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"I know. Madeline already told me," I said dryly, fixing my leotard. It had pulled up on one side, giving me a wedgie. Hated when that happened. I walked past him as if he was a stranger.
It had been an hour since he tried to send me home, and I was still fuming.
"So lock your ankles together instead of trying to glue your thighs," he suggested behind me as I readjusted my ponytail and tucked in the flyaways. "Sometimes stronger quads make it hard for the legs to stay closed."
I gave him a thumbs up and kept walking.
I stopped in front of Madeline who looked at Kova behind me in question. My stomach churned. I prayed to the heavens above that I kept my face neutral as she glanced back and forth between us. I didn't need to look over my shoulder to know that Kova was cool as a cucumber himself.
"So the good thing about your leg separation"—Madeline returned her attention to me—"is that I know you're squeezing your butt really hard to keep everything tight. That shows you're trying, but now let's get those legs glued together. Try your vault again and focus on trying to glue your ankles together, like Coach Kova suggested."
I nodded with a firm mouth and walked back to the end of the vault runway and stood behind the line. Taking a deep breath, I mentally prepared myself by visualizing the Amanar, a two and a half twisting Yurchenko, with closed ankles. The hardest vault for women to execute.
I breathed out a strenuous breath and whispered to myself, "I got this." I visualized what I needed to do.
Looking directly at the vault, I sprinted toward it, gaining speed with every pump of my legs. Just a few feet away, I hurdled into a round off, punched the springboard with both my feet and arched into a back-handspring. I made sure my block was strong with a pop of my shoulders off the vault to gain as much height as I could, an absolute must for this skill. Sometimes in flight, or really with any skill, it was difficult to tell if a gymnast made a mistake.
As I landed, exhaustion struck me with the weight of fifty bricks. A massive huff escaped my chest. My eyes rolled shut and everything turned dark for a split moment.
I glanced at Madeline for approval, completely ignoring Kova's searing gaze. I pretended like I didn't notice him.
"Better, but you had a slight leg bend. If we can just tighten it up and control it, I have a gut feeling you are going to turn heads with your vault, Adrianna. The height you get is unbelievable."
A massive smile spread across my face. Coach Madeline's words gave me hope, something Kova loved to crush.
As if my smile could get any bigger, my cheeks burned when she said, "I love the improvement I'm seeing with you. Really great work." Madeline's enthusiasm was contagious. My belly fluttered with excitement and hope, erasing the tiredness.
After another hour of working on vault, I was feeling the effects of Madeline's coaching. My shoulders ached from arching back and popping off the table, and my stomach was tighter than a fishing knot. I had done so many practice vaults I'd lost count, but strange enough, I wasn't ready to go home. I was more pumped than ever.
Madeline was strict and tough, but with a feminine touch. She knew how to push without breaking down a gymnast. Many coaches trained with an iron fist. I had no issue with that mentality. I got it, and I understood why they did it, it worked in my advantage. It took a strong mind to ignore the harsh comments and push past them. But some days it was a nice change to have someone like Madeline coach you.
Most of the time I welcomed the change with Madeline, but I preferred Kova's training any day. Not because of what occurred between us, it had absolutely nothing to do with that. Kova could crush me in seconds, but he pushed me harder than anyone else ever had. And I loved it more than words could ever express.
A hard practice produced confidence.
Confidence could move mountains.
Adrianna Rossi. An emotional sadist at its finest.
"Come. I have some drills I think will benefit you I want to work on before you leave." Madeline’s voice broke into my thoughts.
I followed her to the tumble tramp, climbed up, and stood feet together in the middle. There was a landing mat at the end with a massively tall rectangular blue mat made up of vinyl and nylon mesh fabric.
I loved this trampoline for the simple fact that I could practice tumbling passes until I was blue in the face without putting stress on my body. It reduced injury from multiple repetitions. At the elite level, that's all we did—repetitions.
"Let's do some handstand hops. I want you to be aware of your wrist extensions so when you push through, you don't put all the weight on your shoulders. You need to extend your wrist as much as possible when you pop up."
I nodded and moved into position. I'd never done this drill on a trampoline, only on floor, so I knew exactly what she meant. My palms touched the black spring mesh bound together by bungee cords on each side. I popped off my hands into another handstand without touching the floor, and came loose. My hips dropped to the right and my knees bent, pulling into my stomach. I caught myself and stood up.
Madeline looked up at me. "You weren't tight, but you got the power. Keep your chest in." She hollowed her chest to form a curve with her upper body and tapped it. "I don't want to see your ass, roll them hips under and open, girl. Hip flexors flat, so you're constantly working on keeping them flat and open. Closed hips show you're a frightened amateur, opened hips show you're in control and fearless."
My coach was one hundred percent correct. This time when I did the handstand hop, I did it correctly.
"Good. Now let's do a few passes of those up and down, say about"—she squinted her eyes like she was thinking about it—"thirty?"
Thirty was not a few passes, but I wasn't going to argue with her. If I could do them on the floor, then sixty rows total up and down thirty feet of narrow trampoline would be a piece of cake.
By the time I finished, my wrists were a bit tender. They cracked a few times mid-hop that produced a wince from me, but overall, I felt great.
