by Lucia Franco
The drive home was a blur. I didn't even remember it, and as tired as I was, my anxiety and thoughts kept me up all night. I laid in moments of emotionless silence shoving back the tears. I refused to cry, and I almost called Kova, but I didn't.
I couldn't stop reading about Mixed Connective Tissue Disorder, MCTD, and how it affected the human body, which only led me to read more about lupus. But more importantly, how dangerous MCTD could be. There were so many symptoms of both MCTD and lupus that it almost made them seem identical, and now I wondered if my doctor was on the wrong path. Both could result in kidney failure, complications with lungs, water around the heart, extreme fatigue, rash, fever, joint pain.
The list went on.
* * *
Sometimes you have to disappear to be successful, and that's exactly what I did for the next two weeks.
Mentally, of course.
Discovering I might have lupus and the chance meeting of my real mom was a lot to take in. I was filled with so many unanswered questions that kept me awake at night. Still, by some miracle, I stayed focused and driven, but I kept quiet.
The lab work had been quick and I was only an hour late for practice. The nurse hadn't been able to find a good vein and stuck me multiple times. Multiple vials had been drawn, all with different colored tops, some half full, some different sizes, some with whitish-yellow stuff at the bottom. From my vantage point, I'd counted ten glass tubes when it was over.
The first week had been the hardest. It took me a few days to get out of the slump I'd put myself in. I never should've done any internet searches about both illnesses—I’d known it was a bad idea from the start—but I couldn't stop myself. I needed to know more, but the more I read, the more anxious I became. I was insanely emotional and on the verge of tears a lot. After one night with only two hours of sleep, I woke up vomiting because my nerves were shot.
After that, I didn't allow myself to think about anything that could deter my thoughts from gymnastics, like Sophia and Francesca, or that I could be sicker than I thought. I promised myself I wouldn't look anything else up until I saw my doctor again. It wasn't good for my health, plus we didn’t know anything concrete yet. I trained day in day out, tightening up my skills. I drank tons of water and took iron supplements. I ate healthy but light, lighter than usual. I wanted to be prepared for the starvation camp this time rather than going cold turkey, so I trained myself to eat very little.
Each day got easier and I was down to eating roughly eight hundred calories a day. The downfall was that I was in pain everywhere. I almost caved and took a pain pill, but I needed to cut out the Motrin. My ankles were covered in tape and I soaked in Epsom salt every night. I had constant headaches, I was drained past the point of exhaustion, and my back was killing me, but I turned off my feelings and kept my eyes open.
I was on autopilot.
Still, no amount of training could have prepared me mentally and physically for what I was about to endure for the second camp. I knew what to expect this time, yet for some unknown reason, I was blindsided.
Once I arrived back in Texas, I found out four girls hadn't come back. Between the training and injuries they sustained, three were forced to withdraw, and one decided it wasn't for her. I wasn't surprised in the least.
The first day was all about everyone arriving, settling in, and going over the schedules, then we were put on the scale and our bodies were measured. I'd lost six pounds since the last camp. To say the coaches were happy was an understatement. Six pounds on my height and frame was a lot to lose, not to mention they were foaming at the mouth with my training. I was in shambles, but they were happy and that's all that mattered.
Showered and ready to collapse into bed, I pulled out my cell phone and checked my text messages, debating whether I should send Kova an update, when I scrolled past a message from Avery.
BFFFFFF: Please talk to me. I miss you so much. What can I do to fix this? I'm so sorry. : (
Leaning my head back against the headboard, I thought about Avery and how much I missed her snarky personality, her carefree view, her laugh, the way she always called me out. So much time had passed, and my excuse was that my plate was full. It still was, more than ever now, but deep down I knew it was me. I’d shut her out and disappeared to protect myself. Avoiding situations was easier, but I couldn't do it forever.
I typed out a quick reply.
Me: I miss you too. I'm in Texas and can’t text right now but I promise to message you when I get home. XOXO.
