Celeste’s relief that Riley had a new plan to combat swim meet anxiety was short-lived. Because the anxiety was so bad, Celeste always checked in on Riley before his races. Riley seemed the most relaxed Celeste could remember for the year’s first meet.
“My Mom told me that we are the stories we tell ourselves,” Riley said, preparing to jump in the pool. “So I’m telling myself I’m a duck.”
“Great idea!” Celeste said.
Celeste stood behind Riley as he got ready to jump, but then he yelled back. “Hey, do you have any bread?
“No,” Celeste said, confused. “Why do you ask?”
“Have you ever seen a duck swim fast if it’s not trying to get a piece of bread?” Riley asked.
“When they get chased,” Celeste said.
“But then they fly,” Riley said, defeated. “This isn’t going to work.”
“Tell yourself you’re a fish,” Celeste said.
“Oh, good idea,” Riley said with newfound determination. “I’m a fish.”
The buzzer sounded, and Riley was off. Celeste cheered for a couple of seconds before realizing something was wrong. Riley weaved around his lane. Then suddenly, he was under the rope, and a whistle was blaring.
“Lane 2,” the ref yelled, “Get out of the pool.”
Riley surfaced, confused.
“That’s you,” Celeste yelled, motioning for him to return to the start. Riley swam back to the edge and got out of the pool.
“What happened?” Celeste asked.
“Well, I was thinking, I’m a fish…I’m a fish. And then I thought, I must be a goldfish. And the only thing I remember about being a goldfish is they can’t remember things for more than 8 seconds. So I forgot what I was doing.”
“Maybe a fish isn’t the animal for you, Celest said. “What about a frog?”
“Hmmm, do you have a banjo? The only frog I know is Kermit.”
Celeste almost pushed Riley into the pool. “Why don’t you just tell yourself a story that you’re a good swimmer?”
“There’s no way I’d believe that.”