“I noticed that you and Amber have a bit of a… thing,” said Dasha lightly, flashing her eyes at me for a quick moment.
“That’s true,” I sighed. “I’m over it but she just won’t let this rivalry go.”
“Rivalry, huh?” she said. “That really goes against the team dynamic we’re trying to foster.”
“I know,” I said, shaking my head. “My theory is that Amber thrives off of this rivalry with me, like she feels it makes her a better athlete. So, it’s worked for her and at this point it’s like some talisman hanging from her neck that brings her good luck.”
“Do you want me to talk to her?” said Dasha.
“No,” I replied. “I just want to keep trying to ignore it and hope it’ll just go away on its own.”
“And if you win the 400 meter, then what?” she said. “Do you think Amber will continue to steam?”
“When I win the 400 meter,” I said with a grin. “Amber is free to pound sand and continue on with her life.” Dasha chuckled lightly at me.
“As your coach, I don’t like knowing that we have this going on,” she said. “But as long as it doesn’t affect either of your work ethics negativity, and it doesn’t become contagious with the rest of the team, I will bend to your wishes, I won’t talk to her about it… for now.”
“It’ll just fuel her hatred, or whatever, of me,” I said. “Then she’ll bring you into it. It’s just not worth it. She’s petty.”
“You seem to know her well.”
“We swam together at U of M,” I said. “We were friends originally. We both made the team freshman year. I mean, it was fine. But she grew jealous that I was better than her, she became snotty with me, and we drifted apart. It’s sad, really. And after my parents’ accident and my having to drop out of the Olympics, I was like a wounded animal to Amber, I had to be shunned.”
“I’m sorry, Marie,” said Dasha. “That’s rough. I don’t like that kind of attitude.”
“I’ll deal,” I said, shrugging as I further dug into my meal. “I’ve experienced a lot worse.”
“I know,” said Dasha with a pained smile. She slid her hand across the table between us and gripped onto my hand. Our eyes met as we shared that tender moment of understanding. It was like time froze right there as I probed into Dasha’s eyes, assaying what I saw inside, trying to parse what she might be feeling. My heart burned for her. So pretty, so kind. Everything felt so right as we sat there together on that high top table. I was eager to be close to her.
“I hope you don’t mind me asking,” I began. “How old are you?”
“I’m 31,” said Dasha.
“So you were 19 when you won the Silver?” I asked. “That had to be amazing.”
“Oh, it was,” grinned Dasha, looking down as she demurred. I could sense her reveling in the memory. “It was a dream come true. I know that’s such a cliche thing to say but it really was. It meant everything to me.”
“Totally not corny or cliche,” I said. “No, I definitely understand. It’s been my dream to stand on that podium for a very long time. I had to give up my chance last time around, but this time…” I said, shaking my head as I considered it. “I’m not going to stop until I reach it.”
“You can do it,” said Dasha. “You’re very talented.”
“I think this is basically my last shot,” I admitted. “The training takes so much out of me and by the time the next Olympics come around, I’ll be 29. I think this is it for me.”
“All the more reason to work your butt off,” she said with a sly grin. “Keep eating.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I said, continuing to work on my burger.
“Listen,” said Dasha in a bit of a hushed tone. She lowered her head down, looked around, and then leaned over the table. “You’re one of my favorites to win on the women’s team,” she said in a low whisper.
“C’mon,” I said, leaning back and giving the table a light smack. “Really? You don’t mean that.”
“I do,” she said.
“You can’t play favorites,” I said, teasing her just a little bit. “Very un-coach like.”
“Parents have a favorite child,” she said. “Coaches have a favorite student.”
“Why me?” I said, feeling excited by this revelation. I was so stoked to find out that Dasha was pulling for me over the others, so enthused that I would have greater attention from her.
“You can’t say this to anyone,” she said in warning, lifting a single finger and pointing it at me. “Got it?”
“Sure,” I said. “Of course.”
“I’ve researched your races and times,” said Dasha. “Watched video, seen your work ethic, I think you have what it takes,” she said, fussing with her fork on her plate. “Plus, I just like you.” Dasha smiled.
