Swim Where 10
“You’ll not likely finish so far ahead of the rest in the next Olympic games.” After their swim, Belinda had sat on the truck seat with her wet bikini bottom. She was quietly thinking, before uttering the pronouncement. “Others will have copied Fosbury’s flop.
“A flop?” His attention was diverted from his driving. “And who is this Fosbury?”
“All high jumpers used to drape their bodies over the bar with their bellies facing down. Then in the 1968 Mexico City Olympic games, a high jumper named Richard Fosbury stunned the world and captured the gold by employing a different style. He went over the bar with his chest facing up instead and it became known as the Fosbury Flop.”
“A ‘flop’ described his odd looking drape over the bar?” Scott correctly guessed.
“Then in the following 1972 Munich games,” she continued, “more than half of the high jumpers employed his technique.”
“Whether or not others emulate my swimming style doesn’t concern me whatsoever. For one thing, in order to beat me, other swimmers would have to overcome my final edge.
“And that is?” The sports reporter asked.
“A coach wants his athletes to follow his game plan. He gets them to start swimming fast and then coast from there, or perhaps he’ll order them to start slowly to conserve the best strength for a powerful finish. My game plan begins with expending maximum effort and then to keep accelerating with all I have, to the end.”
“That would be your poetic heart.” She concluded it for him.
“And secondly,” his resuming caught her off guard because she had forgotten that his previous, ‘for one thing’, had hinted of another reason, “Competing in the Olympic swimming events again doesn’t suit my personality. My times might be later bested, but I won’t be beaten.” Then in a muted tone he added. “I had more than my fill of that during my childhood years.”
Belinda Lyle went quiet. No matter how many times Scott the swimming sensation casually remarked about Luther’s abuse, the thought still affected her as strongly each time. She just didn’t like to think about how it had been for the boy to endure it.
“Why won’t you do it again?” She asked later that evening, when they were in bed.
“I could gamely try my best,” Scott accurately guessed what she was referring to but an intentional was more fun, “but I think it’s too soon after our last for a reasonable hope of physiological success.”
“You know what I was asking.” Belinda’s fingers tweaked a tender place under the sheets. “So answer that intent or I’ll demand that you go for the second.”
“Decisions, decisions.” The athlete mocked a pause of thought. Then his demeanor became serious. “The reason I won’t compete in the Olympics again is closely linked to my motivation for entering the last games and to the driving force that spurred me to win my events. I wanted to find a strong voice.”
“Fanning water into an open mouth doesn’t grow gills and it hasn’t been shown to augment the development of vocal cords either.” In truth, Belinda had surmised the reason but she felt that some misconstrued turnabout would be fair play.
“Oh never mind.” He sighed. “I have an idea of how I can demonstrate it for you tomorrow.”
“That brings us back to the other meaning.” Her hand walked on her fingers like a crab and it headed straight for his bikini like briefs. “Look on this experiment as a purely scientific study into the physique facts of your stamina and recovery times.”
Swim Where will continue….
Russell Twyce is the Author of Shiva’s Messenger