Pink and purple pastel caps glide. Breathing three, five, seven. White rhythmic splashes appear on the surface. Long lean tanned bodies cut through the water. Breaststroke, crawl, butterfly, backstroke. Pacing up and down. Drills and training. Bodies working hard.

Mothers sitting on the side of the pool. Eyes darting back and forth. Chatting. Eyes following their children. Back and forth. Pastel heads on dry land. Sometimes all black.

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Girls come to the pool to train just as boys do. How must it be though to have your mother unable to be in the water with you and to know that ultimately, through societal, familial or plain old peer pressure, this sport that you train four times a week at, you will not be able pursue?