I gasped as I first hit the water – freezing cold water, direct from the source.
With seized up lungs, and some mental preparation, I looked left to my competitor: Morroco’s number one swimmer, Muhammed. Muhammed, who, if my broken French served me correctly, had raced in the Olympics and represented Morroco in the sport he knew. The champion, grew up in the Sahara in a small town – Meski, whose only attraction, among the mud-bick homes and desolate planes, was an oasis like spring (from “the source”), that nourished the town with water, Morrocan tourism, and a national Olympian.
Ready, set, go – yelled Tandi.
Tandi swore it was too close to call, but I knew that I had let Australia down.
As we shook hands and hugged goodbye, with a forced smile I swore that I would return one day to Meski, trained, and ready, to claim the title from this unlikely Saharan Olympian.
