I still have absolutely everything to prove. It’s not going to happen if I let my frustration show in my skills like I did today. I need to train like the best so I can compete with the best, and Emerson is the best. It is going to take every ounce of patience I have to get through each day without strangling her, but if the end result is me in a Team USA leotard, it’s worth the torture.
Monday, April 25, 2016
102 Days Left
A week after Emerson’s first day, the tension at MGMA has weakened, if not fully dissolved. Emerson is still hard to read, but while she comes off as confident and unbreakable in the gym, her life outside is a mystery and I can already see the cracks in the surface when she talks about anything but gymnastics.
“She’s a serial gym hopper,” Natasha had gossiped between sips of her much-deserved margarita at our team lunch over the weekend. “She hasn’t stayed at the same gym longer than a year.”
“It’s shocking that she’s been successful at all, let alone become the world all-around champion two years in a row,” Polina added. “The longest she’s been at any gym was when she spent the year at Wallace’s leading up to 2014 worlds. The second she got gold, she was out, done.”
According to her bio on Wikipedia, Emerson trained on her own at the busy elite factory Windy City in her hometown of Chicago for a few months after that, until Vera practically forced Sergei to take her. He moved up there and the whole situation seemed under control until Vera yanked her out last week after camp.
“She’s still claiming it’s because Windy City was trying to get their hands on her endorsement money, but I’m pretty sure Vera just wants to bust my ass,” Natasha groaned.
I’m the first to show up today, and am already out of the locker room and beginning to stretch as Ruby and Emerson arrive almost simultaneously, both grumpy thanks to the 6 a.m. call time. When they finally join me for our jog, neither makes an attempt to offend the other. For the first time since Emerson showed up, the atmosphere feels almost normal.
Natasha and Sergei come out of the office together. They actually make a kickass team, and he’s already given me a ton of tips for floor, my weakest event. Natasha asks us to line up, which we rarely do before practice, but the American Open is in just over three weeks. It’s crunch time.
“As we all know, this is a qualifier for nationals,” she says, glancing at her clipboard with the day’s schedule. “Amalia, you need to qualify. Don’t freak out, you’ll definitely get the required score – a 54.00 or above in the all-around. Your goal isn’t just to qualify, because that would be like giving a MENSA member the goal of learning the alphabet. Instead…your goal is to win. No pressure.”
I nod seriously, half confident, half ready to jump out the window. A year ago, I didn’t make it past the Open. Why earn your qualifying score when you can fall six times on four events?! It’s probably more difficult to do what I did than to actually make it to nationals. With all of the praise I get for being a killer competitor under pressure, last year I completely floundered doing elite-level routines for the first time. It’s not easy to forget.
“Emerson and Ruby…you will not be doing the all-around. Unlike Amalia, you’ve both qualified already…Ruby from winning verification and Emerson from her participation on the worlds team last year. Instead, you’ll use the Open to get one more practice competition in before nationals. Ruby will compete bars and beam, and Emerson will compete vault and floor.”
“Um, but bars and beam are my best events?” Emerson glances over at Sergei, her eyes begging him to tell Natasha she’s wrong, but he smiles and stares ahead, pretending to be oblivious to her pleas. “Shouldn’t we show our strengths?”
“Good question, Emerson, and as a reminder, you don’t speak during lineup, okay?” Emerson actually blushes slightly, but then rolls her eyes to make sure we all know we are but mere peasants beneath her feet and do not deserve her respect. “No, you shouldn’t show your strengths because Vera knows them already. If we’re using this as a practice competition, shouldn’t we practice our weaknesses?”
Ruby nods, smirking, although a second earlier I bet she was about to make the same complaint. Emerson just beat her to it.
“Sergei and I decided on a joint practice today, to make it a little more competitive. We’re looking for consistency, and want to see multiple full routine hits in a row. If you’re gonna be flawless at the Open, you’re gonna need a ton of numbers under your belt. Let’s start at the beginning and go through each event with hard landings, competition surface. First routine is like a warm-up, a freebie, no mistakes count…and then we’ll look for mistakes in your second. If you take a step on a landing, if your form is a mess, and of course, if you fall, we do it again until we get the execution level we want to see on the podium. Got it?”
“Yes, Natasha.”
“Good. Move to vault and chalk up.”
We go through the first three events in competition order – vault, bars, and beam – with almost no mistakes, making it through with only two or three routines apiece.
Then comes floor. We’re all a little tired, and here come the blunders, like machine gun bullets into Natasha’s heart. There’s no way we can do our full floor routines more than a couple of times each, so we focus just on tumbling. As if that’s really any easier.