“You like me?” I asked. I could feel my heart rate double. There was a tenderness in Dasha admission, like there was something deeper behind it. I was hooked.
“I think you’re a sweet girl,” said Dasha. She shrugged and made a goofy face.
“Thank you,” I said, beaming. It made me so happy to receive that praise. It filled me with a joy that so often seemed out of my reach. Sometimes you just need someone to tell you that you’re good. It really makes a difference.
“I’ve said too much,” said Dasha, backpedalling slightly, looking away from me. I could see a bit of pain in her face. Like she’d gone farther than she meant. But little did she know how much verve that inspired in me.
“It’s okay,” I said softly. “I think you’re sweet, too.” I reached toward her to try to take her hand as she had done to me, but she pulled back and gave me an apologetic look.
“I think we should alter your reps a bit on the weights,” said Dasha, obviously changing the subject. I couldn’t help myself, feeling quite giddy, and I tittered slightly. “And I want to try working with kettlebells for posture alignment.”
“Okay,” I said, nodding, smiling, agreeing with her. “Do I have bad posture?”
“No,” she said. “Of course not. I just want to increase the range of motion for your strokes and I think kettlebell training may help with that.”
“How very Russian,” I said. She rolled her eyes. There was something lurking inside of Dasha that really put a spirit inside of me. I sensed a magnetism, a mutual engagement. We ate in silence for a moment, both of us awaiting the other to speak, but instead we locked eyes and held them for a wonderfully breathless moment. That hole in my heart was slowly filling in.
“Are you ready, Marie?” Dasha asked. She stood next to me on the deck, while I remained perched on the starting block. I was in my black racing suit, cap on my head, goggles over my eyes. Dasha held a stopwatch as she looked to me, awaiting my response.
“Yes, Coach,” I said.
“Watch Amber,” she said. Amber was doing the butterfly stroke up the length of the pool, heading toward us, her wingspan looking huge with each leap out of the water. I could see the focus on her face, goggles steadied ahead of her, her mouth taking in quick gasps of breath each time her head emerged. “Train your reflexes, anticipate her finish, count in your head,” said Dasha. “Dive as soon as you feel she’s about to touch. Not a moment sooner, not a moment later.”
“Yes, Coach,” I said again.
“Let’s pretend we’re behind,” said Dasha. “Behind by two tenths of a second. I want to see your speed.”
“Okay,” I affirmed.
I looked out from the side of my mirrored goggles and saw Dasha’s eyes focused on me. She couldn’t tell I was looking at her. Her attention gave me a jolt of adrenaline. I felt a cold shiver course through me as I considered her looking on to my swimsuit-adorned body.
“Here we go,” said Dasha, her eyes now looking out toward Amber who was swiftly approaching.
I took a deep breath and focused. Autopilot took over, muscle memory. The next thing I knew, I was breaking into the water, my arms quickly beginning the freestyle stroke. One hand over the oth
er, scooping into the water like a flipper. My lingering thoughts of Dasha, most of them romantic, melted away as my body became the water. My mind was empty.
The 400 meter medley relay includes 4 swimmers per team, each swimming a different stroke. The first stroke is the backstroke, because the backstroke is started in the water. If it wasn’t first, the backstroking swimmer and finishing previous swimmer might collide. Not ideal. After that, the remaining 3 strokes are based on speed, thus it goes backstroke, breaststroke, butterfly, and freestyle. Freestyle basically means the front crawl, as that’s what most swimmers do in the freestyle leg. The last swimmer, the freestyle swimmer — so, that’s me — is called the anchor.
No, I’m not a huge metal boat stop. I’m a leader and a cheerleader. I’m the one standing there on the deck the longest, cheering on my teammates, shouting out that the race isn’t over. It’s never over until I finish. It’s a lot of pressure being the anchor, of course, but I thrive on it. I get to let Coach Marie shine. It’s a lot of responsibility to be the anchor but it’s worth it.
