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Thing was, I might not have liked his dickish ways at first, but now I was used to it and I found that I thrived on it. So the fact that it stopped all of a sudden and I wasn't getting the same treatment I had been concerned me. It made me feel like he'd either gone soft on me, or just didn't give a shit about my career in this sport any longer.
He stayed focused and only spoke to me when we practiced, and when he trained someone else, he never looked in my direction. Usually I could feel his eyes on me, but not anymore. His eyes, though, had lacked the dazzling green I used to know and had come to love. He looked grim most of the week with dark circles under his eyes, but I chalked it up to him being worried about the upcoming meets and how critical they were for all of us.
I wanted so badly to ask him what his deal was, but that would require actually speaking to him alone, and I didn't want to. I didn't want to show him concern or give him the chance for the conversation to go in a different direction. If I did, then I would weaken and cave. I didn't want to do that when I was struggling already to keep it together on the outside.
By late Thursday afternoon it was starting to bother me, especially since I had a meet coming up in less than two days. Madeline wasn't even riding me, and between both of them, my stomach was churning with self-doubt. I was past the point of being stressed out and was now slipping with insecurity. I felt like I wasn't doing enough, but I still refused to speak to him, so instead I pulled out the notebook and asked him one question.
Why are you being soft on me? I don't like it. Push me like you used to.
I slipped the notebook into his desk drawer, not expecting a response that night, but much to my surprise, he had replied before practice ended and left it in my bag. Thank goodness I'd read it at home and not before I got into my truck, because not only did I reread his previous note saying he was eternally sorry, the one he'd written before I’d thrown the book at his head, but his new, stupid response made me tear up.
You do not need it. You have been practicing better than ever before. I am in awe and cannot wait to see you compete this weekend.
As I sat on my bed fighting the urge to text him, my phone vibrated in my hand. I frowned, not recognizing the number and let it go. After listening to the voicemail, I realized it was my doctor calling from a different phone number. It sounded a little urgent so I called back immediately, only to get sent to their voicemail. I'd call her back again tomorrow.
I stared at my phone, debating whether to send Kova a text or not. He wasn't the type to lighten a workload when things were going well. Easy was not in his vocabulary. It was always go, go, go, especially during meet season. For him to write what he had did nothing to ease my worries. The last thing I needed was mind games before a competition, and Kova was king when it came to them. Taking the notebook, I shoved it into my nightstand and slammed the drawer shut.
Against my better judgment and my previous "No Contact" rule, I started to text Kova, but right before I hit send, a raging headache tore through my skull and the pressure in my eye sockets ached from the light in the room. It pierced right through me, and I gasped so hard I started coughing. I threw my phone down on my bed and immediately got up to turn out the lights.
Ten minutes later I was almost writing in agony. The headache was so severe that my entire body felt heavy and sore. I could barely move. I couldn't focus on anything but the searing pain, which only intensified as the seconds passed.
I gave up and called Kova. Not texted. I needed help quickly and I knew he'd have an answer. He better, since I couldn't take Motrin like I wanted to.
He picked up on the second ring. "Adrianna?" His voice was groggy.
"I'm sorry to wake you, Coach, but I need your help."
"What is wrong? Are you okay?"
His tone turned to concern. I heard some shuffling in the background and Katja speaking in Russian.
"Yes, I'm okay, but I need to ask you a question."
"Okay. Hang on." Kova’s voice was muffled for a second as he spoke off to the side, responding to his wife. "What is going on?" he asked.
"I didn't want to call, but I have an excruciating headache that came out of nowhere and my body is aching. Even my joints hurt so bad. I know you said I can't take any anti-inflammatory, but what can I do? I have a cold wet rag on my head but it's not helping. I think I have the flu."
"Why do your joints hurt?"
"I don’t know, they just do."
"That is not normal, Adrianna. You have not done anything extra or out of the ordinary this week. Your body should not ache so badly."
I clenched my eyes shut. "I'm well aware of that. Thanks." I deadpanned. "Can I take Tylenol? What about Excedrin?"
"I would rather you not take any of that. Do you happen to have Epsom salt?"
"I don’t know, let me go look."
"While you are looking, why are you up so late? You should be sleeping. Your body needs the rest."
I walked into my bathroom and squatted down to look under the sink for the bath salts without turning the light on. I shuffled some things around, but it was too dark to read labels.
"I'm tired, but I just can't sleep," I replied.
"But you have to try. You have practice in five hours."
"Yeah, I know."
