“It’s fine,” Emma says as we grab some water. Easy for her to say; she hit her routine.
“Okay, everyone, meet on the floor,” Janet calls out, moving toward the floor herself. We line up in front of her, all six of us at attention. She snorts. “At ease, ladies,” she says, sticky sarcasm dripping from each word. “This morning’s session was successful. From what I’ve seen, you’re all extremely well prepared physically, but my concern is about your mental and emotional well-being. What I’d like now is for you all to spend the remainder of the day in meditation and visualization.”
“What?” Sierra and I say at the same time and simultaneously cringe at our lack of self-control.
“You heard me. Meditation and routine visualization for at least an hour. Put some music on if you need to, but I want you all resting your bodies and working your minds. Picture the Olympic arena and imagine yourself becoming comfortable with it as an environment. Make it a safe place for you mentally, and once you’re there physically, you’ll be fine.”
“But you said you’d train us.” I look to the other girls for support, but there’s none to be found. Emma’s eyes are wide, and she shakes her head once, obviously trying to get me to stop. “This isn’t training.”
Janet smirks. “Yes, it is.”
No, it’s not. It’s an entire afternoon wasted lying on the carpeted floor, feeling the springs beneath me but not being able to use them to do any gymnastics. This is probably why Janet doesn’t have any elites in her gym. She’s a coach, yes, but she’s clearly a sports psychologist first, and while I’m all about prioritizing mental health, this is just ridiculous.
It’s not like visualization isn’t a valuable tool. I’ve been visualizing my routines since before I turned elite, but that was inadditionto training, not in place of it.
My last real work session was the day before we came to California, and that was more than two days ago now. You don’t just take off two days in a row in the lead-up to the Olympic Games. And it’s not just that. My body is wired and craving activity. I’d go for a run, but we’re under strict orders not to do anything physical now that practice is over, and while my need to train is strong, my well-developed instinct for obeying someone with the titleCoachin front of their name is even more ingrained.
We trained for two hours. Two hours. Warm-up, two events, and then a lecture on improving our mental game, which definitely put me in the perfect mood for an afternoon of reflection and meditation.
I do dozens of circuits in my head with my noise-canceling headphones, blocking out everything around me, but there are only so many times I can imagine my routines before my brain shorts out. I know what it’s all supposed to look like. I have to do it.
Someone nudges me with their foot. I open my eyes. It’s Emma. I can’t hear what she’s saying through the music blaring in my ears, but it’s easy enough to lip-read “Let’s go.”
She’s been visualizing too, but her foot is bouncing up and down in agitation. She’s as restless as I am. I sit up and narrow my eyes at the empty gym.
I shift my headphones off my ears. “Where did everyone go?”
“Lunch. Janet saw how in the zone you were and didn’t want to disturb you. She told me to set my timer for another twenty minutes. Time’s up and I’m starving—come on.”
Jumping to my feet, I glance around to make sure we’re alone. There’s no one else in the gym, so I take a jogging start and do a quick roundoff, back handspring into a double back, sticking it cold and saluting. It’s a dumb way to rebel, but it’s something.
“Good thing Janet didn’t see you.”
“Yeah, because it makes sense that our gymnastics coach wouldn’t want us to do gymnastics.”
“At least we have a coach.”
Maybe it’s easier for her, to just listen to what our new coach says and do it without question. She listened to Pauline, and now she’s the favorite to win the all-around. I listened to Pauline and …What, Audrey? You made the Olympic team? Poor you. Don’t be ungrateful for that, even if the rest of it is fucked up.
“She’s not coaching, she’s psychoanalyzing.”
Emma laughs. “Well, we probably need more of that anyway. C’mon, let’s go.”
The gym isn’t far from the house—only a few blocks away. The walk back is nice and refreshing with a soft breeze coming off the ocean. I bet it would be even more refreshing if we were hot and sweaty from training. The air would feel incredible against overheated skin and sweat-soaked hair.
As soon as we walk through the door, my mouth waters. Someone is grilling steak, I think, or maybe fajitas? I think I smell peppers and onions cooking too.
“What?” I manage to stutter out when Chelsea walks down the stairs.
“Right?” she says, grinning widely. “Leo brought steak. Beats plain chicken and steamed vegetables, right?”
Two sides of me instantly go to battle at the idea. The food smells amazing, but this wasn’t a good day. It wasn’t even an okay day. It was a shitty day, and steak isn’t going to make it better. Plus, if we aren’t going to be doing two-a-day training sessions, then I have to be super careful what I eat. The NGC had a nutritionist that took care of our meal planning before major meets, and while chicken and fish were constant staples, steak definitely wasn’t ever on the menu.
Emma and I follow Chelsea out onto the patio, where Dani is setting the table. Leo is at the grill, an apron tied around his neck and waist.
“If that thing says ‘Kiss the Cook,’ I’m taking a picture and never letting you live it down,” I say.
He turns toward me for a moment and opens his mouth to respond, but instead he just shakes his head and sends me a tight smile.
