you prepare for a race?”
“What do you mean?” Isaac glanced at the TV. Dancers with colorful flags pranced around the arena. He looked back at Jake, who was clearly not asking about Isaac’s workout regimen.
“I mean, how do you keep from choking when the spotlight is shining on you?”
Isaac wasn’t really in the mood for a philosophical discussion. He pulled his blanket tighter around him. “It helps when everyone has low expectations.”
Jake scoffed. “When has anyone had low expectations of you?”
Now, Isaac wanted to say, but he shrugged and said, “Fair. But swimming isn’t a team sport. I’m only letting myself down.”
“But what about swim relays? That’s a team thing.”
“I don’t know. I mean, it’s different. There’s some strategy, but at the end of the day, it’s about who swam the fastest. If I’m doing a relay, I push as hard as I can for my team. What else can I do?”
Jake nodded. “Sure. Gymnastics is an individual sport too, but we have this team vibe. We got through the last couple of years of competition and injuries and Olympic Trials together, like we’re brothers-in-arms, you know? I don’t want to let them down. I guess it adds to the pressure.”
Isaac let out a breath. “I don’t know what to tell you. It’s the Olympics. This is the p
innacle, right? I mean, there are world cups, national championships, all that, but the Olympics is the thing everyone watches. Instead of letting that pressure get to you, you need to focus on yourself. It’s not about proving yourself or whatever. It’s about pushing your body to the limit of what it can do. Right? If I’m in a final, I push as hard as I can. I move my arms faster, harder. I put my all into it until it feels like my body is on fire and I have to throw up. I race until I can’t breathe anymore. Because it’s not about being safe and comfortable—it’s about doing the absolute best that you can.”
And that really summed up the whole philosophy of why Isaac came here. It was how he’d won all the races he had in his career. Because when the time came to race, all of the other bullshit fell away. He didn’t think about the pressure, about where he’d get his next drink, or even much about gold medals. His singular focus was on swimming as fast as he fucking could.
Jake nodded. He seemed thoughtful now. “Okay.”
So Isaac pushed on. “I don’t know a lot about gymnastics, but the whole evolution of the sport is figuring out what the human body can do, right? Each Olympics, the sport advances. Sixty years ago, maybe you could win a gold medal by doing a cartwheel over the vault horse. Now you gotta flip in the air three times, right? You want to win, of course you do, but the thing to focus on is your training, your practice, doing the best you can within your ability. If you’re nailing those routines in practice, they’re yours. You know you can do them. So you don’t blink, you don’t falter, you push the nerves aside. It’s a big stage, yeah, but it’s also just a meet, you know?”
His own pontificating surprised Isaac, but Jake was practically eating his words up with a spoon. “You’re totally right. It’s just a meet.”
Since Jake seemed to be hanging on Isaac’s words, Isaac tried to think of what advice he’d want if he were freaking out before a race. “Don’t worry about what the Chinese or the Russians or… who the heck is good at gymnastics? The Brits, the Japanese, whoever. Don’t worry about what they’re doing. You can’t control how well they perform. But you can control yourself. And if you’re good, that medal’s yours. You nail your routine in the meet, it’s yours.”
Jake nodded. “I never really thought about it that way. I mean, I completely understand what you’re saying. But my coach is always, ‘You need to do this, Jake, you need to do that.’ Hosuke from Japan does this triple layout dismount from the high bar, so I have to do it higher, more perfect. Boskovic from Russia does this pommel horse routine that he once scored a sixteen with, so I have to make mine more difficult.”
Isaac agreed. There would always be a faster swimmer than Isaac. At this Olympics, there were likely many, particularly younger guys whose bodies hadn’t been ravaged by age and alcohol. This made Isaac burn with the desire to swim well, because he loved his sport. He loved it so much, he sometimes ached when he was out of the pool. So he asked Jake, “Do you love gymnastics?”
“Huh?”
Isaac considered. “If you know who I am, you know what happened. And my life, it’s all swimming. I love swimming. I love the feel of the water on my skin. I love the thrill of racing. I’d spend most of my life in a pool if I could. I got back into swimming after rehab because it made me feel sane again. Anyone at this level has to love their sport. Do you love gymnastics?”
“Of course,” Jake said. “I see your face, but I do love it. I love tumbling. I love that thrill of flying over the high bar. Of sticking a landing. And I… I like the burn when I push my body as far as it goes.”
That was the key. Isaac nodded. “Get that burn back. That’s the ticket to winning. Forget about everything else.”
“You’re one hundred percent right.”
Isaac smiled. “And if you lose, you lose. What happens? The TV network talks about how disappointing it is—and it is disappointing to lose—but whatever, you’ll be back in the gym in two weeks, doing what you love again, and that’s all that matters. I mean, really, fuck everything else. Fuck the gold medal, fuck the Wheaties box, just get out there and do the goddamn best you can do. If anyone thinks it’s not good enough, fuck ’em.”
Isaac closed his eyes and let that truth wash over him. He was convincing himself as much as Jake, at this point.
Jake laughed. “So that’s how you became the second-most-decorated swimmer of all time? ‘Fuck ’em.’”
“Pretty much.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. It doesn’t make for a good postevent sound bite, though.”
