When Isaac walked into the little curtained-off area where the American medical staff worked with the athletes, Bill was putting the cups on Conor, whose face lit up as Isaac approached. “You here for therapy?”
“No,” Isaac said. “Look, I’m tired, but I have one more race tonight. Adam made me come back here. I don’t want anything weird to happen to me, I’m just following Coach’s orders.”
Bill pointed to a massage table. “Take off the coat and lie on that facedown.”
“Fine.” Isaac climbed on the table.
“Which muscles are sore?” asked Bill, turning on a space heater.
“Arms,” Isaac said. “Shoulders.”
Bill nodded. “Conor, sit tight for a sec.”
Isaac turned his head and watched as Conor sat there with the cups on his shoulders, making those weird circular hickeys like big polka dots across his skin. Isaac was willing to do a lot for his sport, but he was too vain to allow that.
“Does that really help?” Isaac asked.
“Yeah, it helps with blood flow,” said Conor. “It eases some of the muscular tension.”
“Okay,” said Isaac. But Bill would put cups on Isaac over his dead body.
Bill said, “Put your head in the hole.”
Isaac moved his head. “No cups,” he said as he settled onto the table.
He was rewarded by Bill massaging his back and arms. It felt so good on his tired muscles that Isaac possibly moaned and definitely fell asleep. Bill had to wake him up a half hour before his race so that he could go warm up again.
Isaac dragged himself back to the warm-up pool, but the massage had definitely helped. He was still tired, but he had less soreness, and he thought he had enough gas left in the tank to swim another race.
Less than four minutes of swimming. Isaac could do it.
Thirty minutes later he stood up on the block to race the 400-meter freestyle final. Tim wasn’t in the audience this time because he’d promised his diving teammates he’d watch whichever diving event was happening that day—women’s springboard prelims, if Isaac was not mistaken. Isaac was kind of glad, because he would have hated to embarrass himself in front of Tim. And this race could very well be an embarrassment.
Luke was a few lanes away, swinging his arms, doing the prerace ritual. But Isaac didn’t care about Luke. He bent down and moved into starting position, focused only on his own race.
Deep breath. Set. Go.
The water felt good, at least, and it buoyed Isaac a little, both literally and figuratively. His arms didn’t start to burn until about halfway through, but he knew he was at least ahead of the swimmers in the lanes on either side of him. So he wouldn’t finish dead last.
For whatever crazy reason, he decided to all-out sprint the last length of the pool. His body screamed. His muscles were on fire. But he pushed through the fatigue and the pain, swimming with everything he had. By the twenty-five-meter mark, he thought he might throw up right there in the middle of the pool, but he kept pushing. He wanted to give this his all, to know that if he lost, it was because he was outperformed, not that he didn’t try.
No regrets. To live each day as if it was his last.
He reached out and touched the side of the pool but stayed underwater for a second, not quite ready to face it yet. Then he popped up and looked at the screen.
He’d touched third. Somehow, by some miracle, he’d touched the wall third and won a bronze medal.
“Thank Mark Spitz,” Isaac said, echoing Adam’s favorite expression.
Luke had won the gold.
Isaac swam over to Luke and gave him a loose-armed hug.
“First,” Luke said.
“Congrats, man.”
“Thanks. Holy shit, that was incredible.”
Isaac’s limbs had turned to spaghetti, and Luke had to help him out of the pool, but he at least got to his obligatory postwin interview. Mindy Somers wore a sea-green polo today. Isaac didn’t think he’d be able to say much because he still hadn’t caught his breath. Luckily Mindy shoved the mic in Luke’s face first.
Luke babbled about how honored he was to be representing America and how great that swim had felt. When Mindy got to Isaac, he mostly panted. But he managed to get out, “Hey, can’t win them all,” and “Couldn’t have lost to a better guy,” even though a Japanese swimmer Isaac didn’t know had claimed the silver. Although he was probably a good guy too.
He held it together until he got back to the warm-up pool, at which time he basically collapsed into a chair. Bill ran over and checked his vitals, but Isaac waved him off.
“I’m fine. Just tapped out.”
“Yeah. You might have overdone it a little. Your pulse is kind of thready.”
“Can I just lie here forever?”
“No,” said Adam, hovering over him. “You have to cool down properly or your muscles will seize up. Get in the pool.”
Isaac swore a blue streak.
Adam helped him out of the chair and tapped his back. “You did good, kid. I’m really proud of you.”
“I might throw up.”
“Happens,” said Adam. “Now get in the pool.”
Isaac took a deep breath and hopped into the water.
WHEN TIM woke up from his afternoon nap, he looked around. Jason sat on the other bed, staring at his phone. Tim sat up, felt pretty well rested, and was about to get up to shower when he heard Jason say, “Oh no.”
“What?”
Jason shot Tim a sidelong glance. “You are not going to like this.”
“What is it?”
“There’s an article on some news site. A straight reporter put a gay hookup app on his phone and turned it on in the Olympic Village. He found a bunch of guys looking to hook up and recognized a few of their profile pictures.”
Tim’s stomach flopped. “Oh no.”
