BONNEY (USA) - 2:15.35 (WR)
AHERNE (IRL) - 2:17.85
BONNEMA (ZAR) - 2:18.25
I blink hard, disbelieving. Not just qualified. First place. Gold medal.
“Holy shit,” I gasp, pulling my goggles off. “Holy fucking shit.”
Hands reach down to help me from the pool. Suzi's face appears, usually stoic but now split with a rare grin.
“What did I tell you?” she says, wrapping a towel around my shoulders. “River training.” Her face nearly splitting in half.
The next half hour passes in a blur of congratulations, changing into my Team USA warm-ups, and being herded toward the press area. A microphone is thrust into my face before I've fully processed what's happened.
“Mia Bonney, congratulations on your gold!” A perky blonde reporter beams at me. “You've been training with Dr. Mikhailov in London, but there are rumors you developed some unconventional training methods in Texas earlier this summer. Can you tell us about that?”
My throat tightens. Of all the questions...
“I, uh—yes,” I manage, painfully aware of the cameras. “I was fortunate enough to train in a natural river setting in Portree, Texas for a while. The variable currents and conditions challenged me in ways a pool can't.”
“Was that planned? It seems quite unorthodox.”
I almost laugh at the understatement. Nothing about my time in Texas was planned—not the wrong flight, not the flooding cottage, not falling in lo—
I cut the thought short.
“Actually, I ended up in Portree by pure accident,” I say, surprised by the steadiness in my voice. “Wrong destination entirely. But sometimes the best training happens when you're forced outside your comfort zone.”
The reporter leans in, scenting a human interest angle. “And did you find the locals supportive of your Olympic dreams?”
An image of Grant knee-deep in the river flashes through my mind—his face tight with fear as he faced the water that took his brother, all to create a training space for me.
“The people there...” My voice cracks slightly and I have to clear my throat. “The people of Portree were incredible. They went out of their way to help me, to understand what I needed. One person in particular created a whole training facility in a river for me. It was one of the most incredible experiences of my life.”
“It sounds like this person made quite an impression,” the reporter probes, her expression softening. “I’m from Texas myself. Would you say your time in Texas changed you as an athlete?”
As an athlete? It changed me as a person. It broke me open. It showed me what it means to stay even when it's hard. To face fear instead of running.
“I'm sorry,” I say abruptly, blinking back the sudden moisture in my eyes. “I need to prepare for the medal ceremony.”
I escape before she can ask follow-up questions, retreating to the relative privacy of the athlete staging area. Sliding down the wall, I drag my knees to my chest and take a deep inhale, trying to center myself.
“You okay?” Suzi approaches, water bottle in hand. “You looked like you were about to lose it out there.”
“I'm fine,” I lie. “Just overwhelmed. It hasn't hit me yet.”
She studies me with the penetrating gaze that's missed nothing in six years of coaching. Then comes to sit next to me on the floor. “It's not just the medal that has you rattled. It's him.”