Clicking out of my messages, I pulled up my contacts and scrolled to Coach.
I probably didn't need to give him an update, but something inside my bones compelled me to talk to him. I needed to hear his voice. I shouldn't miss Konstantin Kournakova—he wasn't mine to miss—but I missed him so much. I missed that effortless connection we never should've been allowed to have, that easy morning peace we secretly reveled in at his house, the little stares. I finally had to acknowledge to myself that we were making progress.
No matter how hard I tried not to, I still loved that stupid Russian. Once I dropped some of the anger I was holding on to, I started craving him again as fiercely as before.
I rubbed my dry eyes. It was because of him that I let go of the furling resentment, because he wouldn’t have it any other way. With patience, he unknowingly forced me to love him more. He’d learned to respect my boundaries and even tell me no, but still remained the dominant Kova I loved. He’d invaded every part of my life he could. So I wanted to talk to him and tell him of my progress. I wanted him to know our work had paid off again and that we were one step closer to our dream. Because without him, I couldn't have made it to where I was today. Despite my best efforts to shut him out these past few months, Kova and I were a we, and I wanted to make him proud. Truth be told, I don't think we ever stopped being a we.
Exhaling a breath, I called him. Kova picked up after a couple rings. "Adrianna." His accent rolled strong over the R.
"Hi," I said shyly.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"I'm fine for the most part. I just wanted to talk to you."
"Talk to me, then."
I didn't mistake the smile in his voice.
"The coaches seem pleased with my progress. I don't know… I wanted to share that with you."
"You know I already know, Ria. Tell me why you really wanted to talk to me."
I glanced up at the ceiling, my thoughts a muddled mess. Buried deep inside my heart were burning embers that gave me hope. I coveted them, blowing on them every so often to see if the light was still there for us. Like right now.
"I guess I just wanted to hear your voice." God, how fucking corny.
Kova chuckled, and said, "You mean you miss hearing my contraction-free words?"
I smiled to myself. "I guess I do."
"If you are being honest with me, I will be honest with you." I held my breath, waiting. "I miss walking into the gym every day and seeing your face. It is like a part of the structure is missing and I have to find a way to hold it up until you get back. I do not like it."
I glanced down at the faded comforter, my feelings rising to the surface. "I think I'm being emotional right now and I don't know why." I did know why, but he didn't need to know. "I'm fine, though. In fact, I've been doing really well. At least, I think I have. I feel very confident."
"I have been in close contact with the head coach and am extremely pleased with what they had to say about you and your progress. However, what I am not happy about is how much weight you have apparently lost." I chewed my lip. "You lost more than I expected," he added, and cleared his throat.
"It's not uncommon for a gymnast to lose weight, you know. It's like a rite of passage. If anything, it's preferred, sometimes even a requirement. I wouldn't be so worried."
"That is not healthy. You are going to lose your strength and that will lead to injury."
I contemplated my answer. His tone wasn't malicious, he was just being honest.
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"I’ll probably be smaller when I get back." I cupped my hand around the mouthpiece so no one would hear me since I shared a room with three other gymnasts. "They don’t feed us. We're being starved. A slice of bread and a few scraps of deli meat, a handful of nuts. Sucking on lemons. Not to mention, worked to the bone. The working part I don't mind. I can handle that. It's the gnawing hunger that I’m forced to put my body through again that makes me mental."
I wanted to mention I had peed blood earlier, but I didn't. I kept that little tidbit to myself.
"They want us to be fucking sticks." Tears wove through my words.
Kova's voice was low but controlled, and filled with irritation. "They commended me for your weight loss," he said in disgust. "The last thing I want to be known as is someone who treats their gymnasts poorly. And now you sound like you are withering away."
"You're not treating your gymnasts poorly. Why would you think that?"