“Yup. He called out a bunch of athletes, although none by name. Still, you could read between the lines and guess who he’s talking about. He says he messaged an American fencer and a Dutch gymnast, among others. And holy shit, an archer from Iran.”
Tim broke out in a cold sweat. Not so much for himself, since he was out and didn’t have any hookup apps on his phone, but for all the athletes in the village who only wanted a good time during their Olympic experience but didn’t need to be in the center of a controversy. Then the fear flipped to anger. Tim sat up and said, “Fuck that guy. What an asshole. Does he not get that some of these people live in countries where being outed can get them arrested or killed? That even the American fencer has a lot to lose if he wasn’t out publicly? I hate shit like this. Do you know why gay apps are even a thing? So we have a safe space to talk to each other without this bullshit. Goddamn, I can’t believe that happened.”
“I know. It gets worse. Because then he says, ‘It’s interesting that all these athletes are hiding on the app, but out athletes like Timothy Swan are nowhere to be seen on it.’”
Tim wanted to throw up. “He could have left my name out of it.”
Jason sat quietly for a moment. “It’s a brave thing you did,” he said softly.
“I just want to dive,” Tim said, getting out of bed, throwing his covers onto the floor with some force. The sheets fluttered down in an unsatisfying way.
“I’m sorry, Tim. I didn’t mean to piss you off.”
“No, it’s not your fault. But this is why I didn’t want to talk to that reporter who showed up at the pool. Nobody wants to talk to me about diving. That woman would have talked to you about platforms and springboards and back three-and-a-half pikes, but she only wanted to talk to me about my sex life, and I am fucking sick of it.”
“I know. It’s not fair. I wish it was different.”
“Dave’s wife came out here to see him dive. I caught part of the American broadcast of the semifinals. The camera kept panning to Dave’s wife and daughter, and the kid is cute and all, but it was like Dave’s worth was being determined by the fact that he’d succeeded in life.
He has a bronze medal from the last Olympics and now he has a wife and daughter, and his life is complete.” Tim sighed. “And it’s the nature of the beast. Olympics coverage has been like this forever. They’re trying to appeal to female viewers or whatever the fuck. But do you think that if I got married, they’d pan to the audience to show off my husband? Doubtful.”
“I know. It sucks.”
“And Isaac, poor crazy Isaac, doesn’t really care who knows about us, and I guess I don’t either, but what happens if it does get out? Are we gonna be able to do cutesy stories about our Olympic love during any of the broadcasts?”
“Tim, sorry, I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”
“No, it’s okay.” Tim sighed. He shook out his shoulders, trying to calm down. “I didn’t mean to get so angry. This bullshit gets to me sometimes, but I’ll shower and shake it off. You coming with me to watch the women’s team dive tonight?”
“Yeah. I’ll get dressed.”
Chapter 17
Day 6
THE LAST hell day—a day in which Isaac had to swim in at least three races—dawned as the past few days had, with Tim in bed beside Isaac. Isaac had a bit of a swing in his step as he got to his preliminary race. He felt a million times better than he had the previous evening.
Luke raised an eyebrow as Isaac walked into the locker room. “You look… improved.”
“I don’t need PEDs. I don’t need alternative medicine. All I need is a solid night’s sleep.” Isaac did feel pretty incredible. He jumped up and down a couple of times, shaking out his body, testing how he felt physically. “It’s probably all adrenaline, but I feel great. I’m like a shark. I have to keep swimming or I’ll die.”
Luke guffawed. “That’s a hell of a metaphor.”
“This is the last terrible day. 200 IM prelims today, the 200 breast semi, relay tonight, then the IM relay tomorrow. Adam says I don’t have to swim the relay prelims.”
“Yeah. I’m on the relay tonight too. I might swim in the prelims for shits and giggles.”
“Hell, maybe I should too. I feel good enough to do it.”
“Slow down there, hotshot. You could barely move last night. Don’t overdo it.”
Isaac grinned. He wasn’t sure why he felt so great—he had some theories and a lot of superstition—but he didn’t want to question it.
When he walked into the warm-up room, someone was blasting Beyoncé, so Isaac did a little dance by the side of the pool.
“That might be the gayest thing I’ve ever seen you do,” Luke said, laughing.
“Pretty sure giving my new boyfriend a blow job last night is gayer, but whatever.” Isaac dove in the pool before Luke could respond. He felt too giddy to let Luke get his goat.
Of course, Tim had been upset last night by the story, which had now spread through the Athlete Village, that a reporter had scoped out athletes in a gay hookup app and outed a bunch of them. Not Isaac, since Isaac’s phone still buzzed too much for him to do anything except text the people he actually wanted to speak with—limited mostly to his mother, sister, and Tim—but he supposed it could have been him if he hadn’t met Tim. He didn’t generally seek out that kind of companionship until after his events were over. But this was his fourth Olympics. He knew what an orgy the Athlete Village tended to devolve into the second week of the Games. And if an athlete finished his events early and wanted to get a little something? What was the harm? Thousands of athletes, all in one place, meant a plethora of beautiful people to choose from.
