Finding Our Balance

by Lauren Hopkins

  “…like practice?” I finish, smiling.

  “Easier than it sounds,” Emerson says. “But you have a whole team of people here who will kick your ass into gear if we see you falter.”

  “Yeah,” Ruby adds. “Pep talks galore. And if that doesn’t work, I’ll just dump water on you until you chill.”

  “See?” Natasha smiles. “Everyone here has your back. If the press or other athletes or anyone brings up pressure or anything like that, stay iron on the outside. Half the battle is looking confident. If you can do that, you’ll trick yourself into being confident. You know your routines cold, your skills are fine, your landings have been looking great…all you have to do this week is hit eight routines.”

  “Thanks, guys.” Ugh, why am I being so needy and annoying all of the sudden? I’ve never needed people to talk me down before. At my J.O. meets I was the one talking people down.

  “Enough of this,” Natasha says, as if she can read my mind. “No more being silly about how you’ll compete this week. You’re all rock stars and everyone else here knows it. They’re crazy afraid of the three of you and don’t forget it.”

  “To being the best and being super cocky about it!” Ruby cheers, glass of water high in the air.

  “Not to be a party pooper, but it’s almost 10,” Polina says, clearing her throat. “We need to be in the arena at 8:30.”

  “Polina’s right,” Sergei says, slamming down his water, which I’m pretty sure is actually vodka with the way he’s been aggressively cheering and reacting to everything. Good for him. It’s a tense week. Someone here should be drinking.

  “Ladies, you should head back,” he continues. “I’ll wait for the check. I have old teammates in town I’m supposed to meet up with in a bit.”

  “Thanks. I knew this coaching partnership would benefit me.” Natasha stands up and brushes taco shell crumbs from her shirt. “God, I’m a pig. Thanks, Sergei. I’ll get it next time. Come on, ladies.”

  We all say our goodbyes to Sergei, who I still don’t fully trust in this whole Ruby situation, even though I believe her when she says there’s nothing happening. That doesn’t mean he’s not interested.

  The walk back to the hotel is long but a great way to end the day. It’s a muggy night but the breeze coming off of the Charles River feels perfect. We make small talk as we digest our food, but don’t breathe a word about gymnastics. Sometimes it’s just nice to be humans first, gymnasts second.

  Because for the next week, nothing but who we are as gymnasts will matter. A normal night talking about normal things like normal people takes the edge off and soothes my brain, which will enter overdrive in less than 12 hours.

  But I’m ready, I tell myself. I’m a rock star. My teammates have my back. Everyone else here hates me cuz they ain’t me. Bring it on, nationals. Bring. It. On.

  Tuesday, May 31, 2016

  66 days left

  The morning is one big dream. From checking in to pick up our credentials to walking through the ginormous backstage area of the TD Garden, I’m basically just along for the ride, following everyone else and trying to remember how everything looks, feels, smells.

  This isn’t a college arena. This is where the Boston Bruins play. The Boston Celtics. Taylor Swift did a concert here once. This is a huge deal.

  When we walk out onto the floor, I lose my breath at the view. Thousands and thousands of yellow seats as far as the eye can see. Hanging from the ceiling are all of the hockey and basketball banners, a visual reminder that this is where champions play.

  It’s 8 a.m. Warm-ups start in a half hour with general stretch. We have the arena until 11 and then we’ll get time for lunch and a nap before hitting the practice gym at 2.

  “Blowing your mind?” Ruby asks.

  “Uh, yeah.” I’m seriously speechless. I know from my Wikipedia research that this place holds about 19,000 people. I don’t know if 19,000 people will actually turn up to watch us but the city has turned itself upside down for gymnasts and fans. Hotels are sold out, banners and posters are everywhere you look, restaurants have discounts for people with gymnastics ticket stubs or credentials, and Causeway Street in front of the arena has been renamed Cartwheel Avenue for the week.

  It’s absolutely nuts.

  But nothing I can’t handle. Once I get over the overwhelming sense of enormity in the arena, I start to cool down a bit. The U.S. Gymnastics Association setup is the same at every single meet. When I turn my focus to the floor instead of up in the stands, I feel like I’m back in San Diego.

  We’re the first ones here and find prime real estate on the floor podium. There’s half hour until general stretch, so until then we’ll just get limber. Emerson pulls out her iPod and I follow suit. It’s a great way to get in the zone.

  Plus, it also makes us look like we’re super focused when other gymnasts walk in. There are only 22 of us this time around, so there’s definitely more of an intensity than there was at the Open. With the exception of a few of us newbies, it’s mostly veterans who have been on the scene since they were juniors. Everyone knows each other from years of national team camps and competitions, and yet no one is talking.

