Chapter Text
To Tommy, there’s something so therapeutic about that first moment of eerie quiet that occurs after you dive into the water. A silent moment, a calm before the storm, a moment that can be anything and everything that you want it to be. The rush of adrenaline calms for just a second, the cool splash of water the only echo in your mind as your body adjusts to the shock of entering into the pool.
Then the race starts.
Chaos begins from there, oftentimes not remembered except for in the heat of the moment. The rhythm of the strokes, the perfect execution of a flip turn, the push to the finish when you can see the wall in sight. The feeling in your legs as you feel them start to give out, that final burst of energy that gets you to the wall as you slam your hands into the wall, the feeling of glory when you look up at the scoreboard and see if you’ve lost time.
Your place doesn’t matter- it often never does, but your time (and if you lost any) always will.
The utter disappointment when you don’t drop time, when you stay flat, when you gain time on your event, is always the thing that stings the worst. All of the work, everything that you’ve done. It just wasn’t enough. There’s always one thing that you could’ve done better, something that you or your coach will inevitably nitpick, and you go back to practice or prepare for your next race with those thoughts circulating your mind. A better turn, picking up the pace on this ending lap here, a better stroke there, a better finish at the end.
With swimming, it’s never ending, the same experience, yet different every time.
To Tommy, swimming is his life. It’s all he’s ever known. Wake up early in the mornings for practice, finish one practice, move onto the next. Maybe it’s dry land and working on flexibility, maybe it’s a distance practice that’s in the middle of the day, a stroke and technique specific practice to end the day. He lives and breathes the sport that he chose, or chose once upon a time, now just pushing to be the best.
To go for the gold. To go for the time drop. To him, to his coaches, to his family, nothing else matters.
He has to be the best…or what is he?
Which is how he finds himself stumbling into the Olympics as a 16 year old swimmer, qualifying in just about any freestyle event, no matter the distance, and somehow sliding into the 400 Individual Medley as well. No relays, of course, he really doesn’t have the time to coordinate with other swimmers on how to do well with each other and work with their strengths if he’s trying to pursue being the best that he possibly can be.
The Olympics are basically the only stage for swimmers to be showcased at this magnitude. It’s not like basketball or baseball or football (soccer, if you’re from the US) or any other mainstream sport, which get to have their own seasons wherever they are.
So if Tommy doesn’t win big here, it’s another failure. Back to four more years of training and training and scoping out the newcomers that will inevitably rise within those four years to try and tackle the huge task of trying to do everything that he did to get here, and then try to win again.
All of these thoughts being reflected upon during his morning warm-up for practice, of course.
Coming into the wall, finishing up his first warm-up of what he is sure to know will be many inside of this Olympic pool, his eyes follow to the adjourning end of the pool- which they had cut in half for practice purposes today, because the water polo teams are practicing due to some poor scheduling conflicts.
Although it really wasn’t that poor. Tommy just wanted to get in an early practice, and his coach wasn’t going to be one to argue with that. (Or was it the other way around? At this point, Tommy’s wishes and his coaches were basically aligned. Go for the Gold. Lose time. So it really didn’t matter at that point.)
Though something deep inside of Tommy was screaming that it did.
Regardless of all of that, Tommy heaves a small sigh as he stares at the set he’s plastered onto the concrete with the paper that his coach gave him, his coach too tired from the flight into Tokyo to get up with him to practice this morning.
Not that he minds all too much. Gives him his own time to work on the small things that his coach can often disregard when it comes to his swimming and allows for introspection. Like what he did during his warm up, and to give him time to think more about what’s at stake and what he really has to practice.
His mind turns to stare at the paper. A good distance set to start off his day- as the distance normally comes at the beginning of meets, at least in his experience, although he’s heard whispers that they moved around the 400 Individual Medley to be on the same day as one of his other freestyle events. Which is fine and all, just something that he’ll have to work on for training and getting used to focusing on speed and endurance in the same practice.
3 1000s for time on the 14 minute.
He pushes off the wall and starts the set.
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When clamoring into the huge Olympic practice pool for the first time, all of the team jetlagged from Tokyo time, the last thing that Wilbur ( and the entire water polo team expected) was to see a lone swimmer already practicing. It was the ass crack of dawn, and normally there was only one person who was psychopathic enough to get up that early.
Their coach Phil.
