“Not for long.”
“We should?—”
“Don’t say celebrate. Celebrating got me into this mess.”
She huffs a laugh but before she can say more, Coach Rodier enters the gym and calls my name.
The anxiousness I’ve been feeling about the whole Vegas ordeal is replaced by a fluttering excitement.
I get to my feet and give Kinsley one last look. “Wish me luck.”
“Kick some ass,Bennett.”
Coach Rodier starts me on vault. It’s never been my strongest apparatus, but with all the extra practice lately I didn’t think I totally sucked at it. The look on his face, though, tells a different story.
He nods, no hint of what he’s thinking on his face. I start for the end of the runway, but he shakes his head. “Let’s see your beam routine next.”
Confused, but eager to follow his instruction, we go to the beam. I take a few minutes to warm up and then he gives me the go ahead to do my routine.
My mindset isn’t as strong as it could be, switching between events so quickly, but I feel pretty good when I finish.
“Bars next,” he says.
Understanding what he has in mind now, I pull on my grips and chalk up. This is my best event so there’s a little extra pressure to perform the way I know I can.
I catch Skylar’s eye across the gym. She gives me a thumbs-up that I return before pulling the springboard in place.
I start on the high bar. From the second my fingers grip around the cool wood everything else fades away. Each swing makes my heart race faster. I pull up into a handstand, drop out of it, then release. It feels like flying. I move to the lower bar.I’m unable to connect two skills together, but I continue on. My transition back to the high bar isn’t a difficult one, but I nail it.
At this point in the routine my confidence is soaring. I finish off with the last skills and then dismount, holding on for a clean landing.
I’m ready for his nod and direction before he says, “Floor.”
Am I disappointed he doesn’t have even a single smile or nice word? Maybe. But I don’t think that’s the point today. I’m not sure what the point is actually, but I trust him.
I grab my phone from my bag to play my music. Wren sent a text asking me to call her later. I momentarily panic that somehow she knows I got drunk and married this weekend, but more than likely she’s looking to vent about her awful roommate again. I type out a quick reply to let her know I’ll call as soon as I’m done at the gym, then pull up my floor routine song.
Like the other skills, Coach Rodier stands to the side and watches my routine without any comment or tells on what he’s thinking. I’m feeling strong. Ever since championships in August, I’ve put my entire focus on training. I want it so badly and I feel like I can get there.
When I hit the final pose, I feel good. Confident. I savor that feeling and then look to Coach. The only indication that he isn’t all together pleased is the slight furrow of his brows, but he’s not exactly sunshine-y on the best of days so I don’t worry too much until I walk over to him and he says, “We have a lot of work to do.”
He’s right but that’s always true. Being a great gymnast is a constant climb. There is no good enough.
“I’m ready for it,” I tell him honestly. Whatever he wants from me: a hundred tumbling passes, dozens of release moves and transitions on bars, improving my entry on vault, beam combinations until I can do them with my eyes closed.
I wait eagerly for the next direction. Since I joined the gym, I’ve seen what this looks like for his other gymnasts. Typically, he works with them on one or two skills per day. He’ll spend an hour with Hope on specific beam skills and then switch to working with Christina on vault drills and then group sessions on tumbling passes. He doesn’t work with every gymnast every day to allow for choreography or strength and endurance training, flexibility and mobility, and even recovery. It’s a busy week with a lot of moving pieces that he doesn’t need to micromanage.
Which is why I’m surprised when his next words are to tell me we’re done for the day.
“I don’t understand.” Did I do something wrong? Is he already regretting taking me on as a coaching client? He just said we had a lot of work to do. I want to start now. “It’s not even noon.”
“I’ve seen where you are with each of the events. Stop by Coach Liz’s office on your way out. She’ll give you a complete plan to follow for the next month and we’ll go from there.”
“But I thought…” I trail off because suddenly I wonder if taking his direction is part of the test. “Yes, Coach.”
“Good.” The first hint of a smile appears on his face, confirming my suspicion. I don’t have the heart to ask anything else, but I have a bad feeling that even though I’m following his orders, I’ve just somehow failed at everything else.
Kinsley is busy on beam while I gather my things and head out. It’s painful to leave when every bone in my body is screaming to stay and work on…everything.
