“Didn’t you win nationals last year?”
No one understands the intricacies of gymnastics less than my dad. No matter how many times I try to explain the levels, the scoring, the competitions, the rules, he just can’t catch on, and his confusion only grew when I started elite.
“Dad, I won Junior Olympic nationals. That was for level 10. The nationals I’m trying to qualify into now are elite nationals. It’s basically a level higher than level 10.”
“I thought your coach was saying when you got your level 10 skills that you were at the highest level.”
Oh God, it’s lesson time again. I force a smile while unpacking my stuff.
“Level 10 is the highest in the J.O. program, which is the U.S. Gymnastics Association program all gymnasts begin competing in when they first start out. When you get to level 10, that’s the highest you can compete. Most gymnasts who reach that level stay there until they either quit or compete in college, but about a hundred gymnasts in any given year decide to attempt qualifying to the international elite level, which is above the J.O. levels and is like a different program entirely. You have to be at the elite level to make the national team if you want to compete internationally.”
“They should just call it level 11!”
“Dad, I have no idea how you can’t figure this out. I think this is my 900th time explaining it? And yet you understand football.”
“Football? That’s easy. Straightforward. Your levels, the judges giving out a hundred different scores, multiple national championships…it makes no sense.”
“It’s confusing, but Mal’s been doing gymnastics for 12 years!” My mom chimes in, laughing. “It shouldn’t take you this long to pick up.”
“I’ll tell you what. If Mal makes the Olympic team, I’ll sit down and read every single rule. I’ll learn so much about it, they’ll beg me to be a judge.”
“Except judges for women’s gymnastics are women,” I remind him. “Are you willing to undergo some major life changes?”
My dad laughs and kisses the top of my head. “Go to bed.”
“I’m gonna finish unpacking first, but I’ll go to bed soon. Promise.”
“Night, kiddo,” my parents say at the same time before closing the door behind them.
I curl up on my fluffy cloud of a bed, fully prepared to catch up on homework while doing laundry, but the exhaustion from the week at the farm catches up to me all at once. As soon as my head hits the pillow, I’m out cold.
Monday, April 18, 2016
109 Days Left
“Whoever invented Monday 6 a.m. practices deserves a lifetime of pain,” I pout, stretching my toes. Even with Sunday off to recuperate in front of 13 episodes of Law and Order SVU with my best and only non-gymnastics friend Jack, my body is sore and my mind sluggish.
“I blame Vera,” Ruby yawns, zipping her gray cotton hoodie. “Vera and her sadistic Soviet torture methods.”
I slam my locker and wait for Ruby. In a way, I don’t mind coming in this early. We’re the only two elites at MGMA and the gym feels calm even when we’re working our butts off. In the afternoons, dozens of gymnasts of all ages and levels barge in with pent-up energy after sitting in school all day, making it way more difficult to concentrate.
Ruby finishes dressing and we head into the gargantuan warehouse of a gym. The locker room door opens up right next to the big blue square floor mat where we run the perimeter for five minutes before Natasha comes to lead us the rest of the way.
Today, Natasha’s already there.
She’s a statue in the middle of the floor, arms folded in front of her. There’s a smile on her face, but it seems forced, her eyes narrow darts. She’s pissed about something.
“What did we do now?” I whisper as make our way over.
“There’s no way this is about us.” There’s a weird tone to Ruby’s voice. She reads Natasha way better than I do.
“Ladies,” Natasha says, uncrossing her arms and clasping her hands together. “Line up.”
We never line up in the mornings. Another clue telling me a drama tornado will soon be swirling before my eyes.
“We have a visitor today,” Natasha chirps, her voice cartoonish and shrill. “Three, actually. They flew in yesterday and are in my office doing paperwork. They’ll be out in a minute.”
I don’t want to ask questions. Thankfully Ruby doesn’t have my self-restraint. “Who?” she blurts.
“My mom.”
“Vera?” I instantly tense up. I picture Vera watching us in our natural habitat and feel sick at the mere thought of the pressure that comes with being under her critical eye. If this is her way of testing potential Olympians, it’s super rude.
“Vera’s only here for the day. We also have a new gymnast and coach joining our team.”
Ruby scoffs audibly while my brain shifts into full-on freak-out mode. I can’t tell if this is better or worse than Vera watching us like a hawk. Natasha said gymnast and coach, so okay, logic brain to the rescue, it’s not like we’ll have to share our coach’s attention. But for real, it’ll definitely change the vibe in the gym. With the Olympics not far away – a hundred and nine days, who’s counting? – we can’t just start doing things differently. My thumbnail finds my mouth out of habit and I begin to gnaw.
