What. A. Dumbass.
Chapter 6
Lexie
Fallhasalwaysbeenmy favorite season.
In Arizona, summer is never anything less than flaming hot. It doesn’t matter how much AC there is in a gym; you always end up fighting for your life at the end of your practice session. When October hits, you can finally begin to breathe without feeling like you’re living in Satan’s armpit, and I don’t know anyone who wouldn’t feel blessed about that. Plus, the weather is usually good, so you don’t have to spend too much time inside. At home, I always dreaded winter time. Having to spend the coldest days inside the house with my older brother, my mother, and her man of the hour felt like sitting on a ticking time bomb, counting down the seconds until I could finally escape the place where making a noise could mean the start of World War Three.
Fall’s also the time when we truly start getting ready for the new competition season, and since I wasn’t able to participate last year, I feel extra thrilled to be here now. Or scared shitless. The feeling changes from one hour to the next.
I’m sitting by the large bay windows in the cabin, which gives me an unobstructed view of an infinity of Christmas trees. Fall has truly set its hooks into Evermore, giving the leafy trees interspersed between the pines an auburn tint, something I never witnessed growing up. It feels so special to see the seasons blur into the next instead of living in constant summer. I think I’ll enjoy this fall even more than I usually do.
This morning’s sight is the only thing brightening my mood, though. I look down at the notebook in my lap, which has been open for half an hour, and still no progress in sight.
I need a plan. A concrete one. What I’m doing right now, aka, practicing stuff left and right without a tight schedule or a clear idea of the direction I want to be headed in, makes no sense. I’m not sure what I was thinking—or actually, I do. I wasn’t thinking at all. I wanted to practice, I wanted to go out there and win competitions, so I got straight to it as if all the hope in my heart and the fire in my chest would lead me there. And while that has helped me regain a couple of my skills in the month since I’ve been here, I’m nowhere near competition ready, and I won’t ever be if I continue down this path.
I don’t need to look online to know what this year’s competition schedule looks like. I’ve been in this rodeo since before I could read a book. Usually, the big competitions making up the elite gymnastics season start around February with the Winter Cup, and the season ends in October with the World Championships. A dozen large events take place during that period, and getting good scores, especially at the World Championships, will allow me to qualify for the Olympic trials. There are also smaller competitions scattered here and there throughout the year, but I haven’t participated in those since I started competing at a higher level. Andy has always made his schedule so that we wouldn’t waste our time with the “small fish,” but this year, I’m not in the same boat. For now,Iam the small fish.
It’s been too long since I’ve competed. The last time, I was this twenty-three-year-old girl who thought she had as much of a chance as any other to win the whole thing. The previous year had been an Olympic year, and I hadn’t beenquitethere yet, but at that point, I was better and ready to kill it until I could make my way to the top. I was older than most of the girls competing that season, but it didn’t matter. My skills were on par. People viewed me and my team as actual adversaries. Most importantly, I felt confident.
And then I fell, and my shoulder and my neck got messed up, and I had to get through rehabilitation, then PT and then I had to start from the ground up, except this time, I had the constant fear of death in the back of my mind every time I had to throw a skill.
Andy’s demeanor toward me changed the minute I came back after my accident. As soon as I started showing signs of nerves, he looked at me like I wasn’t his prized cattle any longer. If I was scared, it meant I wouldn’t be able to win for him, and what was the point in helping me then? I was too old and too stubborn to be worth the trouble. He didn’t seem to have any remorse when he dropped me as easily as letting go of an old rag.
I force my jaw to relax when I realize I’m almost grinding my teeth to shreds and try to loosen my body into the window-side cushions.
Less thinking, more working.
I look back down at my notebook, where I’ve scribbled the names of the competitions I could potentially attend in the next year. I can’t go to all of them, not with my finances. The vast majority of my coaching salary is currently going to my year-old hospital bills, so it’s not like I’ll accumulate much over the year.
As the embers of the fire I lit this morning crackle in the fireplace, I rub one of the sheets of paper between my thumb and index finger and in a low voice, ask myself, “What would Andy do about it?”
As soon as the words are out, the answers come to me. He’d start by saying I need to attend at least half a dozen of those events to get used to the feel of competitions again, to the chaos of sounds and flashes and people everywhere. He’d want me to start rebuilding a reputation for myself in order to get some of my old sponsors back. I’m sure he’d also say to go to at least one event before the official elite competition season starts in February so I can assess the competition and readjust my strategy and routines based on what I see, before the big events begin.
So that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
I get up and pad to the kitchen table, where I’ve left my antique of a computer. It makes the sound of a plane engine about to take off when I turn it on, but it still works for the moment, so I’ll take it. In a few minutes, I find a competition that takes place in Mississauga a little less than two months from now, which will be the perfect test before New York in February. I sign up, pay the fee, then get back to my spot by the window, where I go take a look at my social media. I’ve been MIA ever since I made a post almost a year ago, explaining my injury and my need for a time-out. The post shows no picture, only a dark block of text. I scroll through the comments, most of which I never read. At the time, when I didn’t know whether my dream would ever be a possibility again, the last thing I wanted was to receive people’s pity. I felt like I’d lost the only thing I’d ever had for myself, and people’s kind words were only going to remind me of it.
Going through some of them now, seeing old teammates and gymnastics fans wishing me well and asking when I’d be back, my stomach fills with a mix of warmth and dread. All these people I barely know who were showing support, while my own family never once asked me if I was okay. Mom was angry I’d had to quit my part-time coaching job so I could focus on my recovery, which meant less money for rent, and I don’t think Kyle even noticed something was different. Thank god Josie was there during that whole year. I don’t know how I would have survived it without her.
I go back to my main page, where I see I’ve lost many followers, as expected. But now I need the sponsors more than ever. My credit line is already maxed out, and competitions, coupled with the necessary travel and apparel, are expensive.
I’m not someone who likes to share on social media. People can be nasty in the comments, and if it were up to me, I’d keep all of my life private. Unfortunately, my privacy ends today.
Selecting a photo I took of the empty gym last night, I post it, with a simple caption:
Let’s do this.
Once I finally felt like my plan for the next months was solid, I got ready for my run, expecting to do a simple four miles through the trees, hoping not to get lost.
What I did not expect was to see someone sitting on the front porch stairs when I opened the front door.
“You’re just everywhere, aren’t you?” I say, making Finn turn around and get to his feet.
“A real roach,” he says.
A corner of my lips begs to inch up, but I force it down. “What are you doing here?” As the question leaves my mouth, I notice what he’s wearing. Basketball shorts, a sweatshirt, and a beanie. He looks like he’s getting ready for training.