While Kova demanded more than any other coach I'd worked with, the one thing he always made sure of was that his gymnasts were healthy. Despite all his imperfections and weaknesses, he was a coach who cared. He molded our bodies, knowing how much we could endure without causing actual harm. He expected the best from us because he gave us the best of himself.
I swallowed back the tears blurring my eyes. "All I can say is I'm sorry I let you down. I'm sorry for bothering you. I just thought you'd be happy to hear about my progress."
Hanging up, I curled up into a ball and silently cried myself to sleep, something I hadn't done in a couple of weeks. I never should have called him.
* * *
The next day I woke tired, regretting having called Kova.
My eyes were swollen when I rolled out of bed, and when I looked in the mirror, I had deep purple puffy bags underneath them. I applied under eye makeup hoping to conceal them, but it didn't do much good other than to hide the color. Just as I was ready to walk out of the dorm to the gym, a ping sounded from my phone and stopped me. Brows pinched together, I turned around and limped my way over to my phone.
Coach: Never once have you let me down. I worry about you.
I stood still, breathing deeply as I stared at the text message. I knew I should text him back, but I didn't need this. Not right now. He’d said what I wanted to hear, but just a little too late.
I had two full days of camp left before I'd be heading back home to Florida, which meant I had one last chance to make a lasting impression on the national team coaches until the next competition, where they would be watching.
I could do it. Mind over matter.
And that's exactly what I did. I skipped breakfast—it wasn't much anyway—and got right to work. By lunch, I'd gotten so used to eating very little that I could barely finish the orange I was given. The back of my foot screamed in pain, the migraine caused silver spots to dance in my vision, and my back ached to the point I thought it was going to snap in half. And all the while, the coaches watched like hawks. I'd give anything for a handful of Motrin, but I ignored the pain, telling myself it would be worth it.
By late afternoon, my heart was pounding in rebellion and my hands were shaking. My head, light and dizzy. I felt delirious and in dire need of something, anything. I wasn't sure how much more of walking on a fiery wire I could take before I collapsed to the ground.
As we rotated events to the last one of the day, Coach Elena strode over and ordered me to sit on the floor. The perturbed purse of her lips and disappointment in her eyes worried me. She motioned for my leg with a wave of her hand and I extended it toward her. Stomach tight, I leaned back on my hands as she placed my foot on her thigh to inspect it.
"Stop limping," she commanded, then switched legs to check my other one. After a quick examination, she went back to my bad leg and clucked her tongue at how inflamed my one injured ankle was. It was bad, the worst I'd seen it yet.
"Oh, it's fine. Nothing to worry about," I said.
She paid me no attention. Looking up, she called for one of the assistant coaches and began speaking in what sounded like a mixture of Russian and Polish. I wanted to ask her, but I had a feeling she wouldn't be open to small talk the way Kova was.
"I'm fine, really," I said, but she was waving something over.
Sports tape.
As Coach Elena stretched the tape out, her gaze took note of how inflamed it actually was. She bent a little more, scrutinizing it, and without moving her head, she raised her hard eyes to mine. My stomach clenched in fear. For a small, petite woman, she frightened me.
"Coach Konstantin and I go way back. You understand?"
I nodded slowly, knowing what she was asking without actually saying it. She pinched the back of my ankle and I sucked in a deep breath, almost crying out. She noticed my reaction immediately.
"You limp, you show weakness," she said matter-of-factly, then stretched the tape up my calf muscle and pressed down. I winced and huffed in pain, but she showed no mercy.
"Weakness makes you doubt yourself." She placed another piece of tape down. "It makes me doubt you. Weakness is a choice. Stop limping. Eliminate pain from your world. Block it out. Pretend like it does not exist, or I will be forced to make modifications that will not serve you."
I nodded vehemently, keeping my mouth tight-lipped. She taped my ankle up and motioned for me to stand.
