As I warm up for the Winter Classic, the last meet before winter break, I feel lighter than I have in a long time. This is the only big invitational meet hosted at our home pool, and I love seeing our training grounds transformed into chaos. Teams from all over the western United States are here, crowding the pool deck. It’s one of the only times in the year the stands are overflowing, since we usually only host dual meets.

While we’re still mid-season, not yet rested or in shape to set our best times, this is an important meet. It’s the best chance to hit qualifying marks for the championship season. For some, the goal is to simply to qualify for conference, for others it’s Nationals. I’ve already qualified for the conference championship, but today I want to qualify for NCAA – the National Collegiate Athletic Association championship. I’ve qualified with the medley relay teams every year, just barely got in on the individual medley, or I.M., last year, and only qualified in the 100 breaststroke my freshman year. This year, I want to qualify in all three of my best individual events – 100 and 200 breast, and the 200 I.M.

In the past when I made it to NCAA, I hit the times at our conference meet, when I was tapered and rested, which meant I’d lost some of my fitness by the time NCAA came weeks later. Shay hits the NCAA qualifying times early in the season so that she knows it’s her final meet and she can hold off on tapering until after conference. That way, she can be rested without losing fitness, in peak racing condition, for NCAA. I want to be in that position this season. I want to have a shot at actually hitting the podium at NCAA, rather than just being happy I made it at all. I want to perform well enough that the panic attack at the first meet will be overlooked by potential agents.

It’s the first evening of a three-day meet and Shay and I hop out of the warm-up pool together to head over to the starting blocks. We’re in lanes 4 and 5 for the 200 I.M. She hit the top qualifying spot this morning, and I’m in the third spot. This is the only event when I occasionally, if rarely, beat Shay. Okay, so it’s happened three times over countless races, but whatever.

Shay reaches over for a fist bump as we position ourselves behind the blocks and watch the semi-final heat ahead of us finish their last lap.

I love racing next to Shay. I always feel like a team, like we’re somehow both stronger, when she takes the block beside me. I get strength from her strength, and I like to think it’s reciprocal. As the swimmers ahead of us pull their tired bodies out of the water, the announcer calls us forward.

The cheers are always louder when Shay and I race side by side like this. I can hear our teammates hooting from the other side of the pool, ready to get in our faces at the wall. Hitting the NCAA standard in this event is a long shot for me. I’ve got a better shot in the breaststroke events tomorrow and the next day. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going for it anyway.

“Swimmers, take your mark.”

My body is loose and ready to pounce as I let my fingertips drop to the edge of the starting block.

With the loud beep, I spring forward, arms tightly clasped over my ears, and glide under the water before moving my torso in a dolphin kick. I’m no Shay Spark, but I’m a solid butterflier, and I stay within a body length of the national champion and record holder in the lane beside me through the first stroke of the individual medley.

When we turn into backstroke, I echo the same underwater dolphin kick on my back before breaking the surface. I love racing this event, switching strokes every two laps, holding my own in fly and back before really showing my stuff in breaststroke. My body feels smooth and strong as I move into the flip turn with perfect timing. The summer training and focus on technique paid off, and I’ve shaved time simply by tightening up my starting dive, turns, and underwater streamline position.

Switching from back to breast, I hit the suicide turn just right and push off the wall with determination, ready to attack the breaststroke pull-out. By now, my lungs are starting to burn, and it’s tempting to break the surface earlier than ideal in order to take a breath, but I follow through with the movements that maximize my forward momentum. When I break the surface, I’ve nearly caught up to Shay.

Like me, Shay doesn’t really have a weak stroke, which is why we’re both good at the I.M. If we had to choose, our worst stroke would be freestyle, which is pretty unusual. The sound of cheering rushes in my ears each time my head bobs above the surface, and when I hit the wall to turn into the second lap of breast, Shay and I are neck and neck. There are shouts close to my face as our teammates bend over the edge of the pool. People go crazy watching us race against each other. It’s like no one can lose, since we’re on the same team, more than just the same college team. It’s easy to understand the appeal of dual sponsorship. Together, we’re just better.

I hold strong on the second pull-out, and focus on tight and fluid kicks through the last lap of breast stroke. When I turn into free, the last stroke, I’ve got a slight lead on my sister. No one else is even close.

The last two laps of free in the I.M. are no holds barred. Everything I’ve got left goes into motoring myself forward. Pulling, kicking, breathing to the side as little and as quickly as possible. It’s a frenzy of burning muscles, bubbles, and pain as I reach the wall and engage in a flip turn, pushing off with all my leg strength. Unlike with breaststroke, where my head comes up each stroke, it’s impossible to see where Shay is, though I sense her near as I throw everything I’ve got into the final few yards. I pound into the wall, knowing I’m happy with the race no matter what the clock says.

She’s right there with me, and we high-five one another, uncertain who won, before glancing at the clock. I’ve won by two one-hundredths of a second. We’ve both hit the NCAA qualifying mark, by quite a bit. Actually, we both broke Shay’s school record from NCAA’s last year, which means we’ve secured best times. I can’t remember the last time I hit a best time mid-season like this when I wasn’t tapered. Vaguely, I think about how whoever updates the record board must be getting pretty annoyed with the two of us.

Shay slides over the lane line to embrace me in a hug. “Okay, I promised myself I’d let it be your decision but please pretty please go pro with me. I can do it without you but it’s so much better with you at my side.”

“Yeah, Shay. I think the agents might even want me for swimming now too, don’t you think?” I half-kid her.

She pulls away to give me a shoulder slap.

Glancing at the stands, I find both our boyfriends standing beside our parents. Mom leans over to say something to Jack. She’s warming up to him, from what I can tell. I have mixed feelings about her liking my boyfriend. It’s weird. It goes against my normal. But shit’s changing, I guess.

“I’m not crazy about taking a career path Mom approves of,” I admit to Shay as we pull off our goggles. “I mean, I don’t want her to think it was her idea, or that I’m doing it for her.”

Shay just grins at me.

“You really don’t have to worry about that, Kick.”

But as I catch Mom’s eye and see this weird twinkle, goosebumps break out as I recognize what appears to be maternal pride. It feels… good. Mostly because I’m not doing any of this for her, I’m doing it for me. But shit, it’s nice to know that working hard, supporting Shay, really going for it in the pool, all of that, can make a mom with the most impossible standards beam with happiness.

Maybe I’m not such a fuck-up after all. Maybe I never was.