The next morning I awoke at 6 am, had breakfast and headed for Albany State University for the championships. So that no one would suspect anything, my head was concealed with a blue bathing cap. I wore nylon stockings and a couple layers of t-shirts to weigh myself down during pre-trial laps in the pool.

The idea behind shaving is to compare it to a snake shedding old skin for new. You are in effect getting rid of dead body cells, giving you the like-new feeling. It provides a tremendous psychological boost - an indescribable feeling.

After swimming a couple warm-up laps, I got out of the pool, dried off and removed the nylon stocking and t-shirts. The bathing cap stayed in place. Grabbing my blue warm up suit, I sat in the corner to mentally prepare for the race.

I was filled with nervous anticipation about making the finals. This was going to be my day – I was going to show everyone what I was capable of. I closed my eyes, meditated and murmured some prayers.  As I was stretching my legs, I felt a light tap on my shoulder.

It was one of the “hot dogs” from my team.

“Yo man, it’s almost time.”

My heart lurched.

Wanting to savor the surprise, I slowly undressed, first the warm-up pants followed by matching windbreaker.
Then with a dramatic flair, I took off the blue bathing cap and threw it in the air, Mary Tyler Moore style. The “hot dog” nearly fell in the pool.

He let out a guttural scream, “Hey Hoppy (my high school nickname) shaaaaaved!”

The look on everyone’s faces was priceless. “Rabbit” almost died of a fatal heart attack

Laughing, I made my way to the starting block. Everybody gave me high fives on the way over.

Arriving at block # 5, I took one last look at my family up in the spectator section and gave them thumbs up. Snapping the goggles in place, I stepped onto the block, shaking my arms, Olympics style.

Cocking my head slightly, I waited for the magic words to come forth from the starter’s lips.

Take your mark!

The swimmers instantly spring-loaded themselves into position. I was the only one with my head turned toward the starter’s gun - everyone else was looking down, intently listening for it to crackle. The only way I could knew the trigger was pulled was to watch for the flash that came seconds before the sound. As long as I didn’t hit the water before the sound, I would not be disqualified.

Splashing into the water, my hairless body slithered through the waves. The first lap was over before I knew it and then I switched to backstroke.

Upon seeing arrow-shaped flags above the pool, I counted five arm strokes, 1-2-3-4-5.

That’s when it happened.

I miscalculated the number of armstrokes and crashed into the wall, almost knocking me out. It took me a few seconds to reorient myself but the mishap cost precious seconds.

As soon as I came to, I pushed off the wall and tried to catch up.

I still have a chance, I still have a chance.

After finishing the breastroke, I switched to freestyle and gave the last two laps everything I had, not daring to turn sideways for air. My eyes were riveted to the end of the pool.

Slamming on the touch pad, I ripped off my goggles, practically gasping and looked at my family. They were cheering, clapping and giving me thumbs up. So was the swim team. My hopes surged.

Glancing at the huge digital time board, I couldn’t believe it.

My performance turned in the best time ever!

Excited, my eyes darted over to the column that listed the order of placement.

Mine was “3.”

Rubbing my eyes, I looked again.

Sure enough, I was not imagining things.

I didn’t make the finals.

Stifling the urge to cry, I dipped my head back in the water as if that would wipe away invisible tears and pulled my taut body out of the pool.

On my way over to the bench, the “Rabbit” came up to me, cradled his arm around my shoulders and said, “Congratulations Stephen, you did your best time EVER!”

I said, “Yeah, but I didn’t make the finals.” His mouth puckered in sympathy and he gave my arm a reassuring squeeze.

Meanwhile, the rest of my teammates were slapping my back, giving me high fives but I didn’t feel their joy. Suddenly my head hurt – it was throbbing.  I absentmindedly rubbed the lump, the size of a small baseball.

That was almost 30 years ago.

The lesson? Have a passion for your goals and entertain the possibilities. Even though I didn’t make the finals, it wasn’t for lack of trying. Because of my passion for swimming, I ended up doing my best time ever and for that I can be proud. I won’t be sitting in my rocking chair wondering what could have happened ...

Let me ask you: “Do you have a passion for something? If not, what are you waiting for? You only live once.