PROLOGUE
Beijing Olympics, 2022
Mara May knewthe melting point of gold: 1,948 degrees Fahrenheit.
She knew the atomic mass: 196.96657u.
And the atomic number: 79.
But she didn’t know the weight of an Olympic gold medal around her neck. The heft of one in her palm. She didn’t know how fast it might warm against her skin. Or how different a gold medal might feel versus silver and bronze.
She thought it would feel very different.
Gold.
It was Mara’s sole focus. It was all that mattered.
“Mara May, have you had trouble acclimating to the altitude here in China?” a reporter from ESPN asked her.
“No. I’m fine.”
It was the pre-Olympics press day, but she could hardly focus on the reporters in front of her. She was running the Beijing courses in her head. Thinking through strategies, reviewing thestrengths of her competitors. Testing herself, even as she went through the motions of making nice with the media.
She was usually terrified of press conferences. She hated public speaking. Hated having eyes on her, especially without the safety of her skis. But she was too preoccupied to be nervous.
She should have been focusing on her words and not the hamster wheel in her brain. She had a reputation to uphold. A persona. To overcome her shyness, she put on a façade for the press, and even, to an extent, for her teammates.
Nicey-nice. The good girl. Polite.
But today, her heart wasn’t in it. Her mind kept straying back to gold.
She wanted it. She was going to get it.
“This is a young team. How is the dynamic between the handful of veterans and all the rookies?” another reporter asked. The question was directed at her, but since he hadn’t said her name, she pretended it wasn’t. Eventually, someone else chimed in. Mara didn’t listen to their answer.
Reporters asked questions about the wind in Zhangjiakou. The artificial snow. Covid regulations and precautions.
She let others respond. Or she gave the blandest, shortest responses. She glanced at her teammates. The closest to her was Kirby Bonham.KB, as everyone called her, but Mara had never felt cool enough to use the nickname. Nicknames indicated a degree of familiarity that Mara wasn’t comfortable with.
Regardless, Kirby could answer. She loved to talk.
“Mara May?” said a reporter from the back row.
“Yes, sir?”
She didn’t recognize the reporter’s name once he gave it. None of this mattered. She smiled at him.
Gold.
She should have been resting. Or training.
“Why have you decided not to race in the relay here in Beijing?”
“I’m racing on an injury, so we’re limiting impact where it makes sense to do so.” She’d answered that question already, so it was annoying to answer it again.
Her hip flexor was feeling a tad weak after the Tour de Ski, so the physio had suggested dropping the less important events for the Olympics.
Not that she would ever call the relay aless important event. But they were an inexperienced team, and a medal was incredibly unlikely in the relay. Having extra rest in the middle of the Games was what was best for her. The relay team was not going to make the podium—with or without her—and giving up her spot provided another athlete extra experience with an Olympic start.
