Page 39 of Colliding with Ten

I sighed and launched into my spiel about Denver and the clinic, making my case airtight.

He listened until I finished. “I’ll talk to Doc.”

I grinned after having no pushback. The team doctor, however, was less enthusiastic.

“There’s no rush, and there’s no point in doing this,” Dr. Patel said later the next afternoon, hands folded as he sat back in his chair. “She’s four weeks post–injury. At this stage, we’re looking at another three to five weeks before the brace comes off. By then, she can do light choreography. I wouldn’t recommend escalating care for this.”

AJ nodded, then looked at me. I still wanted this. “Doc. Pull the strings anyway.”

Dr. Patel raised an eyebrow. “AJ⁠—”

“She’s just asking for help.”

Dr. Patel huffed, realizing AJ wasn’t going to let it go. Dr. Patel studied me again. Then he sighed, resigned. “I’ll make a call. But I’m not promising anything.”

That night, I barely slept. The next afternoon, my phone rang.

“You’re in,” the voice on the other end said. It was Dr. Patel’s bored tone. “Three days at the Ronan Movement Institute. A dancer pushed back her intake and opened a window. You’ll need to fly out immediately.”

I squealed, launching myself across the living room, into Micah on the couch, who had come to keep me company in my boredom.

“Oh my God,” I shouted, wrapping my arms around him.

He caught me, laughing. “Whoa, what happened?”

“I’m going to Denver.”

He hugged me. “That’s great.”

“It’s amazing. Life-changing. Knee-saving.”

He grinned down at me. “That’s my girl.”

Something in his tone lingered, but my mind was already in Colorado.

AJ shook his head. “Are you happy?”

I beamed. “I feel incredible. Thank you.”

My brother nodded as Micah set me down, still watching me.

The next morning, I flew to Denver. The clinic looked like a dance studio, with wooden floors, high ceilings, abundant light, and mirrors everywhere. First, they did an assessment. They examined every aspect: gait analysis with camera tracking, joint angles, balance, hip strength, ankle mobility, and core engagement. Ronan observed and asked questions.

“Where do you lose confidence?”

“What does your body want to do instead?”

Day two was for movement. Floor work synced with breathing. Barre work involved shallow pliés with intense attention to knee tracking, rebuilding trust one millimeter at a time. By afternoon, I was sweating more than expected. Moving well was harder than moving fast.

“Neuromuscular retraining,” Ronan explained. “We’re teaching your brain that the joint is safe again.”

On the third and final day, they filmed me dancing. It wasn’t full-out dancing since my knee wasn’t ready; instead, they broke the movements down into parts and observed what my knee did when I wasn’t paying attention—where I guarded and compensated. By the end, I wasn’t at 100 percent but was moving without fear. Afterward, I sat on the floor with my legs out and chest heaving, but I was happy.

I always loved dance. But I grew up on football fields and in training rooms, watching tape with AJ and listening to trainers talk about mechanics and recovery. The science fascinated me nearly as much as the artistry. Sitting on that floor, everything clicked. I found the answer I didn’t know I was searching for.

Before I left, Ronan sat with me in her office. “You did a good job.”

I swallowed. “Where did you study?”