Two hours later and all the gymnasts were showing signs of slowing down. My calf throbbed wickedly, and I worried this week would reverse all the healing progress I'd made. Still, I tightened my ponytail and looked ahead. Even if I was given a choice to take a break or keep going, I would've continued, despite the excruciating pain working itself up my leg. In my gut, I'd never give up.
And then, it started…
"Mistakes. Show me you do not care!" Coach Elena yelled at no one and all of us. "I guess you do not want this."
"Performance takes bravery, you look like scared little kittens! Olympians are scared of nothing!"
She clucked her tongue, looking as us with shame. "You girls are a dime a dozen. A. Dime. A. Dozen."
"Flexed feet show lack of control and sloppiness."
"Smile. Show me you actually believe in what you are doing."
"Did you just roll your eyes at me?" My heart dropped. She wasn't speaking to me, but to another gymnast, and I feared for her. The girl shook her head nervously back and forth. "You are done. Get out!"
"You are not trying hard enough! If you do not complete the pass correctly, and clean, you are gone. I can have you replaced like this," Coach Elena said and snapped her fingers.
One girl over rotated and landed on her ass with a hard bounce, then rolled backwards and crushed her head into the floor. Her head snapped back and I gasped, covering my mouth at the harsh angle. It might have been a spring floor, but it still hurt.
"Get up. Do it again," Elena demanded.
"But my neck hurts," the gymnast said, clutching the back of her head. Her voice squeaked, and I wondered how old she was. She appeared to be much younger than me.
"That is your fault," Elena responded, not giving a single care as she pointed at her. "Now get back there and do it again. And do it right."
The girl shook her head. With that landing, I wouldn't want to tumble again either. "I think something is wrong with my neck," her voice squeaked again.
Coach Elena scowled at her like she wasn't worth the ground she walked on. "You are a disgrace. A mockery of those who would kill to be here. You must not want it bad enough."
The young gymnast boldly perked up. She pulled her shoulders back, pushed her chin up, and delicately walked over to the corner of the floor, the heels of her feet coming close to the white out-of-bounds tape. Much like everyone here, she wanted to prove herself, but there was no mistaking the unease and horror in her eyes as she exhaled a lungful of nervous air.
"This is something you have been doing for years, there should be no reason as to why you are making mistakes," Elena egged on, clapping her hands loudly en
ough to draw unwanted attention.
There truly were no reasons for her mistake, but shit happens in gymnastics that sometimes we can't control, and reflecting on how horribly we were treated here, I wasn't surprised in the least by her performance. My heart ached for her.
"You are wasting my time. Maybe you should not even be here." Elena reminded me of Kova with her lack of contractions.
All eyes were on this tiny, petite gymnast who could be no more than four-foot-seven and sixty pounds. She rubbed the back of her neck once again, and I silently prayed she didn't do the tumbling pass. I felt so bad. Even though I hardly knew her, I would've traded places with her if I could.
Bringing her rail thin arms down, she wiggled her fingers to shake out her nerves, and took a deep breath. Her eyes were full of fear and apprehension. I held my breath as she leaned forward on her toes for takeoff.
"Now!" Elena slapped her hands together. "Get moving, and you better pray to whatever God you believe in that you do not make any sort of mistake again or there will be hell to pay!"
Humiliation and guilt were the name of the game with a side serving of intimidation. There was a difference between encouraging an athlete with positive criticism, and being a bully. Coach Elena was a flat-out bully. And the worst part of all was that there had been rumors surrounding her means of coaching for many long years but no one could prove anything. What did anyone have to go on? Hearsay? A strict diet? Her facial expression and tone of voice? She’d acquired so many Olympic medals for the United States that no one ever dared question her. Everyone took what she dished out with a tied tongue.
Her methods created champions. It's what they wanted. It's all that mattered.
Balancing on the tips of her toes, the pixie girl hesitated. She shook her head and I released a strangled breath as I watched her step away. Thank God. With rigid shoulders, she walked off the floor and left the gym, not daring to look back as Coach Elena continued with her verbal abuse.