This morning is the start of one of the biggest swimming meets of the year, the West Virginia High School State Championships in Morgantown, West Virginia. As I gather my costumes and walk out of the hotel, a blast of cold February air hits me. Walking to my car through the crisp white snow freezes my toes. The car instantly warms us up as we head towards the natatorium. The whole way there, I think about my competition and winning the state championships four years in a row. We met the rest of the team as we huddled together on the pool deck. In just a few moments, I will be swimming for my team to help win the most important competition of the season. Say no to plagiarism. Get a tailor-made essay on “Why Violent Video Games Should Not Be Banned”? Get the original essay Warmups are getting ready to start, so my parka comes off and the hairs on my arms stand up because it was cold. My clothes are quickly put into my bag as I grab my cap and glasses. Having not worn my GWHS cap for two months, I had to take the time to open it because the latex had been stuck on for so long. I wrapped my swim cap around my head and attached my goggles. I slide into the pool and embrace even colder water. Since I have to go in feet first, the cold water runs from my toes to the top of my head. I push off the wall and start swimming freestyle. With each pull, you can feel the resistance of the water on the forearm trying to push it back to where it was before. As I swim more, I catch up to the person in front of me seeing the bubbles and whitewater splashes they make with their feet. Once the warm-up is finished, I get out of the pool and get on the block for the start of the dive. Leaning slowly, one foot first, as I wrap my fingers around the smooth red pedestal, I wait for the official to ring the doorbell. I push the block with my foot in front of me and throw myself into the pool. My arms, in a streamlined position next to my ears and above my head, enter the water first, breaking the surface. Sprinting to the other end, I dismount and walk across the wet, sticky ground to sit and wait for the first test. The 100 meter butterfly is the starting event. I grab my cap and my anti-fog goggles and head down the block. Watching the girl in front of me swim into the wall, I start jumping and dancing to relax my muscles before the race. I eagerly advance onto the block and get into position. As I dive in, I immediately feel the cold, chlorinated water engulf my body. My body breaks the surface of the water and I start swimming as fast as I can. Throughout my 100 Butterfly, I can feel my shoulders rotating so they can lift my arms out of the water and then pull them behind my body. As I sprint toward the finish, my arms reach out to hit the stopwatch. I bounce up and look at the clanging red clock that shows our time. Red flashes before my eyes where it says “1:03.94”; my best time to date. As I congratulate the swimmers next to me, I struggle to get out of the pool. I try to catch my breath because I'm panting like a dog in the heat. I am greeted by my coach and my close friends who tackle me with hugs. I look around and see parents clapping in the crowd as well as younger swimmers marveling at us older kids. To them, we look like Olympic swimmer Michael Phelps or Katie Ledecky. Keep.