The 100 IM - By Tara Stipe

As my name is called out to receive my race card, my stomach starts to churn. Shaking hands take hold of the pink index card that shows my name, event, fastest time, heat and lane number. I can’t think rationally as I head across the overflowing pool deck. After handing over my card to an official in my lane, I try to calm my mind down, repeating tips to myself about my start and the three turns I will have to make. The 100 Individual Medley, also known as the 100 IM, is a hundred meter race composed of all four swimming stokes: butterfly, backstroke, breastroke, and freestyle. Everything will need to be picture perfect, and I will have to push myself to the breaking point to make sure my time qualifies me for All-Stars. Nerves, butterflies and a pounding heartbeat drive the competitive swimmer to excel.

A couple of heats preceding mine, I begin a couple of stretches to make sure I don’t pull a muscle. A swimmer’s worst nightmare is a pulled muscle. They take weeks to heal, and it’s almost unbearable to swim through the screaming pain, if your able to swim at all. As I finish my stretches, butterflies start flying about in my stomach. Out of habit and nervousness, I play with my orange cap and constantly rearrange my clear goggles over my eyes. Over the crackle of the loud speaker my event and heat is called, and we are asked to step up. As I do so, I try not to mind the sparkling clear blue water as it seems to laugh at me. The swimmers of the heat are told to take their places. I shuffle my feet and shake my shoulders as I slightly hunch over. “Swimmers take your mark”, rings over the pool, and I quickly grab the edge of the pool and pull myself back into a crouch, tensing and ready to go. The horn pierces the air, and I’m smoothly able to rock forward and push off to be one of the fastest responding to the horn.

My arms fly together instantly into a streamline just a split second before I hit the water. The cold water quickly tries to divert my attention away from the race, but I dolphin kick furiously to push me through the water. As I’m about to break the surface, I pull my hands apart, down, then out of the water. I break the surface just as I need to rotate my arms out and above my head, and then push them straight forward again. The first stroke of the 100 IM has started, the butterfly. I repeat the sequence of dolphin kick-stroke as fast as humanly possible, all while trying to prove the motto that breathing is over rated. Just strokes away from the wall I can feel my stomach muscles wanting to tire. My stroke ends perfectly at the wall as I force myself to touch with two hands simultaneously to not be disqualified. Before I can breathe I have already pushed off of the wall onto my left side to glide through the water more effectively. I kick as if for dear life to reach the surface farther out. I’ve been holding my breath for a while, and I’m ready to be able to breathe. I come to the surface on my back, scissor kicking madly and pulling myself backwards through the water.

I excel at backstroke, and I enjoy the freedom of being able to breathe the whole time. As quick as I can but with technique and grace, I rotate my arms from my side to behind my ear and pull, then back again. Before I can think, I see the flags above my head, so I count my stokes, one…two…three..and I push myself down into the water and stretch with my right hand all the while creating a storm in the pool with my feet. My hand hits the rough concrete wall of the pool, and I pull myself upright and plant two feet on the wall and push off again in a perfect streamline.

I let my momentum carry me through the water until I feel a decrease in pace, then pull my arms down in a keyhole shape to my sides and wait again for my momentum to fade. I kick like a frog and push my arms forward once again, and pull myself to the top of the water. I have successfully made it through the first half of the race, and I’m holding my own in third. My weakest stroke, breastroke, will allow the other girls the opportunity to pull away or catch up. I fight for my right to be there, pulling my aching arms through the water, trying to move as much water as possible. Weakening legs want to refuse to push as hard or as fast. In what seems to be an eternity, I swim in search of the wall. At last my hands hit the side of the pool together and once again I push off on my left, not allowing for time to breathe.

I force my burning legs to scissor kick faster, displacing gallons of water. My arms pull through the water and come out bent at the elbow. Freestyle, the last stroke, is my next to fastest stroke, but I’ve already swum 75 meters. My body is giving out and my lungs are ready to explode for want of air. The end being in sight gives some hope to my screaming limbs and I find a hidden source of energy. Although it will take me less than eighteen seconds to reach the wall, time seems to stand still. I feel as if even with all the effort of pulling myself forward, I am not moving. My legs grow weary just with the thought of having to kick for another twenty-five meters, and my arms want to drag through the water. Just as my body is about to call it quits, I see the wall just a stroke away, and I give one last kick to push me into the wall.

The feel of cement is welcoming, and I grab the edge of the pool and hang for a few precious seconds, allowing my lungs to fill and my shakes to subside. I lean over to my right and congratulate the girl next to me for winning, then to my left for a great race. A big smile radiates from my face to my family hanging over the pool cheering me on. We are all ecstatic for my third place finish. I took off more than eight seconds from my fastest time, and secured my spot in the All-Stars race.

Copyright Tara Stipe 2007