  “Any other year and we’d all be in the middle of the floor right now, laughing and joking around,” Ruby whispers, yanking one of my earbuds out. “This year it’s like…if someone drowned in front of us now, we wouldn’t look up.”

  “Good thing there’s no pool in here,” I laugh.

  “Ice bucket.” Ruby grins. “It’ll happen. Before the end of the evening practice. I’ll bet on it.”

  One of the other first-year elites, Leah Manning, shyly makes her way over to us. She’s 16, tiny, with heaps of curly red hair.

  “Hey, I’m in your rotation group…I don’t know if I’m supposed to sit with you now or whatever,” she blushes.

  “Leah, right?” I want to exude confidence so I take the reins with this newbie. “I’m Amalia. We don’t have to warm-up in our rotation groups but you’re more than welcome to join us! This is Ruby and Emerson.”

  “I really loved your floor at the Open,” Ruby says, though I highly doubt she saw it. Leah only just made it to nationals, earning exactly a tenth above the qualification score. She won’t be more than background noise here, which is harsh but true.

  “Wow, thanks, your floor is like, my dream floor, seriously.”

  I nudge Emerson, who removes an earbud to say hi but immediately goes back to her zone.

  “Forgive her,” Ruby smiles. “She was raised by a pack of wild gorillas. Didn’t get human interaction until she was 12, but explains why she’s so good at bars.”

  I laugh. Leah looks like she’s mentally questioning whether she’s allowed to laugh.

  “Where are you from?” I ask, trying to make small talk before general stretch begins.

  “Florida. I go to South Florida Gymnastics Academy.”

  I’ve never heard of it, but I respond eagerly with “oh, cool!” so it sounds like maybe I have. “Do you know who else is in our group?”

  “Ummm, yeah. Kaitlin and Caroline.”

  Nice. They’re also pretty much non-contenders and would be lucky to make it to Olympic Trials. But they’re sweet girls and wouldn’t bring the drama that some of the others here would bring. Namely Maddy.

  “Oh,” Leah adds. “You know how we’re starting on beam? I saw the start list draw for qualifications at the Olympics and the United States is gonna start on beam! Hopefully an omen.”

  I smile, partly because I’m thinking “what a nerd” but also because I’m also a nerd and knew that already.

  A few more minutes of chit chat and there’s an announcement over the loudspeakers. “General stretch for all senior women’s competitors officially begins in two minutes and lasts until 9. If you finish early, you may move to your first event for the timed warm-up but you must wait until 9 a.m. to begin.”

  “Here we go!” Leah squeals. I feel ya, girl.

  I toss my iPod into my bag,
hop off the podium, and drop it off on a chair by the beam podium before getting ready to “officially” warm-up. On my own in the corner of the arena, I breathe in deeply. Close my eyes. Exhale.

  I shed my yoga pants and jacket and then run back to the floor podium just in time to jog the perimeter with the other 21 girls here. Let’s go, Mal. Confidence. Strength. Awesomeness. Steady breathing. I’ve got this. Just have fun.

  ***

  “Now that we’re all fed and rested, let’s go over this morning’s practice,” Natasha says as we hustle back to the TD Garden to use the practice gym, nestled deep in the belly of the arena. The guys have the actual competition floor for the afternoon.

  It was a great practice for all of us. We didn’t do full routines, just worked on slowly getting a feel for the podium, which was nice. “I don’t want you doing too much too soon this week,” Natasha had cautioned. “Just get used to the equipment and we’ll come back for harder landings in the afternoon.”

  That’s exactly what we did. We used about half of our allotted time for each event, spending the rest of it stretching or working on dance elements, things that wouldn’t tire us out too much.

  “Ruby, fantastic accuracy,” Natasha starts. “That’s what I noticed most of all. You’re usually so good with the attack but sometimes a few details get lost. Not at all the case today. Keep it up. I think my biggest concern for you was the Ray half to straddle-back half on bars, which looks awesome, but as your coach I can sense the hesitation a bit. It’s a super ballsy combination, but now you have to make it look as easy as the rest of your skills look, otherwise it comes off as labored, too much of a challenge. But your dismount was awesome. Good job.”

  There’s a smile from Ruby but I can tell that one criticism was getting to her. Ruby’s death-defying combo is basically the coolest skill done on bars in the world, but “cool” means nothing to the judges if you mess it up.

  “Emerson…power, power, power,” Sergei sighs. “I know it was just practice, I know we were taking it easy, but I just need to see that you have some power in you, especially on vault. You can’t rely on twisting speed alone. Your block today was really rough, so we’ll try to pay attention to that tonight. Bars and beam were lovely, but again, even on beam you’re not getting quite the punch you need for your dismount. Even just five percent more strength here and there will do wonders. But your work on floor looked great.”

