I normally refrain from blogging my dreams but this one was a doozy. It was the final night of the Olympic swimming and there was a new event, the 4 x 100m MIXED freestyle relay. Two guys, two girls, and whaddya know? Me, who couldn’t dogpaddle across a puddle, was in the Australian Team!
In the team with me was Bigfoot Ian Thorpe, the rather handsome Michael Klim, and this very petite, delicate and distinctly non-sporty lady that I work with. So we’re getting ready to begin and pulling faces at that Gary Hall Jr. person and then screaming to my teammates, “YEAH BABY! LET’S GO! LET’S KICK SOME YANKEE ASS!”
(Apologies to any American readers.)
So the gun goes off and Thorpey swims and he is miles ahead. Then Klim goes in and he powers through the water.
Now it’s my turn and I do a very elegant bellywhacker and charge down the pool, kicking wildly and thrashing at the water like my mum’s old Sunbeam mixmaster (it used to throw choccie cake batter all over the kitchen).
I make the first 50, and since I don’t know how to do one of those tumble turn things, I come back up the pool doing backstroke, just to be different. I was crooked as hell and kept running into the lane ropes, but it didn’t matter because we were winning.
Then I flipped over and butterflied for the the last 25 metres. Except I can’t do butterfly so I just gasped and gallumphed along, more ageing walrus than a delicate butterfly.
But I made it! I touched the wall and looked up at Cathy, the chick from work. She was dressed in her blue suit and peered down at me.
“CATHY! IT’S YOUR TURN!”
“Me? I’m swimming?”
“IT’S THE FUCKING OLYMPICS! WE’RE GONNA WIN! HURRY UP!” I bellowed in between gasping for breath.
She casually sits down on the side of the block and undoes her strappy patent leather mary janes as if she had all the time in the world. I am screaming and swearing at her, still in the pool. She takes off her suit and she has this lurid hot pink flowered swimming costume underneath. But by this time, the race is over and the Americans have won.
“Noooooooooooooo!” I screamed, and promptly started sobbing.
Then I realised I was still in the pool so I tried to haul myself out. But I just teetered on the pool edge, grunting and grumbling like a beached whale before croaking to Mr Klim, “I can’t get up. Help meeeeeee!”
They hauled me out as I cried and swore.
Then Thorpey says, “Oh get over it! It’s only a gold medal!”
“Shut up, you!” I hissed. “Alright for you to say, you’ve got a bloody kilo of them! This was my only chance for glory!”
Then I woke up and my Olympic Dream was shattered.