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Of course I did.
“Hit your handstands in your cast.”
I swallowed back the climbing tears.
“You need to hold that handstand perfectly straight before swinging down in the overshoot. I have some drills you can do to get those lines. You want to test elite...” he muttered to himself before switching over to Russian.
I fucking hated the sight of Coach Kova right now.
WITH CHALK COVERING my thighs and hands, I performed my routine more than a dozen times before practicing the skills individually.
I asked for my grips—only for Kova to deny me. My eyes widened and my jaw dropped when he said no. I couldn’t believe he wouldn’t let me use them. He was beyond delusional. Surely he realized inflicting this kind of torture on my hands would render them useless tomorrow.
Unless he just didn’t care and expected me to train just as much.
Dear God, I prayed he wouldn’t.
I moved onto my dismount with Coach spotting to give me a tad bit more height.
“Tighten up.”
“Wrong!”
“Do it again.”
“No, no, no, stop doing that.”
“Just go for it! What are you waiting for?”
And when he was really fired up, he spat in Russian.
There was always something for him to gripe about. Kova was hardly satisfied, but today he acted like he was the one who slammed his shins on the bars. I was pretty sure there’d be a handful of black and blues blooming beneath my skin by morning. His entire focus had been on me at one point, perfecting my every move. He’d shown me numerous ways to correct my positions, his hands lingering a little longer each time, which I couldn’t help but notice. He had the rest of the team do conditioning in between working with Madeline. While I appreciated his keen eye and wouldn’t change a thing since he was making me better, in this moment, I despised it.
My hands hurt to make a fist. My skin was searing hot and tight, and I knew if I did any more practicing there was a good chance they’d bleed next.
When you held onto a bar for dear life, like I did, the skin on your palms bunched up and created either a blister or a pocket of blood. Of course I didn’t get lucky with just a blister. And now little red bubbles of blood were ready to pop any minute.
Bloody bars were just nasty.
“Take a five minute break and get some water. We will start again.”
Coach turned to walk away before I could say anything.
“He’s really doing a number on you.” Hayden appeared by my side.
“Tell me about it. He’s refusing to let me wear grips since I apparently hold the bar incorrectly.”
I turned my hands over and Hayden inhaled a sharp breath. “Is that all from today?”
“No, my wrists are usually beaten up pretty badly, but the blisters are new.” There was never a time when a gymnast didn’t have some type of rough or beaten palms.
“Do you have any Prep H with you?”
I looked at him in confusion. “Prep H? Like the stuff for hemorrhoids?”
“Yeah, it’s supposed to help with rips. It will help reduce swelling and numb the rip.”
I smiled shyly. “I’ve never heard of that.”
