Words by Kaelan Hollon
Artwork by Roberta Pinna

As a rule, divers are a little bit crazy. Surely it must be lunacy to careen headfirst off a thin slip of steel lodged thirty feet above an unforgiving expanse of water while the world watches. Among Olympians, they are the snipers of summer sportsmen; sliding into big water 35-40mph with surgical accuracy in the midst of calmly-focused triple backflips.

Diving is a loner’s hobby and the sport doesn’t afford missteps. Mistakes in diving means broken arms, broken feet, concussions and sprains. Competition starts early to separate the average from the great; while most other children are playing ‘everyone-wins’ tee ball, the elementary school Olympic set are already enduring hours of workouts and a steadfast diet. It is a merciless sport; anything short of perfection demands a gentle secession into the loam of mediocrity, an early retirement of Olympic daydreams. There are hundreds of thousands of average divers, and several hundred very good ones. There are a few that make you gasp with their perfection―only a slim handful are considered that good. But Vera Ilyina is that good.

Watching footage of her gold medal performance in the 2000 Olympics, Ilyina emerges from the water with the serene wisdom that comes from perfect athletic confidence, baptized in the glory of roaring, televised millions and rippling in her strength. She wastes no movement; there isn’t so much as a twitch that is out of her control.

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