From starting gun to finish line, Electric nerves before you dive,
You are the minute hand on the clock,
You are the doubt, the second thoughts - Breathe.
You are the perfect parabola of each envisioned leap,
The inter-linking rings
The ligaments, elastic lungs Believe -
Believe in the red-haired girl
With gold on her mind
One kiss chase and kicking leaves, Now a flame breathing to ignite another, become - become
Full of chance as the national lottery,
Become the one who reaches
Deep inside for sky, Fights gravity like paper planes
And breathes.
Rebecca Adlington and Poet Deborah Stevenson