When you’re called on to be the anchor by your coach, revel in it. They’re putting a lot of trust in you. Take it seriously. When you watch us on television in competition, pay attention to the anchor and you’ll see how important they are in a medley relay.
The length of a pool is 50 meters, so each swimmer goes down and back, totaling 400 meters for the event. It only takes less than 4 minutes for the whole thing to be over. It’s always an exciting event to watch and even more exciting to participate in.
As I reached the end of the pool, I dove down hard and flipped, feeling the bottoms of my feet press against the wall, and I propelled off back in the direction I had come from. Kicking my feet together, I swam back up to the surface and resumed my front crawl stroke. I’d done it thousands of times before, but this part was always crucial for me. I was always trying to tighten up my turn, always trying for more speed.
“C’mon Marie!” I heard Dasha calling out as I swam closer to the finish. I breathed to the left, my body turned with my arm up, then down, then the other side. I was slicing through the water with minimal drag, heart racing fast, each breath coming exactly when it needed to in that small millisecond that my mouth came up from under the surface. “You got this!” I heard Dasha exclaim.
My fingers pressed against the wall as I came in for my landing, after which I speedily popped up from the water and took a few deep, satisfied breaths. Stretching my neck to either side, I pulled my goggles up and relaxed there in the water, floating against the deck with one arm up over it.
“How was that?” I asked absently to Dasha, my mouth opening and closing, stretching my jaw.
“Good!” said Dasha, kneeling down with her stopwatch in one hand. “You clocked 53.25 on that leg. We want to get you sub-53.”
“Probably the turn,” I said, grimacing. I flipped my hand at the water, feeling a slightly upset with myself. “What did Amber get on her butterfly?”
“56.28,” said Dasha.
“So I do need to get under 53.”
“We would like that very much,” said Dasha.
“Damn,” I mused, looking off.
“Hey,” said Dasha, reaching down and giving my shoulder a squeeze. I looked up to her. “Don’t stress. You’re doing great. We still have plenty of time to train.”
“I know,” I said. I could feel myself building into a bit of a tizzy. “I’m just hard on myself.”
“You’re doing amazing, Marie,” reiterated Dasha with a joyful smile. “You’re wonderful.”
“Thank you,” I said, mimicking her smile. Reaching my hand up, I slipped it into Dasha’s and the two of us held hands for a few moments. “It means a lot to me.”
Our eyes met and they stayed locked together, still holding onto to one another’s hand. I couldn’t look away from her. The smile built on Dasha’s face, growing from a slight curl to something that could only be described as elation. God, I was so infatuated with her. I felt silly about the whole thing. Loopy, even. I wondered if Dasha felt the same way.
If I had to pinpoint a moment when I knew something more was brewing between Dasha and I, it would be that moment in the water. There was just something enchanted about it. Something unspoken brewing between us. I loved it. I loved that feeling of newly mulling romance. It made me feel alive.
“Okay,” said Dasha, breaking from the trance we both had unexpectedly found ourselves in. She pulled back from me and stood up, taking another look at her stopwatch and trying to regain composure. I continued smiling up at her.
“What next?” I said sweetly, eager to spend more time with her.
“Why don’t you hop out,” she said a bit vacantly. “I’m supposed to work on butterfly with Kate shortly.” Kate was another member of our team, competing in the 200 meter butterfly.
“Okay,” I said, slowly nodding. “Will you be around later?” I asked. “To talk?”
“Yes,” said Dasha, nodding quickly. “Okay, I must go.” I could tell she was very flustered, her energy feeling frenetic.
Dasha straightened herself up, gave me one more small smile, and then scurried off to find Kate. I was a bit confused by her quick departure, but I felt positively invigorated by our moment. I took another deep, full breath and then hoisted myself up out of the pool, the water slipping down off me. I sat there on the deck edge for a moment with a dumb smile on my face. It was awesome. My heart wouldn’t stop its frantic thumps. I was feeling that nervous excitement of new love. I wanted to cackle out in happiness.
This could really be something.