“Well, who is it?” Ruby finally blurts after an interminable silence.
A big sigh from Natasha, who closes her eyes and grits her teeth. “Emerson Bedford.”
I realize I’ve been holding my breath for like an hour. I let it all out in one long overdramatic exhale while Ruby laughs in a “you’ve got to be kidding me” kind of way.
“I’m sorry. My mom…Vera…spoke to me after camp ended and said we’re the only elite gym equipped to take them in. There was some sort of squabble…I don’t know the details but Emerson felt like the owners of her gym were turning her into a cash cow and tried to get her to sign some contract requiring her to turn over a portion of her earnings. It’s been ongoing, but Vera doesn’t want this ruining her focus, and only just made the decision over the last week, so…” Natasha trails off.
“This is bullshit,” Ruby yells. “We’ve had our whole team dynamic going for over a year now. If Emerson comes in, it will change everything. We’re supposed to completely rearrange our lives, like, three months before Rio?”
“I know. It sucks. But it’s Vera’s decision. We have no choice. Any other national team club coach in my position would have to listen. I don’t get special favors just because she’s my mom. Besides, it won’t be so bad. She and her coach will just be using our space, not joining the gym. Nothing has to change.”
Ruby huffs, hands flying to her hips as she stomps her foot. One of her more deserved tantrums. She’s had enough trouble in her career…if this throws her off course again, there won’t be many more chances. If any.
I try to make myself believe that it won’t be so bad. So what, we maybe do warm-ups together like at the farm, but there are four events. Emerson and her coach can train on one side of the gym while we stick to the other side. Easy.
Except not really. One of our biggest rivals in the gym with us every day, watching us train and learning every weakness? I’d rather have our biggest international rivals spying on us than someone who could mess with my head before I even make the team.
Vera pushes through the office door, giving a cursory nod to me and Ruby before smiling stiffly at her daughter. Emerson and her coach, Sergei Vanyushkin, follow, Emerson looking confident but avoiding our eyes.
“Thanks so much for squeezing us in on short notice,” she says when she reaches Natasha, like she’s making a last-minute spa appointment and not barging in on one of the best gyms in the country during the most stressful time in our lives.
“Happy to have you,” Natasha lies, though her face betrays no emotion. “We’ll do a full welcome later, but we’re already off schedule. Let’s start with the warm-up, and then my plan for the morning was half-sets on bars, beam, an
d floor before moving onto some leap drills before break. I know you and Sergei probably have your own routine, but feel free to join us. If not, we’ll work out a way to share the equipment.”
“I’d like to train with you guys for today…if you don’t mind.” Emerson finally looks over at us, her rivals, and flashes a picture-perfect Patrick Bateman American Psycho smile.
“Fine. Ladies, get started on your jog. I’m going to have a word with Vera.”
I give my back a big stretch before beginning to run. A bit of a conspiracy theorist, I immediately think there’s more to Emerson moving halfway across the country than money battles with her gym owners. Vera’s up to something.
As if reading my mind, the national team coach smiles mysteriously at me like she’s Napoleon plotting the invasion of Russia. Fantastic.
***
“Snap your shoulders up, jump taller, Amalia…don’t lean forward. You’re leaning forward. Pull up…like you’re a marionette and someone is pulling a string on your head.”
Assistant coach Polina is running this morning’s leap drills on the floor with the three of us each stationed at a folded panel mat, Emerson already stealing the spotlight in dead center.
Ahhh, leap drills. We basically just work the individual leaps we do on beam and floor…boring but necessary. Today’s focus is switch leaps with a half twist, which we each have somewhere in our beam or floor routines. The goal is to make them as perfect as possible, with a quick twist, pointed feet, straight legs, and great height. We start each leap on the floor but land them on the mat about eight inches higher than the starting off point to really enforce the whole air time aspect.
I try another one with Polina’s corrections in mind, making sure to pull up on everything. I get so much height this time around, I could’ve added another two inches at least to the mat and still landed well.
“Better height, but Amalia, you are really struggling to do everything correctly all at the same time. A minute ago, your legs were perfectly straight, but you were low and leaning forward. So you worked hard on pulling up and got great amplitude, but your knees were bent. Stop focusing on the last correction I give you. You need to do it all at once.” Exasperated, she adds something she knows will motivate me more than any correction: “Watch Emerson.”
Emerson’s switch half is perfect, from the second her front leg kicks out to the perfect 180 degree split high up in the air as she changes legs and turns her body to the opposite direction. Her toes are pointed, chest high, shoulders back, and she even lands it completely balanced with a smile on her face. She probably could have finished on one foot and still looked better than me.
