Endless meetings and practices, the tension and excitement of race day, followed by powerful surges of adrenaline for bare moments in the water that became his sole reason for existence. Controlling his rhythm and holding back just a bit of extra energy for the finish. The roars of the crowds growing louder as the crowds themselves grew. Awards and honors, “Oh Say Can You See,” feeling the tug of heavy medals draped around his neck, the way they gleamed in the spotlights. Sitting around the kitchen table, talking to his folks about the greater goal. The worry but determination on their faces as they considered the costs, the struggles, the uncertainty of such an unimaginable future. Driving in his dad’s old truck to statewide meets, his first time on a plane as he flew off to Nationals, then his first trip overseas with his father, to Europe. Where he won. And continued winning, so many meets, so many wins, so many steps along the way, all laid out like pages of an aged scrapbook that flipped rapidly across his vision. Then to Tokyo and the Olympic Village and the Parade of Nations, all passing by him with such detail, such clarity that he could remember the sounds and the smells as if he stood there now. And his eyes watered as he wondered where it had all gone, how it had slipped away too fast, too fast…

Back home, with the parades and speeches, the handshakes and hugs, the looks of pride, admiration, and often jealousy-those last looks were the ones he came to love the most, for they empowered him, gave him a sense of worth and accomplishment.

And the women. Lots of women. They had always come easily to him, attracted by his confidence, his skills, his lean body, his good looks, and that burst of unruly, always uncombed red hair that became his trademark. Even cut short for swim meets it was noticeable, but after his retirement he let it grow out again, and the women couldn’t keep their hands off it. Through all the years of traveling, of broadcasting and commentating, of commercials and special appearances, milking his celebrity for every cent he could get out of it, his hair was his calling card.