Six laps left to go—Ryan looked at Erik’s hand in the water, gripping the counting card. Now he could hurry—now he could warm up to his final sprint. The echo of shouts and whistles was deafening now—only with his head underwater did Ryan feel the strange mix of peace and exhaustion that rattled him forward.
Four laps left. Ryan bolted forward from the wall, kicking ferociously, ripping skillfully at the water before him, wincing at the burn in his triceps. Pull, pull, breathe, kick, kick, kick. The whole team was standing there now—even Kyle, yelling at him wildly, throwing up their arms, and showing with their fingers that he was “oh so close!”