Three routines. Three falls.
Three fewer scores at the top of the standings for me to try and pass?
Not that I want to dance on anyone’s grave or anything, but I guess I’ll take it.
The universe begins to right itself, though, as Natalia Cristea, one of Romania’s best on beam, tumbles and leaps her way to a clean routine.
It feels like the air is back in the arena, and we can all breathe again when her score, a huge 15.0, pops up on the board.
Well, then, that’s the mark to beat.
I stand up and stretch my neck in one direction and then the other. Time to get this done.
Sun Luli is up now, and I’m right after her. I raise my arms over my head, making sure to keep my blood moving.
She hasn’t had the best Olympics. She came in with super-high expectations, but she finished fifth in the all-around and fourth on vault. Maybe I shouldn’t be too pissed at the Silver Girl thing. I know what it’s like to finish fourth, and I imagine fifth isn’t exactly fantastic either.
I want her to hit her routine. I want her to medal. I look to my left. Irina Kareva is preparing for her routine—she’ll go last. To my right, Ana-Maria Popescu is waiting too. She’ll go right after me, and I want them to medal too. We’ve all earned it. We all deserve it. Every girl here has the talent and has put in the time and the effort for this.
That doesn’t mean I still don’t want it for myself, though.
I want this more than anything.
Sun Luli nails her routine. I applaud and offer her a fist bump as she passes me, coming down from the podium while I go up.
Okay, this is it.
My last chance.
Whether I hit this routine or not, it’s over, no matter what.
Might as well make it a good one.
Janet sets up the springboard for me as we all wait for Sun Luli’s score.
“You’ve got this, Audrey,” she says.
“I do.”
My eye catches the scoreboard as the score appears. A 15.2. That’s not just good. That’s fantastic.
Breathing in then out, I wait for the green light from the judge.
I can be fantastic too.
On the green light, I salute before I turn to face the beam one last time.
Then I go, a roundoff, back handspring into a layout step-out and then straight into two more, layout step-out, layout step-out, and I rise up standing tall without a flicker, lifting my chin again to show how in control I am of that combination.
I fulfill a few requirements, connecting a leap with another, and then it’s the real test—my turn sequence. I release a breath again and spin, one-two-three, a triple turn into an L-turn, leg up and one rotation around and down into a full illusion, my leg kicking up and over as I rotate in one spin and set. Another lift of my chin, and this time I let myself smile. That was perfect.
I step lightly to the end of the beam. Halfway there. I’m so close, but I push that thought aside, pointing my toe out in front of me, setting up for the last major connection of my last routine. An aerial cartwheel—no hands—straight into a split leap, switching my legs in the split as I fly through the air and land softly before kicking out a leg and flipping backward into a gainer, down to straddle the beam. I lift my chin again, and the smile is wider before I sit back and spin, kicking my legs out and around and hearing the crowd whoop in reaction. I press my hands into the beam and lift my body up into a handstand before standing tall to set up for my dismount.
My final dismount.
The last skill I will ever do.
No, Audrey, don’t think. Just breathe and go.
