Chapter 19 Muscle Memory
Muscle Memory
Maisie
As I walk out of the locker room and onto the pool deck, I’m blasted with the familiar warm fog of chlorine.
The pool feels like a second home after all these years, which is definitely a comfort—but my new competition suit is a little too tight, my muscles are tense, and my breathing is definitely not at normal cadence.
A familiar feeling: the anxiety of meet day.
My teammates are huddled on a group of mats in the corner in various states of dress, stretching, chatting, and visualizing.
As I make my way over, I tip my head in acknowledgment to Mannon’s divers warming up in a nearby section.
They respond with quiet smiles. I recognize some of them from my Junior Olympic competition days. The diving world is small.
Then I look up to the bleachers. Seems Connor isn’t here yet, but my eyes snag on two familiar faces. Oh no. My parents are here.
Why wouldn’t they tell me they were coming?
My heart ramps up to double the normal beats per minute, and tension starts to pull at my temple points.
I think I might be sick. As if I wasn’t nervous enough as it is today.
I don’t think I can stomach my dad’s post-meet report—points I left on the table, where my focus should be, how if I had only been a little better on this or that, I would have won.
He says it’s to provide helpful feedback, but considering he doesn’t even know how to swim, it falls short on the helpful aspect and tends to only succeed in making me feel bad about myself.
Like a failure for anything less than perfection.
I look away as quickly as I can and close the distance to the mats. Dublin pops up from his forward fold and reaches up a hand, indicating he’s waiting for a high-five. I oblige, although not as enthusiastically as I’m sure he was hoping for.
“Ready for the big day?” he says, smiling without a care in the world.
“As I’ll ever be,” I reply. I shuffle to an open stretching spot and sit down with my legs spread wide. I reach from one side to the other and down the center, feeling the familiar pleasant burn. I breathe through each stretch, praying my body will release some of the stress it’s harboring.
The competition starts unceremoniously. We’re competing in three-meter first, and I’m third in the rotation.
My dives have been decently clean, minimal splash, acceptable scores.
I should be thrilled. I’m holding my own at my first collegiate meet, but my stomach is churning.
I climb the ladder for my final dive on the board: a back one and a half with one and a half twists, or a 5233D, as the announcer states.
I make it to the end of the board, take my routine deep breath, and start my count of three.
I take off and enter the water before I can think too hard.
Luckily, this dive typically goes off without a hitch thanks to muscle memory.
Although Coach wants to add an additional twist soon.
I push away the intrusive thought as I break the surface of the water.
There are whoops and cheers from my teammates, the crowd, and even some of the swimmers who have made their way to the dive well to watch.
I spit some water from my mouth as I let a smile overtake my face. I did it. I made it through the 3m. No failed dives. No major embarrassment. Even Coach Megan gives me a stilted nod of approval as I exit the water and head over to stand under the spray of the on-deck shower.
Maybe I do belong here. I’ve always loved diving, and I always knew I wanted to compete in college, but knowing I did it—passing my first major test as a Division I diver—means the world.
My eyes scan the crowd again. I allow them to gloss over my parents and home in on who I’m really looking for—Connor. He’s decked out in school colors and even painted half his face green. He has a foam finger like he’s at a football game and is cheering extra loud.
A laugh bursts out of me, and about four sets of eyes turn to see why I’m having some sort of conniption.
A sheepish smile creeps out, but even the mild embarrassment doesn’t squelch the joy.
The tension I’d been holding all day slowly seeps out of me.
Sure, I have another set of dives to compete on 10m—one of those being the dreaded back three and a half—but for now, I’ll soak in the happiness.
It can feel hard to come by at times, so might as well revel in it while it’s here.
Lola wins the women’s 3m event by a landslide.
Janique places second for a solid Magnolia one-two lead.
I place fifth, which isn’t last, so I keep my head held high.
Dublin and Finn also take one-two for the guys, and Jamey snags a respectable fourth place.
Magnolia is holding strong against Mannon after the first round of the day.
As we all start warming up on 10m, I sneak one more peek at the stands.
Connor’s goofy grin spreads when my eyes find his, and he sticks his tongue out at me while squishing his face into funny positions.
I’m glad his presence isn’t distracting—rather, it’s helping.
I think I may have overanalyzed hanging out last night.
I laugh again and blow him a dramatized kiss before I can think twice about it.
He doesn’t hesitate; he pretends to catch it and plants it on his cheek before holding his hands over his heart in mimed admiration.
My cheeks warm, but I play it off as best I can and start the climb up the tower for warmups.