The chemical smell of chlorine rises to greet me as I walk into the pool complex.
The water is still and glassy, coldly reflecting the flags hanging lazily above the surface.
I feel a quiet sadness that this sight is no longer accompanied by shivering anticipation, a combination of nerves and icy air on bare skin.
I stand in front of a lane, half expecting to hear cheering from the stands like the noise that echoed around me so long ago.
The sky outside was clear and bright, and the transparent roof of the pool turned the sun into watery rays that were dispersed into a thousand tiny sparkles over the surface of the water.
The stands were full of people.
Their excited chatter echoed off the walls and threatened to overwhelm the tinny, over-amplified voice of the commentator on the loudspeakers.
The competitors' area was tense with nerves and excitement.
The majority of the swimmers around me were veterans of the racing scene.
Laughing and jostling amongst themselves, their apparent confidence intimidated those of us who sat quiet with our thoughts, sharing an unspoken suspicion that we were out of our depth.
It was an agonising countdown through the races leading up to mine, listening to the cheers of the crowd and monotone commentary.
Dozens of medals were being awarded to boys my age in front of approving parents and family.
Hopefully, one of them would be mine.
Finally the announcement I had been looking forward to, yet dreading; a call for my race to begin.
I stood clumsily, feeling tense and unco-ordinated, shivering as the cold air swirled around me.
The starting block was rough and cold beneath my feet and as the lane stretched out in front of me it seemed twice as long as it had been before.
In the back of my mind I was conscious that somewhere up in the crowd my family was watching.
That didn't even seem to matter now. My entire focus was on the water in front of me, and the starting gun that I knew would soon fire.
The bang came quicker than I expected.
Diving in, the cold of the water took my breath away and I panicked, kicking up to the surface and gasping for air as I continued swimming.
The noise of the crowd was drowned out by the rushing of bubbles and adrenaline, and my chest burned as I put all of my effort into moving forward.
I was aware of other swimmers around me, obscured by thrashing limbs and churned-up water.
How far through the race was I?
Surely not more than halfway.
I hit the wall at the end with a thud and surfaced trying to see through the pain.
I found myself looking up at the lane's timekeeper, who grinned, unaware of my embarrassing accident.
"Second place!" he said cheerfully.
I hauled my dripping body out of the pool and stood exhausted.
Perhaps soon the euphoria would come, but I was just relieved to have completed my first race.
I still have that silver medal somewhere. I haven't looked at it in years, but I haven't needed to.
As I've grown older, my enthusiasm for racing has disappeared, but the icy depths of the pool and its memories remain.
By Philip Koch
Year 13, King's High School
