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“Look at my face, Adrianna. Does it look like I am kidding? I do not care if it takes you hours and your hands are bleeding. You will grip that bar the right way,” he emphasized the word with a sneer.
In that moment, I’d come to the conclusion Coach Kova was a closet lunatic. It was the only plausible explanation for his ridiculous training techniques. My hands were about to take a serious beating.
I shook my head in utter disbelief and walked to the chalk bowl. “Am I allowed to use chalk, Coach?” I asked in a heightened voice. He was being such a dick.
When he dipped his chin, I picked up a bottle of honey laying at my feet and squeezed a pile onto my palm, then smashed my hands together to help spread the sticky substance. Honey would create friction and a rough grip on the bars. Since Kova was already under my skin and I was sweating, I applied a hefty amount of powdered chalk next. A sweaty bar could cause me to slip and seeing as I wasn’t allowed to use my grips, I didn’t want to take a chance. I even used a chunky broken piece of chalk and ran it roughly across the back of my knuckles where the honey clumped together and then said a little prayer.
Clenching my jaw, I stood in front of the bar locking eyes with Kova. I stared hard, letting him see my irritation, not giving two fucks whether he liked it or not.
He pointed to me. “That look in your eyes? That is what I want to see. That is the kind of digging deep and pulling from within I was talking about when you first came here,” he added, building a fire within me. “That is what I want to see!” As much as I hated him at the moment, I knew he was right. He was only trying to show me the correct way.
I swung into a kip then used my feet to stand on the low bar, jumping to the high bar. Chalk dust floated in the air, and I closed my eyes for a brief second and held my breath. The amount of chalk I inhaled on a daily basis couldn’t be good for my health.
“Legs together!” he yelled as I did a pike kip and moved into a handstand. They fucking were together!
Of course, I didn’t actually say that.
A free hip circle into a handstand, I took a deep breath and swung down to do a Gienger, a release with a half twist flying over the bar in a slight pike position, my legs bent at my hips so I was in an L position. Coming back to a handstand, I swung again, this time into a blind change right before moving into a straddle back. I grasped the bar harder than I normally did out of fear of falling, the burn began to resonate through my skin with all the twisting and releasing I’d already done. Kind of like when you wore a pair of high heels for the first time and the back of your feet weren’t used to the friction. It was that kind of burn.
The tips of my fingers weren’t used to holding and sliding against the bar this way. I’d have blisters by the end of this ludicrous form of training for sure.
A toe shoot to high bar, to a handstand pirouette. Giant to another pirouette and I reversed my grip. My Jaeger was coming up next, and from the corner of my eye, I saw Coach move to spot me. Even though it was normal for coaches to step in, fear streamed through my belly for a split second because there was always a chance anything could happen. My heart jumped into my throat as I mentally prepared for the fast paced bar release. It was now or never. And as much as I loved doing it, it terrified me each time.
Releasing the bar, it ricocheted loudly as I flipped up and forward into a pike position, the muscles in my hamstrings pulled tight while I reached for the high bar. This move would’ve been easier if I did it in a straddle position, but I liked the challenge of the pike.
You know, to make my life harder than it already was.
At least I’d get a bonus point for added difficulty.
Coming down, I gripped the bar as tight as possible, my palms began to really burn. I clutched it so forcefully the chalk had worn off and I wished for my grips, cursing Kova to hell at the same time. My bare skin rolled and pulled against the bar, but it hadn’t ripped yet. It’d blister first before it actually tore open. The pain was like road rash, your hands grinding down on asphalt as you slid across the ground. All I had left were a few more releases and then the dismount. I was good to go.
Once I landed, I looked back at Coach, unable to stop the smug grin on my face. Bars was all about hitting handstands and perfect lines, and it felt like mine were on point. Surprisingly, the routine was actually really good. I had more control than usual. I did my release moves well and landed my full-in dismount, a full-twisting double back tuck.
My smile faltered after mood-killer Coach looked at me. He stood there stone-faced and expressionless.
“I think I actually perform better without my grips,” I said confidently, and rubbed my hands roughly together, trying to ease the sting.
He shrugged, unimpressed. “We will see how you feel about that after you do it ten, fifteen more times.”
I was stunned into silence.
He pointed with his head. “Back up. And Adrianna?”
I looked up in the middle of coating my hands with more chalk. “Yes?”
“Straighten your knees in your Jaeger. They were slightly bent when you reached for the bar. That is a deduction. You need to extend yourself, elongate your torso, and do not bend your arms.” He stepped to me and pressed my shoulders back, and used his hand as an example to lengthen my torso. “Everything you need is already inside here.” He tapped his temple. “Prove to me you want it.”
Tight lipped, I nodded. I had dug deep, and really did try. I’d worked my ass off to prove myself worthy.
“And point your toes. Flexed feet are ugly.”
I have ugly feet. Got it.
“Your elbows were bent in numerous places, it was sloppy looking. Tighten it up.”
There went my confidence. And here I thought I did well. Nevertheless, I sucked it up and didn’t say a word. Not like I could do or say much else anyway.
“Did you even spot?”
