This Dbag at a BBQ wouldn’t stop insulting me and challenging me to a swim race. He didn’t know I was on the Olympic team.

I was flipping burgers at my girlfriend Harper’s family barbecue when her sister showed up with her new boyfriend Craig, who immediately started telling everyone about the pool he just installed at his house since he was basically a professional swimmer.

Harper squeezed my hand and whispered, “Wow, so impressive.”

She knew about my four years on the Olympic swim team, but I’d never mentioned it to her family since I didn’t want to be that guy who peaked in college.

Craig cornered me at the grill, beer in hand, and started going on about his swimming prowess.

“I actually had to get kicked out of the club pool last month,” he said loudly enough for everyone to hear. “The other swimmers complained to management that I was making them uncomfortable because I was so much faster. I mean, when you’re lapping everyone twice, it gets embarrassing for them, you know.”

He looked at me expectantly, like I should be impressed. I nodded politely and kept flipping burgers while Harper rolled her eyes beside me.

Craig looked me up and down, taking in my dad bod that had replaced my swimmer’s build after five years of retirement.

“You ever swim, Dylan? No offense, but you don’t really have the body for it. I mean, look at these shoulders,” he said, rotating his arms to show off. “Swimming is all about the wingspan and the core. You’ve got more of a softball build.”

He laughed at his own joke while I just smiled and shrugged.

Harper’s sister tried to change the subject, but Craig was just getting started.

“It’s not your fault, man. Black guys just aren’t built for swimming. It’s a scientific fact, something about bone density or muscle fibers. They never see them in the Olympics.”

Harper’s jaw dropped and she started to say something, but I touched her arm gently and whispered, “Let him talk. This is actually hilarious.”

Craig must have taken my silence as agreement because he kept going.

“I’m not being racist. It’s just biology. Like, when’s the last time you saw a black swimmer win anything? Michael Phelps, Ryan Lochte, all the greats are white. It’s just how it is.”

He shrugged like he was doing me a favor by explaining this. Even Harper’s dad looked uncomfortable now, but I just kept that same easy smile on my face.

After a few beers, Craig decided to demonstrate his perfect butterfly form on the grass, flopping around like a fish while explaining his technique.

“See, Dylan, it’s all about the dolphin kick. I bet you don’t even know what that is. My coach said I had natural talent you can’t teach. Some people got it, some don’t.”

He stood up, grass stains on his polo, completely serious about his performance.

When Harper mentioned I used to swim in college, Craig laughed so hard he nearly choked on his beer.

“Community college had a swim team? That’s cute. Let me guess, you did the doggy paddle relay?”

He turned to his girlfriend and said, “No wonder Harper’s dating him. She always liked charity cases. Remember that guy with the limp?”

Harper’s face went red and she snapped, “Dylan went to Stanford, you ass.”

But I just smiled and said, “Harper, relax.”

Craig pulled out his phone to show everyone videos of him swimming, narrating each one.

“This is me destroying everyone at my gym. See that guy I just lapped? He said he swam Division 3. Pathetic.”

Then he turned to me and said, “Dylan probably thinks the shallow end is an accomplishment. Different leagues, bro. I’m talking about real swimming, not whatever you did at the YMCA.”

The videos were clearly sped up, but I didn’t bother pointing it out.

The afternoon got worse when Craig started lying about his times, claiming he could swim a 50 m freestyle in under 20 seconds, which would be a world record.

“I never went pro because I make too much money in sales. Why make pennies swimming when I can afford my own pool? Dylan, what do you do again? Harper mentioned something about coaching kids. What do you coach them in? Burger flipping?”

He gestured at the grill and laughed.

“That’s sweet though, giving back to the community since you never made it yourself.”

I actually laughed at that one because the irony was too perfect.

Finally, Craig had drunk enough to issue his challenge. He stood up, swaying slightly, and announced to everyone,

“You know what? Let’s settle this right now, Dylan. Get in my pool and race me right now. Unless you’re scared to lose in front of your girl.”

He pulled off his shirt dramatically.

“Come on, man. One lap. Unless you admit you can’t swim and I’m superior in every way. What’s it going to be? You going to hide behind Harper or are you going to be a man?”

