As we line up to march in, Chelsea walks past us, gold medal still hanging around her neck, a bouquet of Japanese apple blossoms clutched in her hands, and tear tracks over her cheeks.
There’s no time for congratulations, but she turns to us and says, “You got this, girls!”
“And now, the uneven bars finalists!” the announcer calls to the arena, and the thundersticks start up again as the lights go dim and a spotlight follows us out onto the competition floor.
We head straight for the uneven bars podium, and when my name is announced, the roar in return is way louder than I expected. I guess I’ve made an impression on them.
The Klaxon sounds, and we move down the stairs, leaving Michiko Nakamura, the eighth-place qualifier, up on the podium to perform her routine.
I’m up last, and I’ll know exactly what I need to win this thing, but I already have an Olympic medal, and it’s one I never thought was within my reach. Anything beyond that is gravy.
Oh, who the hell am I kidding?
I want this gold medal. This was the gold medal I came to the Olympics for, back when I didn’t think I’d make the team, back when an all-around medal would have been a laughable, insane pipe dream. I came to Tokyo for this bars gold, and I want it. I want it more than anything I’ve ever wanted in gymnastics. I am the best bars worker in the world, and it’s time to prove it.
Emma’s beside me as we sit down in chairs lining the competition floor, Janet directly in front of us, watching the routines. I let my gaze wander over the crowd and make eye contact with Dani, who is just a couple of rows up to my right. She sends me two thumbs-ups and mouths,You got this!
I smile back and then, with a deep breath, try to relax as much as possible, keeping my eyes trained toward the bars but not really taking in the routines being performed.
I make an exception for Emma’s. It’s the first bit of competitive gymnastics she’s done since she fell off beam in team finals.
“C’mon, Em,” I call out as she salutes and stares at the bars. Then, with a deep breath, she goes.
I hold my breath for the entire forty-four seconds of her routine, and it’s flawless, exactly the way she’s been training all along. She releases into her double layout, body arched, and lands upright, feet unmoving. That’s it. The last routine of her Olympics, but it was damn good.
As she comes off the podium, the tears in her eyes have already started to fall, and I wish there were time to do more than hug her quickly and fiercely, but there isn’t.
It’s my turn. I haven’t even glanced at the scores. Who cares what everyone else did? If I do my best routine, if it I hit, I’ll be an Olympic gold medalist.
The judges give me the green light, and I salute and begin. A swing on the low bar to get started before I’m up into a handstand, holding and then folding myself down and around the bar with my legs extended out, toes pointed to perfection, and then I’m flying backward up to the high bar and twisting halfway to catch it cleanly. Another handstand, held to show control, before I swing down and release, turning and catching again. Then up into another handstand, a pirouette and down, letting go, twisting one, two, three times, and stick.
That’s it.
It was perfect.
I salute and send a practiced smile at the judges before leaping down from the podium to wait for my score. My name is going to slide into the top of the standings like Dani’s did yesterday and Chelsea’s did less than an hour ago.
And then it doesn’t.
1.Emma Sadowsky (USA)
15.4
