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"Ready? Psshh. I was made for this," I replied and produced the biggest, fakest smile I could from ear to ear. Madeline laughed, her eyes twinkled, and I followed her out of my hotel room with one thought.
Okay. Two.
Sometimes pretending to be something I wasn't took more energy than what it took to be real.
My second thought was that I was going to release everything in me and dominate this meet. I wasn't lying when I said I was made for this. I was.
It was unfortunate how aware I was that I was slowly killing myself. An insidious circle of self-destruction that I couldn't stop because I was obsessed with gymnastics.
Okay. That was three thoughts.
&
nbsp; The next day I was on a plane headed back to Florida with four medals again. All gold.
The following Monday I woke with the fear that I wasn't sure how I would make it through the week in one piece. I was feeling so rundown and bone tired. The pressure and stress to qualify for the national team was already weighing heavily on me, but now I wanted to remain at the top of the sport like I had been, and that brought a new burden of anxiety.
It was startling how weak I felt. Almost like I was anemic. Maybe I had the flu and I didn’t know it. Pulling up to a red light, I called my doctor and made an appointment. Naturally they had to remind me they'd called numerous times and their messages went unanswered. I apologized, because they had been calling. I'd had too much on my mind and not enough time to spare, but after this past weekend, and waking up this morning, I knew something wasn't right. I could feel it. I was about to turn seventeen. I shouldn’t feel this ragged.
On the way to World Cup, I got stuck at the draw bridge. I took a long sip of my Emergen-C concoction—two green tea bags, two Emergen-C packets, and honey. I'd read online this nasty tasting drink was a miracle cure. While waiting for the boats to go through, I put my truck in park and pulled up the Internet on my cell phone and typed in my symptoms.
Severe exhaustion. Bone pain. Body aches. Headaches. Fever. Hair loss. I wouldn't really consider hair loss, but I had noticed more and more on my floors lately.
I pressed enter, and immediately regretted it.
Anemia. Thyroid cancer. Tick bite. Lyme disease. Mono. Hay fever. Low blood sugar. Acute stress disorder. Depression. Dementia from a head injury.
The last three were way off. I wasn't depressed or stressed. Okay, a little stressed and slightly depressed, but who wasn't? The world survived on antidepressants. Maybe a little demented for putting my body through what I have, but the rest were out in left field. The only thing that was a possibility was mono, but that didn't even make sense. Kova would be just as bad off as me. So would Hayden, and they seemed fine.
Annoyed, I clicked out of my phone and dropped it into the cup holder. I watched the draw bridge slowly go down, thinking I might as well add elbow cancer to the list. Looking up symptoms was a terrible idea and got me nowhere. I mean, a tick bite? Really?
Shifting into drive, I turned up the music and made the short drive to the gym. I needed to block out my hypochondriac thoughts and focus on gymnastics, not self-diagnose myself and spiral into a dark hole worrying I had every single illness under the hot Florida sun.
Once inside, I settled into warming up, reaching for my toes, feeling my muscles stretch and pull tight in my hamstrings. I shot a glance at Kova and studied him, his face, his eyes, his movements. While he did look a little pale and drawn, and his eyes weren't as bright as they usually were. He didn't appear to be stiff or worn down like I was. He lifted big safety mats up and moved them across the room as if he were carrying bags of groceries into the house. He spoke to Madeline. Jotted stuff down in his notebook. Took a call on his cell phone. There was clearly nothing wrong with him. He must've felt my eyes on him because he shot me a look and I foolishly averted my gaze just as fast as his eyes landed on me.
Shit. I'd been caught staring.
I cringed inwardly and moved into another position. Just as I was about to look up, I felt him behind me. His presence wrapped around my senses, and holy hell he smelled so good. His cologne was fresh and potent in the mornings.
"Lay back. Hands on the floor," he ordered, kneeling next to me. I did, and he brought both of my knees up then crossed one in front of the other. Grabbing my ankle, he pulled my foot toward me and pressed on my knee with his elbow. He was stretching out my hips.
"What is on your mind?" he asked, looking ahead. I followed his gaze and watched the boys’ team. Hayden glanced at us.
"Nothing, why?"
"Because you were looking at me."
Damn it. I knew he’d caught me. "So. I can't look at you? You're my coach. I was wondering where you were and if I was going to get caught skimping on conditioning and warm-ups."
He ignored that and kept his gaze ahead. "You never look at me anymore, Adrianna. Never. And you were just watching me like a hawk. Do you have something you want to say to me? Something on your mind?"
"Nope. I'm good."
"You sure?"
"Yup."
Kova moved on to my other leg. I did want to ask him how he was feeling, to see if he felt sick the way I did, but I couldn't bring myself to. I didn't want to breach the wall I had put between us and allow him to walk into my life again. I also didn't want to let him know I wasn't feeling well.
