traveled across the country. I’d all but depleted my bank account so I could train in Seattle. I was here to focus on gymnastics, to perfect my routines for Rio, and Erik was nothing but a distraction. He liked to rile me up, to pull my attention away from what was important, but I wouldn’t let him. I had a few weeks left before the Olympics and if I wanted to win gold, there was no room for Erik’s games.
In the gym that day, I tried to put my thoughts into action, but I was off all day. I stumbled on easy skills, losing balance over the simplest of moves. During my beam rotation, I didn’t land a single standing full and my ankle was hating me for it. My focus was nowhere near the gym, and Erik knew it.
“Brie, that’s the fourth Deltchev you’ve eaten shit on,” he said as I pushed myself up off the mat and tried to catch my breath.
We were working on uneven bars and it was going just as pitifully as my beam rotation had gone before it.
“You’re better than that,” he continued with an angry tone.
Like he needed to tell me. Like he needed to point it out in front of everyone. I was the one who’d missed the high bar and fallen flat on my face. I was the one whose air had been knocked from my chest. I was the one whose shoulders ached and whose hands were torn up and bloody beneath my grips. I was the one who had to compete in three weeks.
Fuck!
“You’re wimping out at the last second,” he continued with a dark tone as I got to my feet and brushed past him. “Trust your body and go for it!”
“I am!” I shouted back so loudly I felt the vibration in my chest.
The gym went silent.
Molly cleared her throat and Lexi tried her best to hide a snicker.
Erik jerked around to face me with enough fury in his eyes that I nearly cowered. My knees wobbled and I knew on another day, I could have collapsed down, gripped my hands together, and begged for his forgiveness. Instead, I held my ground and tilted my chin an inch higher. Couldn’t he see I was trying? Couldn’t he see I was having an off day? It wasn’t my fault.
“Excuse me?” he asked, his jaw tightened with anger.
I ripped my grips off my hands and winced at the pain of the rips opening up along the tops of my palms.
I glared at him, too riled up to back down. “I said, I am trusting my body. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
If I’d toed the line with disrespect with the first comment, my second comment had blazed past it. Even Lexi didn’t laugh then, too focused on whether or not Erik would kill me.
He stepped closer, bending low to level me with a dark gaze. “Thin ice, Watson.”
I clenched my jaw and tilted my chin, showing him how little he intimidated me. Sure, my entire body was shaking like a live wire, but I prayed he didn’t notice.
“Get back up on the bars.”
My hands stung; I knew a few of the rips were bleeding. I needed Neosporin and ice. He knew I was at my limit and he didn’t care. He wanted me to look down, avert my eyes, and offer up a submissive yes sir. I would have eaten my own tongue before I gave into him then, but if he wanted another routine, I’d give him another routine.
I put my grips back on and chalked them while my team stood off to the side, watching our exchange with wide eyes.
There were certain elements an Olympic uneven bar routine had to consist of: a transition from the high bar to the low bar, a release move, the dismount, etc. The entire routine needed to flow from one movement to the next without any pauses or extra swings. Exact handstand positions were expected and large deductions were given for even minor deviations. Bent knees, piked hips, even a slight gap between my feet and I could kiss my chance of winning gold goodbye.
The routine I planned to compete in Rio was the hardest routine I’d seen in competition. It was packed with difficult transitions and release moves, and if I could compete it with a clean finish, there was no question I would outstrip every other gymnast there.
That day in the gym after Erik chewed my head off,