Finishing the river stage and finally even my hands are tired. Reflected sun from the plain concrete stands dazzles me and the tiny wooden pontoon lurches. Water clothes me but my heart cramps, hot now, the sweats beginning. Sensations define my surface. I know I am a relic.
Others struggle towards me, through the tide. I am comfortably alone and should feel this win.
Some of the small crowd are far too loud. My family, my lover. It is just as well that they come with numbers decreasing as they are. They dominate the video screens, quaintly diverse; sight pieces, technolobes and even an antiquary.
The electronic banner accuses. All results provisional.
The official approaches me and then holds still. My technology conforms, they know this. A single movement; a step forward and her hand stops before shoulder. My outward breath moves me away, a little. Touching my skin only lightly she rolls back the unitard material. Exposed there is the small ageless tattoo, overlapping, centred; blue, white, red.
By choice I stand alone and watch the others as they win.