“Emerson, you need to compensate for your lack of power going into your triple full,” Sergei yells, shaking his head. “If you can’t get a nice high set into the layout, you’re going to have to twist even faster than you already are, which I don’t think is physically possible. You’re landing either a quarter twist or sometimes even a half twist before you’re supposed to, and you need to make sure you get it all the way around, okay? If anything, you want to twist more than three times…I’d rather see you overdo it than fall short. Then the judges can’t devalue the skill. They can only deduct. Try it on the track.”
The track is a long trampoline down the length of the gym with a mat at one end and a foam pit at the other. Emerson starts at the end with the pit, gets a good run into her round-off and back handspring, but loses power somewhere in the middle of it all and stumbles onto the mat. She definitely would’ve crashed it had she done it on floor instead of a bouncy trampoline.
“I don’t know how she lands this in competition,” Ruby whispers. We’re watching from the floor where we stretch out our shoulders with resistance bands. I’m done after bouncing out of pretty much every pass because I lack control, but Ruby has yet to come under the chopping block.
“It’s all adrenaline,” Natasha says, her eyes still on Emerson. “And wanting the win. Like when a tiny woman can lift a car if it means saving her baby. Adrenaline is good, but it’s dangerous to rely on it and nothing else, especially at the Olympics. You need to have the building blocks down too.”
Emerson is deep in conversation with Sergei, gulping to catch her breath between nods as she accepts his notes.
“Ruby, last up!” Polina calls. “I want to see all four of your passes on the floor. We’ve seen you stick all day, so take it easy on the landings if you need to.”
Despite her exhaustion, Ruby manages her incredibly difficult tumbling with ease – a double-twisting double tuck, a full-twisting double layout, a triple full, and a full-twisting double tuck. Every pass is stuck, seemingly without even trying; she just explodes off the floor. For her, adrenaline during a competition might give her too much power, but even then she knows how to handle it.
“Very nice.” Polina jogs over to give her a high five. “Strong but controlled. Compete like that, okay?”
Sergei also gives her a high five and a hug. “Emerson, these are the landings I want to see you hitting, okay?”
Emerson nods and smiles, but I catch another eye roll, as if a queen can learn anything from her servants.
“Great work today, guys,” Natasha calls out. “Let’s line up real quick before we break.”
I wrap my resistance band into a coil, throw it i
n the bin, and tug my sweats on over my chalky legs before joining the group on the floor for Natasha’s instructions.
“You all looked consistent and strong today. Don’t pat yourselves on the back too hard; that’s what I expect from you every day. Today just looked extra good. Threatening you with extra routines works.”
Ruby throws her head back and laughs. “Spot on!”
Natasha smiles. “Okay, so every training session, every warm-up, every competition, pretend the alternative to hitting is having to do ten extra routines. Actually, at the Open, new rule. Anyone who falls gets to come back to the gym straight from the airport and practice sets until you’re perfect. Deal?”
“Deal.”
“But yeah, that aside, it was a good day. Nice attention to detail, and good job taking corrections and actually using them to fix your skills.” Natasha turns to Sergei, who clears his throat.
“Since you were so on top of things, we have a surprise for you. On Wednesday, one hundred days before the Games, NBC will begin their official ‘Road to Rio Countdown’ in Times Square. There will be interviews, athlete demos, freebies for fans, all that good stuff…and Vera wants you three there to represent the U.S. Gymnastics Association.”
I look at Ruby and squeal. She grabs my hand and squeezes, a big smile on her face. Emerson remains cool, shaking out her ponytail and running her fingers through her long blonde hair.
“We’re going to New York?!” I screech.
“Yes, we’ll take the red-eye tomorrow night after practice,” Natasha explains, scrolling through an itinerary on her iPhone. “Get extra rest tonight and prepare to sleep on the plane. We’ll land around 6 a.m. on Wednesday morning and have to go right to the athlete tent. We’ll probably have to be there until, oh…noon? Probably. But we don’t fly back until the evening, so you’ll have a few hours to see the city.”
I literally don’t believe it. Also, is it weird that I’m more excited about the day off from practice than about the trip itself? Either way, I’m over the moon.
“Why us?” Ruby asks.
“Vera wanted girls who can legitimately contend for the Olympic team so if…when you make the team, people will remember you.”
I’m starting to get the feeling this was supposed to be a trip for Ruby and Emerson and I’m just going along as a third wheel since it’d be awkward to leave me behind. But no complaints. I’m going to New York.
“Don’t think of this as a freebie day off,” Natasha warns. “We’ll do a Sunday afternoon practice to make up for it. If you want to keep getting this attention you have to actually make it to Rio?”