Wilbur knew that this was likely going to be most of his mornings going into it, already from experience of being on Phil’s team for quite a couple of years, but he really didn’t expect to see one of the swimmers joining them at what was often nicknamed the “uncouth/ungoldy hour”. It made him stop for a second (but only a second), before Quackity bustled his way in through the entrance with excitement practically bouncing off of the walls.
“AMIGOOOOOOS, WE MADE IT!” Quackity hollers, smile breaking out in obvious satisfaction as he heard his own words echo in the empty Olympic space around him, save for the small splashes that were coming from the lane-filled half reserved for the swimmers.
The bright fluorescent lights of the pool reflected back into the light blue aqua of the water in a way that definitely made it seem like it wasn’t the crack of dawn, and was a familiar sight in the most comforting way. It was the team’s second home, even if they liked to bitch and moan about the early practice times. It was nice to see and appreciate the pool before it all turned into chaos.
“How in ever-loving fuck do you have this much energy this early, lover boy?” Schlatt sniffs beside him, eyes barely open and clear grogginess evident in his disheveled sweatpants and crewneck carelessly thrown over his swimsuit.
“It’s the Olympics, how the fuck do you not have energy? We’re the first people to ever really get to experience this pool, to be able to practice in it! How are you not excited?” Karl backs Quackity up, excitement growing as he walks up to be beside his teammate and sling his arm around his shoulder.
“Guys, hate to be the bearer of horrible news, but we’re not exactly the first people here to break in the pool.” Purpled points out from the back of the pack, gesturing over to the swimmer who looks like he’s been at it for a while, a small slip of paper plastered to the side of the wall with what has to be a set. Something that Purpled is all too familiar with.
“A swimmer.” Wilbur comments, eyes following as the blonde-haired swimmer just keeps swimming back and forth, flip turns almost perfect as his strokes push him forward. Eyes on the clock, Wilbur watches as he finishes a 25 in a time that probably shouldn’t even be considered human, especially for warming up this early in the morning and doing such a long set.
He hadn’t seen the blonde take a break since they had walked in the door, a long distance set seemed to be the only logical explanation.
“Man, why are the swimmers taking up our pool at this hour?” Sapnap complains, pushing to walk up to where Quackity and Karl are now standing, at the front of the pack. “Don’t those pretentious solo athletes have like… any time to use the pool? Why do they have to use it while the team sport is here?”
“Don’t say that about swimmers, man.” Punz chimes in, taking a small moment to silently glance over at his younger brother, whose eyes are still stuck on the one singular swimmer going back and forth and back and forth. The look in Purpled’s eyes is one that’s familiar for Punz to see, the pain of seeing someone push themselves to the brink for individual gain not far enough into the past.
A hard shove from Karl and a quick cough and gesture from Quackity over at Purpled gave Sapnap enough of the hint. “Oh shit. Yeah, nah. Probably just wanted to get away from all the chaos and having to deal with people sharing the pool and lanes later.”
“Not the worst recovery I’ve ever seen, Sap. Could be about ten times better though.” Purpled retorts, eyes not leaving the swimmer, seeing the pace quicken and quicken even through the distance. “Is a bit weird though. Every team should have their own block of time to practice in this pool. He doesn’t need to get up this early to get some personal space.”
Purpled takes a mental note of that. From his own experiences, he knows that swimmers up this early in the morning by choice isn’t something that’s all too pretty. But he puts it aside in his brain, chalks it up to think about later, after practice and all of the lunges and things he has to do.
“I hate to break us away from this riveting conversation,” Techno’s deadpan breaks through the silence, the Captain pushing his way to the front without any disruption from his team. “But I think if Phil comes through that door in the next two minutes with his coffee and sees his players not in the pool, he’s probably going to put us through laps for the rest of practice.”
The collective groans when thinking about just swimming laps for practice is immediate, the silent pact between all of them to rush and get ready to get inside of the pool instant.
“Glad we’re all on the same page here. Warm up starts three minutes ago, so get in and start on that 200 across the pool while Dream and Purpled work on getting the spare cage in.” Techno comments as he sees the team start to line up at the edge of the gutterless pool.
“We can worry about the swimmer later.” Technoblade nudges Purpled where he still stands quiet, observing the blonde in the water, still swimming back and forth. There’s a genuine look in his eyes when he says it, a gesture to Purpled saying that he’ll hear out whatever worries he has later, when practice is an afterthought.
“For now, let’s get this practice started!”
The splashing into the pool is the only response.