Free Breaking the Surface by Greg Louganis

packed all kinds of things for the Olympics, because it was going to be a two-week event, but when we arrived in Montreal, I discovered that I could have shown up with nothing. The U.S. Olympic Committee gave us parade uniforms, casual clothes, everyday sweats, warm-up sweats, around-the-Village sweats, award-ceremony sweats, and six kinds of footwear, from tennis shoes to dress shoes. They also gave us hair dryers, toothbrushes, toothpaste, shaving cream, razors, and cameras.
    When we got to the Olympic Village, there were representatives from various companies giving away running shoes, Tshirts, and more sweats. You name it, we got it.
    The first day of practice, I got into a really bad mood and my confidence went right out the window. Generally, in any competition, you have one diving board that’s really good, and everybody wants to use that one. It’s important during practice to spend time on the diving board you plan to use in the competition, because every board is a little different, and you adjust your dives accordingly. So whichever one you practice on is the one you use for the competition.
    In Montreal, I wanted to use the good board, too, but I was intimidated and didn’t want to get in anybody’s way. This was a world-class competition, and I felt like I was just a kid. All these other divers who had a lot more experience at international competitions wanted to use the board, and I was reluctant to compete with them for it.
    I probably could have gotten enough time on the good diving board if I’d tried, but I thought I needed extra time in order to feel really prepared. So it was just easier to use one of the boards that no one else wanted to use. Unfortunately, when it came to the actual competition, I was stuck using that board, because it was the one I’d gotten used to. That didn’t help my performance.
    There was another reason I didn’t want to get in anyone’s way. Some of the other divers were mumbling that I was too young and inexperienced to have made the team on springboard. They said I had just gotten lucky. Given that I’d qualified to compete in the Olympic trials because of that calculating error, I tried to be as invisible as I could.
    Then I discovered that Dr. Lee wasn’t allowed to come down to the pool deck to coach me, and that pushed me over the edge. Dr. Lee may have been tough on me, but I really needed him there to coach me. But Dr. Lee wasn’t one of the team coaches, so he wasn’t allowed onto the pool deck. I was left on my own.
    Ron O’Brien, whose diving camp I had attended, was the head coach there, but he had his own four divers to coach. There were two other coaches, but they too were coaching their own divers. I got so frustrated that I walked over to the side of the pool deck and started crying. The team manager stepped in to help, but it wasn’t enough. I needed fine-tuning, and no one was helping me.
    The preliminary round in springboard didn’t go well. I barely made the cut. Eight divers made it into the final round (after 1980, twelve divers made it to the finals), and I placed sixth. That night, I really needed my sleep, but between being upset about how I’d done in the preliminaries and worrying about how I’d do in the final round, I couldn’t sleep.
    The U.S. diving team had a strict curfew. At the world championships, divers had been out partying until three and four in the morning. Ron was determined to prevent that from happening in Montreal, so he set a curfew of 10:30 p.m., but people sneaked out after Ron checked us in and wandered in at all hours.
    One of my roommates stumbled in drunk at three in the morning. I was already tossing and turning, and his stumbling around just made things worse. I was trying my best to follow the rules, but no one else seemed to care.
    As we were getting ready for the springboard finals, one of my teammates wished me luck and said, “Whatever you do, don’t take the gold away from me.” I’m sure now that