Standing up, I reached for my towel and began to dry myself off. As I looked off to a bench that lined the wall, not too far from the starting blocks, I saw Amber staring back at me, she herself wrapped in a towel, eyes narrowed and brow furrowed. She was looking at me with a strange expression, like she wasn’t yet sure what to think. It felt foreboding. Portentous. Like she had some little storm roiling in her brain and she was eager to let it loose on me.
I pulled my towel tighter around my body and searched for my flip flops. After pushing my feet into the molded plastic shoes, I gave Amber one more look before I began to hurriedly walk away. Whatever she had against me in that moment, whatever plan she was working on, I didn’t want any part of it. The way she looked at me was creeping me out and I just wanted to get out of the pool and back into the locker room. I had better, more positive things to think about. I had Dasha. My coach, my friend, and perhaps the possibility of even more.
There was nothing Amber could do to take away the positivity I was beginning to cultivate in my life. Or was there?
As I washed the chlorine off me in the locker room shower stall, my hair drenched and hanging like a heavy mat against my back, bar of soap in my hand, I lazily dreamed about Dasha. She had really great eyebrows. Maybe that’s inconsequential to some people, or something you don’t always notice, but her eyebrows were large and thick and well-defined. They reminded me of the kind of eyebrows you might see in an upscale retail fashion catalog. Like a model’s eyebrows. I knew I was falling hard for Dasha because I was focusing on these little attributes and analyzing them back and forth. It was the telltale sign that I was smitten.
After our moment, Dasha had scurried off so quickly and I tried to imagine why. Maybe she was embarrassed. Maybe it made her feel weird. I could understand that. We were in a strange position, her being my coach, and it really was against the code of ethics to pursue any kind of romance like I felt was growing between us. In my time as a competitive swimmer, I had seen romances blossom between two swimmers but when it came to the coach/swimmer relationship, everything had been above board.
But I wanted something more with Dasha. I could feel it in my heart. I didn’t want to jeopardize my place on Team USA, of course, but it wasn’t like anything truly nefarious was going on. Something mutual between two adults, what’s wrong with that?
The shower water drizzled down on me, washing the so
ap bubbles down my skin, over my shower shoes, and into the drain below. I knew that I had to talk to Dasha about the feelings I had. It was important to get them out. If she didn’t feel the same way — or, maybe, if she wasn’t a lesbian like me… I hadn’t thought about that. What if I was making this connection all up in my mind and Dasha wasn’t even interested in women? Yeah, I definitely had to talk to her and figure some stuff out or otherwise it could develop into a problem that would throw my game off.
As these back and forth thoughts moved through my mind, absentmindedly letting the water rain down over my head, I was suddenly startled by the quick yank of the shower stall curtain, exposing me to the open hallway outside of the stalls. I screamed out in surprise, raising an arm up to cover my chest, and dropping my other hand to cover between my legs. Standing there in front of me was Amber, herself wearing just a white towel and her shower shoes, hair wet, giving me a snotty look.
“Amber!” I cried out, once my brain caught up with the action. “What the hell!” I reached out and tried to shut the curtain but Amber held it open.
“Chill out,” said Amber with a smirk, keeping me from closing the curtain. While I had been naked around Amber and the other swimmer girls a thousand times, it was the surprise of her intruding on my privacy that caught me off guard. I wrestled with her for a moment, one hand still spread between my thighs, though my other hand gripped on the curtain leaving my top exposed.
“What are you doing?” I pleaded. “You’re crazy.” Eventually I just gave in and stopped fussing. The feelings of intrusion dissipated and I just wanted to appease her to get her out of my space.
“Nice tits,” said Amber, checking me out, tilting her head to side, laughing softly. I tossed my head back and rolled my eyes dramatically.
“Dude,” I said emphatically. “What do you want?”
“I saw you and Dasha,” she said, narrowing her eyes, looking kind of like a maniac. “You had some little moment. What was that?”
“What was what?” I said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you do,” she said. “Don’t try to deny it. When you finished your leg and were floating at the deck. You and Coach Dasha, I saw the way you looked at each other.”
Freestyle Flirting: A Sweet Lesbian Romance Page 3
