Unstoppable

I took a breath and climbed onto the starting block. This was the race I'd trained my entire swimming career for. The finals of the 400-meter individual medley (IM) at the 1996 Olympics in Atlanta. I was going up against the seven best IM swimmers in the world. One was my rival and former University of Michigan great, Eric Namesnik. To win gold I would have to swim the race of my life. And then some.

I breathed again—as deeply as I could—and blocked out the thousands of people in the stands. The oxygen came slowly, as if I were sucking air through a straw. I have asthma, serious asthma. Also, an unusually narrow windpipe. Doctors say my condition limits me to about 10 percent of lung capacity. Meaning, I could breathe in only one-tenth the oxygen my competitors could. One-tenth. Imagine trying to keep up with a bunch of other race cars with a gas tank 10 times smaller. The hard part was getting here, I reminded myself. Now, for the final 400 meters.

I'd been working toward this moment since age five, growing up in the Washington, D.C., area. I first jumped in the pool mainly to prove I could outswim my older sister. By seven, I was swimming year-round. My parents always taught us: You get out of life what you put into it. That's what I liked about swimming. If I worked hard, I'd win. Slack off, and I'd lose. It was that simple.

One cold winter morning when I was 12, I was running around during recess. All of a sudden my chest felt tight and I couldn't take in any air. Kids gathered round me. "Tom, you all right?" I put my hands on my knees. Resting seemed to help. "Yeah, I'm fine," I wheezed. But I was done running for the day.

I didn't tell my parents. I figured I just had a bad cold. Then I had a second episode. This time I told them. We went right to the family doctor.

My symptoms indicated asthma, he said, and tested me for allergies that might have triggered it. I had plenty: pollen, dust, mold spores. Worse, I was sensitive to chlorine. "Some kids grow out of asthma," he said, handing me a generic "rescue" inhaler. "Use this if you feel tight. Call me if it doesn't help."

My asthma didn't interfere with my training. Good thing, since my schedule was pretty intense. Up at 4:30 a.m. In the pool at American University in Washington, D.C., from 5 a.m. till 7 a.m. On to middle school in Arlington, Virginia. Back again to American to train from 3:30 p.m. till 6 p.m. One day, breaststroke; the next day, freestyle; the following day, butterfly; the next day, backstroke. Individual medley swimmers have to be good at them all. Seven days a week, an average of 15,000 yards a day. I was winning a lot of meets, making a name for myself. At 15, I swam the U.S. Junior National Championships. I finished first in the 400-meter individual medley. I had a chance to do something really special, I realized.