It was Tuesday, July 23. The French swimming team left Vichy in central France by car after their final training camp, heading for Paris to take up residence in the Olympic Village. At lunchtime, the thirty or so swimmers and their coaches sat down at a restaurant in Saint-Satur on the banks of the Loire, to a menu of Sancerre ham and green lentils from the Berry region. A little bemused, the restaurant’s customers only had eyes for Olympic champion Florent Manaudou and Philippe Lucas – his sister Laure’s former coach. Léon Marchand didn’t know it yet, but he was living out his last hours of anonymity.
Five days later, the crowds at the Paris La Défense Arena fell in love with the Toulouse native, whose eyes were as blue as the pool itself, and who almost made his opponents look like Sunday swimmers. In the 400-meter medley, the 15,000 lucky spectators in the stands chanted “Léon, Léon!” while the future hero of the Games was still in the call room, then roared “Allez!” (“Go!”) in encouragement whenever he popped his head out of the water in the breaststroke. The story had only just begun.
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