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第一部分 阅读理解 A When the swim season began, my 11-year-old daughter, Elizabeth, and I cut a deal. She would go to practice three times a week and try really hard, and I wouldn’t make her compete in the swim meets because on the day of a meet, she would be nervous all day. Her nerves rooted from the possibility that she would do something horribly wrong and let everyone down. Recently, they had a T-shirt relay, which works like this: one person from each relay team puts on a T-shirt and a pair of socks, swims 50 meters, and gets out of the pool. She takes off the clothes and puts them on the next person, who then swims 50 meters. This continues until everyone on the team has completed a lap. By the last leg, Elizabeth’s team had built up a moderate lead. Then it was Elizabeth’s turn to swim. She seemed to swim faster in the T-shirt and socks than when she wasn’t wearing them. Approaching the halfway mark, she was still in the lead. Then one of Elizabeth’s socks fell off and was floating in the pool. “She has to get that sock on before the end of the race,” a swimming official told her team, “or you will be disqualified.” Everybody on her team started screaming, “Elizabeth! Elizabeth! Stop! Get the sock!” But she couldn’t hear them. As she started her last 25 meters, a girl in Lane 2 was gaining on Elizabeth. It was time for desperate measures. A girl on my daughter’s team jumped in the pool, grabbed the sock, and swam after Elizabeth. She grabbed Elizabeth’s foot. “You have to put the sock on,” the girl screamed. Elizabeth continued swimming while her teammate put on the sock. | 