Tim was right, of course, that the article invaded the privacy of the athletes and the enclosed bubble of the Athlete Village. Although by the time Isaac read it, the identifying details had been removed from the article. Still, the damage had been done.
Isaac wanted to double down on their relationship, to be seen together somewhere in public, maybe with cameras around. But Tim told him he preferred to lie low for a few more days. Isaac agreed, recognizing the rebellious tendency in himself that wanted to go public to make trouble, not because it was the right time for them.
Luke caught up with Isaac when Isaac stopped at one end of the pool to rest for a moment. “You don’t always have to be the asshole,” Luke said.
“But I so enjoy it.”
“I haven’t seen you like this in… years, I think.”
“Am I annoying you?”
“No. No, not at all. You used to love this sport. You had fun. You won races because you had fun. You remember your first Olympics? One of the youngest American swimmers to win a gold medal, and do you remember what you said during the interview when you got out of the pool?”
“That was fun.” Isaac didn’t have an actual memory of this happening, but the clip had aired on TV a zillion times.
Luke nodded. “I’ll always remember that. I think about it whenever I compete. I do this because I love it, because it’s fun. You used to also.” He shook the water out of his hair and leaned on the pool wall. “You were so unhappy the last few years before your fake retirement. I always kind of thought that if you could remember how much fun this sport was, you’d be all right.”
Isaac nodded. He’d been unhappy largely because he faced the end of his career. Well, and because he’d been drunk most of the time. He treaded water for a moment, ducking his head under the water and resurfacing again. “I have three more days of competition. I plan to make the most of them. I’ll give it whatever I have. And then I can retire for real and feel good about it.”
“You clawed your way back just to retire again?”
“I’m thinking about coaching.”
Luke tilted his head. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. I think I have some unique experience I could share. You’re right, you have to love something like this. Enjoy it, find it fun. Because otherwise what the hell is the point? I’ve pulled muscles. I’ve gotten banged up. After Worlds six years ago, I came home with a huge bruise on my thigh where that guy kicked me. It took forever to heal. Remember that?”
“Yeah. That guy had some kick.”
Isaac smiled. “I want these kids coming up to know what it’s really like. The temptations you face when you’re successful. How not to let defeat crush you. It’s something I thought about a lot in rehab. I love this sport, but my body will only allow me to do it for so long. My meets as an athlete are numbered, but I can stay involved with the sport in other ways.”
Luke smiled. “You are absolutely right. I think you’d be a great coach.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“You’re leaving Raleigh too, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know. I don’t want to make any concrete plans until the Olympic bubble pops. I love my family and my friends. I’ll keep training with Adam as long as my body lets me. Then maybe he’d take me on as an apprentice or something.”
“Is that what you really want? To stay in Raleigh?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. I guess if there are other opportunities out there, they might be worth thinking about.”
“I’ll miss you.”
Yeah. Despite everything, Isaac had people at home who cared about him, and moving away from them would suck. But it felt like the next phase of his life was beginning, and Isaac needed to keep moving forward instead of treading water. Isaac grabbed Luke’s head and pulled him in for a hug. “I’ll visit and shit.”
Luke laughed. “Come on, let’s finish the warm-up.”
TIM WAS very close to pulling out of the springboard event. After a day of training, his body felt like he’d been thrown in a blender.
“Selaya pulled out,” Donnie said, his tablet in his hand as Tim approached him after the last dive.
“What, no ‘hey, that was great’ or ‘you bent your body too much’ or ‘your legs were separated during the pike’?”
“No, you looked good. It was a solid dive. You’re fine for competition. But the Australian team just announced Selaya hit his foot on the springboard during practice yesterday, and apparently he hit it hard enou
gh to break a bone, so he’s out. One less competitor to worry about.”
“That sucks for him.”
“Oh. Yeah. It does. Try not to hit your feet on the springboard.”
“No, I won’t. Are you sure I should do the springboard competition, though? You don’t think it’s going to put too much strain on my body to do two competitions next week? If I make it to the finals of both springboard and platform, that’s three rounds of six dives for each competition. Thirty-six competition dives.”
“Yup. And how many dives do you typically do in a week?”
Fair point. “You’re certain I can do this?”
“Yes. Are you sore anywhere?”
He was sore everywhere, but not more than usual, so he said, “No, I’m all right.”
“Kayla has really good things to say about that Kinesio tape she’s been using. Apparently it helped stabilize her back.”
“I’m not injured. My body feels good.”
“Then you’re fine. But Kayla has more tape if you need it. It’s waterproof and stays on during competition pretty well.”
Tim nodded. He did feel good, just tired. “I tossed my shammy from the springboard. Did you see where it went?”
Donnie handed it over, so apparently he had been paying attention. Tim had a lucky shammy that he carried around like a security blanket during competition. It was a little towel with unicorns and rainbows on it—he figured he might as well embrace his identity—and it was faded in parts from chlorine and too many washings. Every diver used this kind of fast-drying shammy, and there was a fair amount of superstition regarding them, but Tim needed his. He wiped his face with it now.
“Look, Timmy, you can do this. If ever there was a diver who could, it’s you. And you probably are going to hurt come the platform final, but it’s the Olympics.”
Here Comes the Flood Page 17