“That is a switch half,” Polina squeals, clasping her hands together. She is clearly thrilled about getting the chance at running drills with someone she doesn’t have talk through each skill a thousand times. “Emerson, you look like a ballerina.”
“So join the Pacific Northwest Ballet,” Ruby mutters.
Emerson laughs. “If I join the ballet, I won’t get to beat you in Rio. I’ll wait until after I get my gold, thanks.”
I sigh and try my millionth switch half of the day, but I’m so frustrated, I miss my footing and land on the edge of the mat, my ankles bending awkwardly as I slip to the floor and land on my butt.
“Shit, Mal!” Natasha runs over as I stand up gingerly. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah.” No. Ow. Goddamn. But it’s nothing. “Nothing tore, nothing broke. They’re just getting a little weak this far into practice…I probably didn’t wrap tight enough.”
“Polina will give you an ice wrap before school. Let’s end a few minutes early today, ladies…we’re all a little over it. Your skills looked good, leaps are getting better…just think of it this way. Leaps are so easy compared to the big acro skills in your routines, and yet they’re often the most heavily deducted. If you can keep them clean, you’ll be able to focus on everything else.”
She clears her throat. “The animosity in this gym is gold medal-worthy, by the way. Yes, Emerson’s leaps are worthy of the Bolshoi, but Ruby could teach everyone in here a thing or two about powerful tumbling, and Amalia has a head for competition like no one I’ve ever met. You might not love everything about this new situation, but consider it an opportunity to learn from one another. What a concept.”
Ruby stands on her mat, hands on her hips, face almost a challenge to Natasha, but she backs down at Natasha’s famous “I take a lot of crap from you, but I’ve had it up to here” look.
“Emerson, after you change, meet me and Sergei in my office…we can order brunch and make everything official. Amalia, see Polina for an ice wrap before you leave. Ruby, don’t do anything that will end with jail time.”
The three of us walk back into the locker room without saying a word, though our silence doesn’t last long. As soon as the door closes, Ruby – already half out of her leo – is more than willing to start a conversation.
“Why here?” she asks, hands back on her hips. “There are, like, a billion gyms in this country.”
“I didn’t make the decision, so get over yourself.” Emerson pulls on her shorts and I almost feel bad for her; she doesn’t even have a locker yet and is already under fire. “Vera told me my gymnastics looked rough compared to last camp, and thought getting me out of Chicago would help. I mean, you were able to beat me at verification. Obviously I’m in a dire situation.”
Ruby is practically foaming at the mouth. “The truth is that no gym wants to work with the teenage girl version of Satan, so Vera forced her daughter to take you.”
“Whatever. Natasha knows I’m basically guaranteed at least one gold medal in Rio. It’ll look good for this gym’s reputation after you failed to come through in 2012.”
The silence is so deadly you can hear an Achilles snap. For a full minute, Ruby burns fire from her eyes into Emerson’s smug little face. Awkward. When I can’t take it anymore, I physically step between the two.
“Excuse me, but I have to get ready for school.”
I begin to spin the knob to open my lock, but then whip around.
“Emerson, seriously, it’s weird as hell having you here three months before the Olympics. But I believe you. It’s not your fault.” I turn to Ruby. “What Vera says goes, and if she thinks Emerson belongs in this gym, there’s a reason. Natasha said we should use this as a way to learn from each other, so I mean, really, it doesn’t take a 180 IQ to figure out that’s exactly Vera’s plan. She wants to make us better gymnasts. There’s no way in hell she’d risk Olympic medals for some twisted little game.”
Usually I’m not one to make a scene, but my speech is pretty kickass, so I don’t stop there.
“If petty drama is more important to you than making the Olympic effing team, you need serious help. You’re both a few routines away from boarding the plane to Brazil and you don’t even care, while there are thousands of girls in this country who would kill to be you even for a second.” Yeah. Me.
I storm into the shower stalls, leaving the other two stunned. I’m actually kinda stunned as well; I’ve never gone against Ruby before and I’ve never stuck up for girls like Emerson. I’m almost proud? I grin a little before turning the nozzle and unwinding my bun. I desperately want to make the Olympic team, and I know my own standing depends more on how I perform and less on Emerson’s presence invading my gym. If anything, having her there would push me to be better, just like it did at the farm.
When I’m happy with the water temperature, I step in, my ankles already feeling better as I stretch them under the hot pulsating stream. I revel in this brief but amazing alone time between the four-hour morning practice and my half day at school before returning to MGMA for afternoon practice, which I hope won’t be as draining as the first.
Finding Our Balance Page 5