Harper looked at me with an expression that said she was completely done with this guy.

“Oh my god, just do it already,” she said, knowing exactly what was about to happen.

Craig stood there smirking, thinking he was about to humiliate me in front of everyone, having no idea he’d just challenged someone with four NCAA titles and an Olympic trials record that still hadn’t been broken.

So I said, “Sure, man. One lap.”

Craig grabbed his keys off the table and started walking toward his car while everyone else looked at each other trying to figure out the logistics. Harper’s dad stepped in and took the keys from Craig’s hand, saying nobody was riding with someone who’d been drinking that much.

Craig protested, but his girlfriend grabbed his arm and steered him toward her car, while Harper and I headed to mine with her parents following in theirs. The whole convoy of cars pulled out of the driveway with Craig hanging out the passenger window of his girlfriend’s car, yelling about how I was about to learn what real swimming looked like.

Harper squeezed my hand tight as we drove and whispered she couldn’t wait to see his face when he realized what he’d gotten himself into. I kept my eyes on the road and focused on staying calm. Because even though it had been five years since I’d competed seriously, my body still remembered what it felt like to destroy someone in the water.

Craig’s house was only 10 minutes away, and when we pulled up, I had to admit his pool setup was actually pretty nice. The pool stretched 25 yards with proper lane lines and everything, though I could tell from the way the lane ropes sat loose that he probably never bothered setting them up right.

Craig immediately started his tour, explaining how he’d personally designed every aspect for optimal training conditions and maximum speed development. He pointed at the shallow end, saying that’s where beginners usually stayed, and then gestured at the deep end where “real swimmers” trained.

Everyone just wanted to see the race happen, but Craig kept going on about the filtration system and the special tiles he’d chosen and how the depth was perfect for generating the right kind of waves.

I walked over to check the water while he talked and suggested we should probably set some ground rules for safety since he’d been drinking pretty heavily all afternoon. Craig waved his hand, dismissing my concern and said “real swimmers” didn’t need rules because the water was their natural element.

Harper’s dad spoke up firmly, saying we absolutely needed to be smart about this, and nobody was getting in that pool without some basic safety measures in place. Craig rolled his eyes, but his girlfriend agreed with Harper’s dad, so he had to go along with it.

That’s when Craig started pulling off his clothes right there on the pool deck, and I realized he was stripping down to his underwear since he didn’t have swim trunks at his own house. Everyone got real uncomfortable real fast, and Harper’s sister finally convinced him to at least keep his shorts on, even though he complained they would create drag and slow him down.

I mentioned we should probably have someone neutral time this to make sure it was fair for both of us, and Craig immediately scoffed, saying I was already making excuses before we even got started. Several people agreed it made sense to have an official timekeeper, though, and Harper’s mom volunteered to use her phone stopwatch since she didn’t care who won.

Craig started his warm-up routine, which consisted of aggressive arm swings that looked more like he was trying to fight invisible bees than prepare for swimming. He grunted loudly with each swing and kept checking to make sure everyone was watching his technique.

Meanwhile, I quietly stretched my shoulders the way I’d done thousands of times before and dipped my hand in the water to check the temperature. Harper had her phone out filming everything and said loud enough for everyone to hear that she wanted to remember this moment forever.

Craig heard that and flexed for the camera, saying she could use the video to show people what peak performance looked like.

Harper’s sister pulled me aside while Craig was distracted and apologized for his behavior, especially all the racist stuff he’d said earlier. Her face looked miserable, and I could tell she was realizing her boyfriend was about to embarrass himself in front of her whole family.

I told her it wasn’t her fault, and that Craig seemed to have some issues he needed to work through, but she still looked like she wanted to disappear.

Craig called me back over and started explaining the rules to me like I was a five-year-old who’d never been in a pool before. He used his hands to show me that one lap meant down to the other end and back, and that we’d be doing freestyle, which meant any stroke I wanted as long as I didn’t touch the bottom or the lane lines.

I nodded along patiently while Harper stood behind him, barely containing her laughter at how ridiculous this whole thing was.

