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Mounting the low bar with a standard glide kip—body extended forward, hips flat—I quickly moved my legs to a pike position and my toes to the bar until my hips swung back. I dragged the bar to my shins and thighs and pulled up so my arms braced snuggly at my sides where I swiftly stood. Looking up, I reached for the high bar and completed another kip, casted to handstand, and tightened my body before circling down to complete two full three hundred and sixty degree rotations. Just as my feet passed the low bar, I tapped my toes, kicking them up hard to gain as much momentum as I could and released, performing two back flips with a straight body onto the soft landing mat.
"That was shit. Your legs separated, your hips were closed, and you did not have enough amplitude in flight, which resulted in your chest being low. Again."
I mounted again, and when I reached the high bar, I took a deep breath and swung down.
"Chest… Chest… Hollow out."
He said each word with each swing. I landed and it was better, though nothing to phone home about.
"Again. We need more of a scoop in your back swing. Once you are vertical, you can hyperextend your chest in the forward swing." He explained, using his hand, then he looked at Reagan as I chalked up again. I watched his face as he watched her, proud and pleased at her level of skill and execution.
Back up on bar, I did exactly as he instructed.
"Pay attention to your form. Your flyaway will look more beautiful and, more importantly, it will prevent injury. I know the urge to arch your back is there but resist it."
The urge was there. Just like the urge was there to whip my hips too, to stick my head out, to add another giant. There were so many things I wanted to do that I felt would help me, but in reality they would only set me back or give me deductions. Form was everything, but so was listening to my coach. All I had to do was listen to him the first time and it would all work out.
I nodded, feeling a tad more confident. Doing a double layout was nothing new to me—I'd done it before, I just didn't practice it often enough to incorporate it into my routine just yet, let alone adding a full twist.
Using his hand, Kova bent his fingers to represent my body. "Tap at about forty-five degrees horizontal and release. Toes pointed toward the ceiling when you release." His hand represented a partially opened L as he looked into my eyes and gave me instructions.
I nodded.
"You are not releasing after your tap. Do you want me to spot you?"
Though he had an eagle eye, it still blew my mind he could see that because I couldn't even feel that I didn't tap hard enough. Of course, I didn't want him to spot me, I wanted to prove I could do it on my own, but I also didn't like the idea of releasing so soon.
"Yes."
"Do you want to do it in the foam pit?"
"No, I can do it here."
By the gleam in his eyes, it was the answer he wanted, and deep down that made me feel good.
Kova moved to stand closer to me and it made me jump. "Relax for me," he whispered, and he placed one palm on my chest and the other on my upper back between my shoulder blades so they were parallel to each other. My hand brushed his thigh and I quickly moved it out of the way, lacing my fingers in front of me.
"Raise your arms." I put them above my head next to my ears. Kova pushed my back forward just slightly so my chest stuck out. "You will hyperextend your body in the forward swing so you are open"—he pushed my chest in and snapped it back—"and you will hollow out like this when you tap and release. Got it? Legs glued together, toes pointed, and lock your knees."
"Got it."
"It is very important to do as I say, otherwise you could land too short and risk an injury to your ankle or knee. That is the last thing we need after coming so far."
I nodded. Guilt hovered over me like a black cloud. If he only knew the kind of pain in my ankle I dealt with at night when I was home.
"I know."
"Spot the ground and land with your knees slightly bent, straighten them out, raise your arms, then salute."
"Got it."
I dropped my arms and Kova walked back toward the high bar where he stood with his legs open and ready for quick measure.
I dusted my hands with more chalk and processed what he said. Right before I mounted the low bar, I glanced up from the heavy weight of Kova's stare and met his eyes while picturing the skill in my head.
It was like he knew what I was thinking, because he comforted me by saying, "I will be right here spotting you."
My bottom lip rolled between my teeth and I nodded. Within a few seconds, because that's all it really took to get to the high bar, I sucked in a breath and cast to a handstand, listening exactly to what my coach said no matter how scared it made me. If my grip slipped and Kova missed catching me, which I highly doubted he'd let happen, at least I'd hit the soft-landing mat and it wouldn't be bad. As long as I didn't land on my neck. Trying a new skill the first couple of times was always nerve-wracking. I feared I'd miss the bar, or I wouldn't get enough height and hit the bar coming down, or that I'd panic midway and do something crazy. But having Kova standing there placed a level of security and encouragement I needed.