Isaac held up his hands in a “so what?” gesture. He hated doing those interviews anyway.
Jake and Isaac watched the pomp on TV for a minute before Jake gestured at the screen and said, “Does it go on like this for a while?”
“The host cities are always trying to outdo each other. Tonight we’ll see hundreds of years of Spanish history distilled into one flourish of artistic expression.”
“You know, I think I can sleep now.”
Isaac laughed.
THERE WAS a vending machine somewhere in the building that housed Team USA that had protein bars, but Tim couldn’t remember where it was. So far he’d found a soda machine and a machine full of chips and candy that looked like no one had touched it. Tim wouldn’t let himself have any junk food until after his events, but after an hour at the gym, he could have used a snack.
Thinking maybe the protein bars were in the lounge, Tim stuck his head inside. There was only a soda machine, and Isaac Flood, curled on the sofa and wrapped in a blanket, staring at the TV. He was alone.
“Hey, Isaac.”
Isaac lifted his head. He met Tim’s gaze and smiled. “Hi.”
“You’re not going to the Opening Ceremony?”
He shook his head. “I’m swimming tomorrow. I’d rather rest. Not to mention, a bunch of the track-and-field guys were smuggling booze into the stadium. I didn’t want the temptation.”
Isaac’s candor warmed Tim. He was glad Isaac felt comfortable enough to cut to the chase. Tim wanted to ask Isaac what had driven him to drink, if it was bad wiring in his brain or if he’d had a real problem he’d needed relief from. Probably both. At least he knew himself well enough to avoid situations that could get him in trouble.
“You’re not going?” Isaac asked.
“I still might. I’m on the fence. But I got a little woozy after the gym, so I’m trying to find something to eat.”
Isaac lifted one of his hands out of the blanket. He held up a protein bar, which he then threw at Tim. Tim caught it easily.
“Thanks.”
“No problem. I also heard from my buddy Dave that there are a handful of restaurants that will deliver here, if you need a real meal. This one place is supposed to have the best seafood paella in the city.”
Tim plunked down next to Isaac on the sofa. “Maybe. I usually have to wait a while after the gym before I can eat anything heavy.” He unwrapped the protein bar, broke off a piece, and popped it in his mouth.
“I’ve never been to an Opening Ceremony,” Isaac said. “I usually go to the closing, but it’s tough when you have to swim the next morning. A lot of the swim team is probably in bed right now, but I couldn’t fall asleep.”
“What event do you have tomorrow?”
“Prelim heats.” He looked up as if he was trying to remember. “Uh, 200 free is tomorrow. There’s a relay tomorrow too, but my coach hasn’t decided if I’m swimming in it yet.” He let out a sigh. “Since this is probably my last Olympics, I guess I could go to the ceremony. It’s kind of a neat thing. I’ve heard.”
“It’s not really for us,” Tim said. “I walked four years ago. They keep you in a room in the bowels of the stadium for a couple of hours, and then you walk out with the US delegation when the time comes. Then they keep you in a holding area while you wait for the other nations to walk out. You’re right, it is kind of a big party. Someone always smuggles in booze. One of my old teammates hooked up with a volleyball player last time.”
Isaac chuckled. “As you do.”
Tim smiled. “But I mean, all the pageantry, it’s meant for the spectators, not the athletes. You know? I think you’re better off resting if you think you’ll need it for tomorrow.”
Isaac nodded. “When’s your first dive?”
“Monday. Synchronized diving.”
Isaac grimaced. “Really?”
Tim shrugged. “I prefer the individual competition, but I started doing synchro to hone my form and timing, and my partner, Jason, and I have a whole system worked out now. The Chinese divers are better than us—”
“Aw, come on. You’re the defending world champion!”
“For the synchro events, they’re better. The Chinese A team does dives with higher difficulty scores. I can do those dives in competition, but Jason isn’t quite there yet, so our set has a lower cumulative max score. That means we have to be flawless, because it’s pretty unlikely the Chinese divers will make a mistake. Then there’s this team from Italy, and… well, it doesn’t matter.”
“Maybe I’ll come watch if I don’t have to swim Monday.”
“You’ll have to swim Monday, I’m sure. Didn’t you qualify for all the races?”
Isaac laughed. He tugged his blanket tighter around his shoulders. “Not all of them. I’m doing the middle distances in free and breaststroke, and I’m doing the IMs, the 100 free, maybe the relays if my coach decides to put me in.” He shrugged. “I am swimming a lot, it’s true. I’m not going to win all those races. I probably won’t make it past prelims for some.”
Tim gave Isaac a skeptical look. “The great Isaac Flood? Really?”
“I’m not seventeen anymore.” Then Isaac let out a soft laugh. “You know, when I showed up for the Trials, I only wanted to prove I could still do it, you know? I just wanted to swim again. To slice through the water. To feel my body burn. To get that thrill from racing. Whether I won or not didn’t matter as long as I put everything I had into it again. But I’ve trained hard for the last year and a half, and I feel better than I have in years—in a goddamn decade. I’m healthy. I’m sober. And pretty much since the moment my plane touched down in Madrid, I’ve wanted to win.”
Here Comes the Flood Page 5