Carvin’s Tears Right to Heart of the Matter

Chad Carvin cried in the afternoon after his swim in the preliminaries. Carvin cried in the evening while he was still in the pool and cried later when he in the arms of his mother, Judie.

Carvin cried because he never thought he would see this day. He cried for his mother, who nursed him back to health twice. He cried for his coaches for believing in him. He cried because, for all the times he closed his eyes and imagined the moment of becoming a U.S. Olympian, he realized that imagining doesn’t compare to the real thing.

Wednesday night at the Indiana University Natatorium, in the 400-meter freestyle final, in front of 13 relatives including his delirious mother, his awe-struck father, Joe, and his raucous brother, J.J., Carvin led until the final 50 meters, was out-touched at the wall by a carefree 18-year-old named Klete Keller and still celebrated as a winner.

The top two go to the Olympics.

Welcome to the Olympics, Chad Carvin, 26-year-old son of the beach from Laguna Hills, extraordinary survivor and emotional runner-up.

His story will be told over and over now and Carvin is happy about that.

Yes, he once was suicidal. Carvin doesn’t mind saying that he took too many sleeping pills in 1995, when his swimming times kept getting slower while his training kept getting harder. “It helps me to talk about it,” Carvin said, “and if it helps other people who go through depression, that’s great.”

When Carvin found out why his times were so slow--because he had cardiomyopathy, a viral heart disease that left him bedridden and as weak as a baby on his parents’ couch for 90 days--he was happy. “I wasn’t crazy,” Carvin said. “I was sick.”

Then Carvin regained his health and hurt himself again as bulging disks in his back forced him from the pool. Bill Rose, Carvin’s coach with the Mission Viejo Nadadores, thinks Carvin was more depressed in 1997 because of his bad back than in 1995 because of his heart.

But Carvin always had swimming and his dream. “Every day, twice a day I’d think about this moment,” Carvin said. “Probably about 10,000 times I imagined what this would be like.”

Carvin imagined that he would break the American record and win the Olympic trials. Wednesday Carvin did break a 12-year-old American record. Matt Cetlinski had timed 3:48.06 in the 400 free in 1988. Carvin’s time was 3:47.50.

But in his thoughts, Carvin never imagined a lanky teenager from Phoenix putting himself inches in front of him and his dream. This kid, Keller, who had a phenomenal turn at the 350-meter mark, in fact did touch the wall in 3:47.18, which broke Cetlinski’s record by a little more.

“So I guess that means I imagined this would be better than it is,” Carvin said. Then he laughed. For he knew. Nothing could be better than this.

Keller certainly was happy for this moment but there was not much for him to talk about. He is young and healthy and has not faced death. Keller was quickly excused from the post-race interview room because, frankly, no one had anything to ask him.

This was a moment for Carvin, one he thought would be his in 1996.

But that year Carvin couldn’t watch the Olympic swimming trials. He would have a fleeting urge to turn on the set but soon realize what he would see and Carvin would cry. It would be visions of others taking his spot. “I couldn’t watch,” Carvin said. “I didn’t want to see it. I cried all the time.”

Four years later, while Carvin was wiping away tears again, Judie was shaking. “Four years ago we were just happy Chad was going to live,” Judie said. “Now we’re happy because he’s going to the Olympics. What kind of roller-coaster ride is that? We’ve been to the bottom and back up, to the bottom and back up.”

After Carvin posted the fastest time in the morning preliminaries, he had been brought to tears by a question about his emotions. Carvin never did answer the question, just gulped and wiped his eyes.

Carvin had led his preliminary heat for all 400 meters and he led the final for 350. In the final, Carvin said, he felt pain, searing pain in his lungs, in his arms and legs, in every muscle, after 250 meters. “I just closed my eyes and concentrated,” Carvin said. “I was afraid to look around. I was afraid I’d see two people ahead of me.”

Third place would have been the worst, one spot short of the Olympics. Carvin would have cried then too.

And guess what? Crying is just fine with Carvin.

“I don’t see crying as a bad thing. I’m really sensitive. As long as I’m not crying in the race, it’s not bad, as long as it’s not from fear or something else but if it’s emotions of joy, it’s great. I’m not embarrassed,” Carvin said.

Embarrassed is the last thing Carvin should ever be. Crying is fine, particularly when your heart isn’t breaking and especially when your heart is just fine.

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Diane Pucin can be reached at her e-mail address: diane.pucin@latimes.com.