She dismisses us, and I basically skip back to the locker room. I want to text my parents with the news. Crap, actually, they’ll be pissed about missing school. It’s a battle just getting them to accept me only going for half days while training elite, but this is an opportunity of a lifetime. How could they say no?
“I don’t know why you’re crapping your pants,” Emerson scoffs. “It’s only New York.”
“I’ve never been.”
“Actually, neither have I,” Ruby adds. “Sorry some of us aren’t cyborgs and actually have feelings and emotions and get excited about things. How are you not even a little happy about the break in routine?”
“I’ve known for like, a month,” Emerson says. “Vera was waiting until camp to see who else she’d send. Ruby, obvious choice after you won verification, and Amalia…you have a good story. Audiences will eat up the underdog angle.”
“Well, I’m excited,” Ruby announces. “Mal and I are gonna have a blast.”
“Good for you,” Emerson retorts. “You guys have fun staring up at tall buildings, omigod, so cool, while I sign autographs and listen to my agent bullshit sponsors into giving me more money.”
I ignore her humblebrags and sing along to Taylor Swift on the loudspeaker as I get ready for school. There aren’t many exciting things happening in my life, and competition trips aside, I don’t get out of Seattle much. New York is going to be awesome.
***
“Dad, I have to go, you don’t get it!” I’m bordering on whine territory, quickly regressing from tenth grade to preschool. “When the national team coach gives you an assignment you can’t just say no!”
“Mal, you had to miss an entire week of school this month for what, to go camping? We said you could train at this level if you keep school your priority and it doesn’t seem like you’re sticking to your end of the bargain,” my dad says, opening his laptop.
“It was a national team training camp, we didn’t go camping.” I swear, my dad is impossible. “This isn’t a stupid club bonding trip where we talk about our feelings and pee in the woods. We train to become Olympians. It’s like a legit job.”
“But this New York trip is unrelated to training.” He’s glancing through his agenda for the next day, trying not to look at me. “It’s late. I need to be at school early tomorrow for what could be a life-changing meeting. Not everything revolves around you. My answer is no. You can do Olympic publicity when you’re an Olympian.”
My dad clicks his laptop shut, stands up, and heads to his bedroom. I’m not trying to be a brat, but tears brim in my eyes and I want to slam stuff.
In a last-minute effort, I grab my iPhone and tap my way through my recent calls, knowing Natasha will be close to the top.
“Hey, superstar!” Natasha yawns. “It’s 10 pm! Didn’t I say get extra sleep tonight? What’s up?”
“Um, I know, I’m sorry, I was getting ready for bed when my dad got home.” Why am I nervous? “He said I can’t go to New York. He said I already missed my absolute maximum days of school this month when I went to the farm, and he said he doesn’t think going on TV is an appropriate use of my time…”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake.” Natasha sounds more awake now. “Put your dad on the phone.”
“He…he said he’s going to bed, end of discussion basically.”
“Get him.”
I’ve only heard that tone once before, when Ruby threatened to quit after nationals the year before. I run to my parents’ room and knock quietly.
“Don’t think you’re going to get a different answer when my Ambien kicks in!” he jokes.
“Dad, you’re the least funny human being alive, and also, my coach is on the phone. My cell. She wants to talk to you, like, now.”
My dad doesn’t respond but I hear him shuffling to the door. When he opens it, I’m holding my phone out in front of me with a nervous smile. Dad looks less than thrilled.
“Go to your room.” He grabs the phone and I bite my lip to keep from smiling. “Yes, Natasha?”
I skid down the hall, a huge smile forming on my face. There’s no possible way my dad can say no after talking to my coach. On the parental hierarchy, Natasha usually finds a way to outrank my actual mother and father.
I grab my empty duffel and throw in a pair of jeans, a few tops, sweatpants, socks, underwear, an extra training leo, and my travel toiletries. I make sure to leave extra space for the national team apparel I’ll get from Natasha tomorrow – the Team USA leo and warm-ups Emerson and Ruby already have. When my dad comes in a few minutes later, I’m double-checking my backpack to make sure my gear’s all there, even though I haven’t removed anything after practice just a few hours earlier.
He stares at me from the doorway for a few moments before tossing my phone on my bed and sighing dramatically. “You’re going to New York.”
“Yaaaaaaaaaaaas!” I jump up and hug him.
“Quiet, your mom’s already asleep,” he laughs, then kisses the top of my head. “That coach of yours has a lot of faith in you.”
“What did she say?” I’m insanely curious. I know Natasha can be persuasive, but my dad is a pretty hard sell.
Finding Our Balance Page 6