Craig kept going, explaining that we’d start in the water since he didn’t have starting blocks, and that meant pushing off the wall when someone said “go.”

More people from the BBQ started showing up to watch, and Craig immediately played to the crowd, saying he’d try not to lap me, but sometimes his competitive nature just took over.

Someone mentioned they should probably have towels ready for afterward, and I appreciated that at least a few people were being practical about this whole situation.

Craig kept posing and flexing for the growing audience while I just stood there waiting for him to finish his show.

Finally, we both got in the water at opposite ends of the pool to get ready for push starts, and the water was actually colder than I expected, which made my muscles tense up for a second.

Craig immediately started complaining that the cold water was throwing off his rhythm and his muscles weren’t responding right, and maybe we should wait for it to warm up. Harper’s dad said we were doing this now or not at all, so Craig stopped complaining and got into position against the wall.

I pushed off the wall in a slow practice start to show Craig what we were doing, my body remembering the motion even after five years away from competition.

Craig watched me glide halfway across the pool before he tried his own practice start, which was basically him shoving off the wall with his feet while his arms flailed around randomly. He came up sputtering after three strokes and said he was just warming up and the real one would be different.

Harper’s dad stepped forward and offered to do the countdown for us since we needed someone neutral to call the start. Craig immediately demanded that we go on “go” instead of “three” because that’s how real races work according to him. I nodded and agreed to whatever made him comfortable since it wouldn’t change the outcome anyway.

Harper grabbed my arm and pulled me to the side of the pool for a second while Craig was adjusting his shorts. She asked if I was really okay doing this since Craig had been drinking and might try something stupid in the water.

I told her I’d dealt with way worse at actual competitions and one drunk guy wasn’t going to be a problem. She squeezed my hand and went back to stand with her family while Craig started doing more of his weird arm circles.

Imani Wade, who was one of Harper’s family friends, stepped forward with her phone and volunteered to time the race since she didn’t know either of us that well. She positioned herself at what would be the finish line and pulled up the stopwatch app to get ready.

Craig started arguing that we should do 50 yards, which meant down and back, but he nearly tripped just walking along the pool edge. Harper’s dad and a few others immediately said 25 yards one way was enough given Craig’s condition and the fact that his pool didn’t have proper walls for turns.

Craig grumbled about it giving me an advantage somehow, but eventually agreed when his girlfriend told him to stop being difficult.

That’s when we heard someone calling from the fence, and this older guy named Ed Gilmore, who lived next door, came over asking what all the noise was about. When someone explained we were having a swimming race, Ed disappeared for a minute, then came back with an actual stopwatch from his garage.

He said he used to time his grandson’s swim meets and offered to help time as a completely neutral party since he didn’t know either of us. Now we had two timekeepers, which made this whole thing feel more official than it needed to be.

A couple of the teenagers started pulling pool toys and floating beer cans out of the lanes while Craig and I took a few easy strokes to warm up. My warm-up was just smooth freestyle to get a feel for the water temperature and distance while Craig’s looked like he was trying to beat the water into submission. Every stroke sent huge splashes everywhere and his legs kicked so wide that he almost hit the lane line with every movement.

Harper’s dad gathered everyone together and said he wanted this to stay respectful with no trash talk during the actual race. Harper’s sister looked grateful that her dad was trying to keep things civil, even though Craig muttered something about not needing anyone to protect him.

Then Craig started up again with his racist garbage, saying black people can’t swim because of science and offering to give me a five-second head start. Before I could respond, Imani shut him down hard with actual facts about Cullen Jones winning Olympic gold and Simone Manuel breaking records that stood for years.

She told Craig his “science” was just ignorance and maybe he should learn some actual history before opening his mouth. Craig’s face got red and he mumbled something about exceptions to the rule, but everyone was clearly done listening to him.

I caught Harper’s eye across the pool and she gave me a small nod that said she understood this was about more than just winning a race now.

The crowd had grown to about 15 people all standing around the pool edge waiting to see what would happen next. Someone had even brought out more towels and set them on the chairs, which I thought was pretty practical considering how this was likely to end.

Craig kept stretching and posing for the growing audience