Page 30 of Dickathlon

After Nationals.

“After Nationals?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

I talked to him for a few more minutes, promising to turn my phone on and start pretending to be a human being again. I yelled at Pierce that his phone was now available.

“You gonna turn yours on now?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“Oh, what’s that? You want me to call her, so she can stay with you instead? Wash your balls for you?”

I rolled my eyes and picked my phone off the floor where I had tossed it however long ago. I was surprised it still held a charge.

“Need me to plug it in for you?”

“If you wouldn’t mind, Pierce. Thanks.”

“You need anything else?”

I shook my head, trying to prepare for the onslaught of notifications.

Hours later, I had deleted all the voicemails, and responded to most of the texts with the same reply.

Tyler: Thanks for thinking of me. Pierce is doing his best to take care of me. Looking forward to the sling coming off and my progression in rehab.

It sounded like a press release, but at this point, it was all automatic.

I only made one phone call. To Woodward.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise that I cried a lot during our conversation. I hadn’t even done that in front of Pierce. I had missed him though. As close as I was with my family, he felt like a second father. I could tell he knew exactly what I was going through. You weren’t involved in gymnastics as long as he had been - first as an athlete and then as a coach - without dealing with life-changing injuries.

I shared my frustration with the lack of progress and my worry about the recovery process. The very real fear that I wouldn’t be able to be a gymnast ever again. Even a recreational one, for fuck’s sake.

He said possibly the best thing anyone could have said to me at that moment. “Even if you don’t feel strong enough to hold onto hope for yourself today, you should know that - tomorrow, the next day, the day after that and beyond - there are people holding that hope for you. And when the time comes, they’re willing to give it back to you when you’re ready to let them.”

“Jesus, Coach.” I wiped my eyes with my pillowcase. “You’re killing me.”

“As long as I’m making sense, kid.”

“You are.”

“I know you’re struggling, but it won’t be like this forever. In fact, I want you to think about something.”

“Okay.”

“Keep in mind, I don’t know where you’ve landed on making a return to gymnastics, but this offer stands no matter what you decide. If you don't return, whether it’s your choice or your body’s, I want you to know there’s a place for you on the men’s team coaching staff.”

“Wow, Coach. I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything now. You’ve always had the best attitude, and I know you’d be a great mentor to the younger guys.”

“That means a lot, Coach. I’ll think about it.”

I did think a lot about it. Until I fell asleep thinking about it. But not before I set my alarm.

“Morning, bro.”