  Like Ruby, Emerson’s not happy with her critique, but also smiles to show respect for the man giving it to her.

  “Amalia, I was really impressed,” Natasha continues. “You were hitting every mark, you showed a ton of confidence out there, and you were also an excellent motivator. Really nice touch giving some love to your teammates and the other girls in the rotation when you noticed they needed a bit of encouragement. If I had to be nit-picky, I’d say your swing on bars was looking a little labored, but even then you were hitting handstands. A few landing deductions but nothing like at the Open. The big things are easy for you. Just stay focused and make sure the little things are always in your mind.”

  I’m beaming so hard I have to bite my cheek to keep my face from looking like the sun is shining out of it. That whole “fake it ’til you make it” confidence trick ended up being my saving grace. But it’s too early to get a big head about it – I still have three practices and two days of competition to get through.

  We walk into the practice gym, prepare to train, go through the national team warm-up and the general stretch shenanigans, and then move to beam to start the second workout of the day.

  “Did you have a good lunch?” Leah asks in between turns. She’s like my shadow now I guess. I’m right behind her in the rotation order so we’re around each other a lot and it’s only a tad annoying so far.

  “Yep,” I respond. “We ate at the hotel and then I had the most amazing nap ever.”

  “What did you eat?”

  Good God, this girl is going to drain me of every last drop of energy by the end of the week. “Grilled chicken and red peppers. It came with fries on the menu, but obviously those were a no-no, so we got salad instead. Heartbreaking,” I joke.

  “Oh, that sounds amazing, I’ll totally get that for dinner.”

  She’s blabbing so much she almost misses her turn. We’re supposed to be ready to go when the girl ahead of us jumps off, and she’s not concentrating on that at all. I have to nudge her when I see Ruby jump off after working her flight series.

  I have to bust out a full routine by the time this session is over, but for now I’m working the more difficult combinations…first, the side aerial to Onodi, and then the sheep jump to front tuck to switch ring.

  Combinations on beam are tricky because if you don’t connect each skill quickly, you’re not awarded the extra tenths in difficulty, which really blows if your routine relies on connection bonuses for your high start value. Mine does.

  I’m usually pretty fluid, but I like getting as many reps in as possible because you never know what will trip you up when the time comes. The repetition makes the combinations feel more natural, as if they’re skills on their own. Like, I want to feel like I’m supposed to do an Onodi straight out of my side aerial, as if that’s how I was taught from day one and as if the two skills don’t even exist as two separate entities.

  “Good, Mal!” Polina calls out after I hit each series. “Just make sure your back leg position is more accurate in your Yang Bo.”

  I do the skill on its own and then try it again in combination.

  “Much, much better!”

  Natasha, grinning, signals for me to hop off. I go to the side of the beam to work the Yang Bo on its own a few times off the beam, partly to work on the leg position but also so Leah will be less likely to continue her quest of becoming my new BFF.

  A few more turns with working single skills and combinations, and then I run through the whole routine, including the hard landing on the arabian double front dismount. After I salute, some of the coaches in my rotation group actually clap.

  “My God,” Natasha melts when I run over for notes. “That was perfect.

  Olympic gold perfection. Combos were on point, dance elements were beautiful, acro was big and clean, dismount had power, the form was good, and you were like, one tiny step from sticking.”

  She gives me a high five and lets me take the rest of this rotation time to work on dance elements for floor. I can’t help smiling the whole time, even when Leah starts asking me how I thought her routine looked while I’m in the middle of a triple pirouette.

  “You were fantastic,” I say, too happy to be annoyed. A small lie, considering I didn’t see it at all, but she looks thrilled with my praise and if those three words help her get through the rest of this grueling week, so be it. I get back to work feeling like I’m conquering the world.

  Wednesday, June 1, 2016

  65 days left

  “Sharp, Amalia! Sharp!”

  I slow my swing down to regroup, kip cast into a handstand, and then work the toe full to Gienger again, making sure I hit every position correctly instead of breezing through them as I’ve been accused of doing on my last attempt. I point my toes extra hard for brownie points.

  “Better! And excellent toe point! See, Ruby, she’s extending through the whole foot, not just bending her toes. That’s what I need from you.”

  I do the combination one more time to make sure Polina’s corrections sink in and then hop off and re-chalk.

  Our morning training session is in the practice gym and then in the afternoon we’ll be in the arena, flip-flopped from yesterday. The media is in the arena today, so they’ll see what we do in the afternoon and we want to be totally polished, though I think we’re going to skimp on full difficulty since that worked at the Open. We’ll see. It’ll be interviews again after we finish training, and that’s it until the competition. Yikes.