USD Magazine, Summer 2001

they prefer not ro think about the one thing more painful than crossing the finish line out of medal contention - the possibility chat one may make the squad and the other won't. With three years to go before the Olympics, an injury could mean one might not have the chance ro fulfill her dream. Or, their coach may select one and nor che other ro compete in the singles competition or four-person boar.

in their car on campus. They say Jerzy considers going to school "a break." Their mother worries that they are pushing them– selves too hard, frets that they may be missing out on a normal life. This summer, she will only get to see her daughters one day, during a layover in Miami between San Diego and Europe. Theirs is a life of schedules and clocks, always racing ro beat rhe second hand.

classes, a routine they repeated twice each day. By their sophomore year, their mother relented, allowing them to live at the Olympic facility and commute to class. "We don't want to miss our on the college experience, so we try to hang out weekends at campus and with our friends, " says Marie, who, though an identical twin, is two inches railer and more muscular than Jeanne, the engine in the back of the kayak.

"I always know there is a chance of that, " admits Marie, her face darkening. "There's no question it will hurt if one of us doesn't make ir. But we're so supportive of each ocher, that if it did happen, we would be right there for the other." "Right there," adds Jeanne, "cheering the other one on." +

"It's getting harder," admits Marie a few weeks later on a warm spring afternoon in the Olympic village apartment she shares with her sister and two ocher arhleres. On her bedpost is a tangle of the twins' medals, the only testament in rhe place to their success. "The closer we get ro competition, the more we practice, sometimes four times a day," Marie says. "With finals com– ing up, it gets hard sometimes ro bal– ance it out with school." "I wish," adds Jeanne, "char it would get dark earlier, then we wouldn't have to be out on the lake so long." Bur the girls are not complainers, and they quickly switch ro the benefits of the life they chose. They wonder what Europe will be like, ask advice about the streets of Paris. They marvel at rhe face they are mere greenhorns bearing veterans who have spenr decades on rhe water. They laugh at the double– rakes they get when they meet their competirors for rhe first time - identical twins in identical wrap– around sunglasses, backward baseball caps covering their long blonde hair. They cannot bear the thought, they say, of not competing at this level. Losing is nor an option. Because rhe sisters have shared so much, spent so many hours training,

"Our friends are in sororities and clubs," adds Jeanne, "and I'd love to do chat, roo, but you have no rime. Some people ask if (training for the Olympics) is worth it, because of what you miss. I think it is." They don't linger afrer class to chill with friends, rarely do they take in a movie. They're nor allowed ro Rollerblade for fear of a career-ending injury. They have enough time for an energy bar and warm-up before hitting rhe lake at 6:30 a.m. In the damp cold amid the early-morning anglers lining the lake, the twins are put through 12 ro 15 kilometer paddles by their coach Jerzy Dziadkowiec, a 1972 Olympian who represented Poland. In his thickly-accented English he booms encouragement and critiques as he rides alongside the pair in a mororized ponroon boar. He says rhe twins are young bur have rhe potential ro be among rhe best in rhe world. Like fine thoroughbreds, he says, rhey need experience and will learn from each race. As for heart, he says, they need no lessons. "They are the hardest trainers I know," says Dziadkowiec, who has coached rhe kayak ream at Arco since 1997. "Whatever I ask of them, they do. " He asks of them at least 10 miles of pad– dling on the water, plus two hours of weight training and running, in two separate work– outs a day. In between, rhe girls attend classes from 10 a.m. ro 2 p.m. , often catching a nap

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