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It'd been a couple of hours since we got back to the hotel room and the disbelief still hadn't worn off. Dad hadn't stopped smiling. Seeing my final score left me stunned with too many feelings to sift through. It was overwhelming in the greatest way. Today was my best meet to date, but it also required the most energy from me. Now my body was settling, and my muscles were crunching up into tight coils.
I couldn't believe I finished in first in prelims on the first day of nationals. On the airplane to the meet, I'd read a few articles that predicted I had a chance of finishing in the top three. The pros expected Sloan to take it because she was that good and finished in first place nine times out of ten. But I took it, while she fell to third.
I glanced at my dad, who was still smiling.
"I'm happy, but this is a really big meet. I still have another day, you know? I don't want to get ahead of myself, so I'm trying to remain calm and collected but prepare for the worst."
Today was surreal, but tomorrow was a new day with new possibilities. I could fall to third, and Sloan could take first. Anything was possible.
Dad's eyes glistened with pride. "My daughter is going to the Olympics." He took a sip from his crystal tumbler and grinned behind it.
I rolled my eyes and a little chuckle escaped me. "Don't get ahead of yourself. I'm not going to the Olympics just yet. There's still tomorrow, and then another competition after this. It really comes down to the committee and whether they think I can handle it or not."
"You're going all the way. I can feel it. Mark my words."
"I'm glad you can."
He tilted his head and a puzzled look crossed his face. "You don’t?"
I glanced over his shoulder at the sheer curtains that hung from the ceiling to the floor in the penthouse suite of his hotel room. They reminded me of my current status: a foggy future that will be hard to wade through.
Anxiety filled my chest and a level of dejection settled in me. My life would forever have some sort of barrier to work through. Learning a new neck-breaking skill at practice didn't seem so terrifying anymore. Tomorrow seemed scary. Next week, next month, a year from now, it seemed impossible.
"I have hope."
"Okay." My dad placed his glass down and leveled a stare at me. "What's on your mind? You hardly ate dinner, and now you have hope? That's not you. Talk to me, sweetheart."
I squeezed my eyes tight, then I opened up about my insecurities.
"Today wore me out, both physically and mentally. I can barely keep my eyes open right now, and tomorrow is going to be even more exhausting. I ache everywhere," I said. "My bones actually hurt. It was hard today, Dad. Really hard. I was running on adrenaline and stubbornness but now I feel like I'm about to crash any second. I'm fighting it, honestly. Monday's practice will leave me crawling. Tuesday will be a fight to get out of bed. Wednesday will make me want to give up. It's been like this for months now and I never knew. I'm wondering when it'll all catch up to me—because it will. I selfishly ignored the signs for so long when I should've addressed them. Now they're stronger than me and pulling me down because I can't stop thinking about them. I pushed myself, which I can keep doing just like I've always done, but I'm worried I'm going to make everything worse and work against myself to the point that if I actually get handpicked for the Olympic team I physically won't be able to make it."
He regarded me with sympathy. Softly, he said, "You mean the kidney disease and lupus? I never would've guessed it's even been on your mind. You hold yourself together so well."
I nodded faintly. One corner of my mouth tugged miserably to the side. Even when I was sleeping it was on my mind because I'd wake thinking about it. I couldn't escape the way it was suffocating me.
"Today made me realize just how big this battle is. I don't want to make myself any sicker," I said quietly. "But I'm terrified I will with the way I keep pushing my body. That's why I don't want to get my hopes up."
"Listen, I've done some research and spoke to a couple of people. While there hasn't been a whole lot of athletes who've gone to the Olympics with an autoimmune disease and kidney disease, there have been a few with one or the other. With the right attitude and team of doctors, it can be done. You have both. You just have to have faith. Think positive and remember it can always be worse. Yes, the signs were there, but anyone would've mistaken them for overtraining. Don't beat yourself up over that. Try not to think about the things that can possibly hold you back, but look forward to this life you have and how lucky you are to have gotten this far when others haven't."
/> I finally looked at him. My emotions steadily climbed behind my eyes as I listened to his encouragement.
"There are so many more struggles now. So many more risks I'm taking that can hold me back. I'm worried I won't get there even if I have the aptitude. Like it's so close, but this fear, this voice in my head telling me it's hopeless and I won't make it because no matter how hard I fight I won't have the strength to keep going. It's so loud and always there. I hate it."
"You're the only one who thinks that way. You do have what it takes, you just can't see it yet because this is still very fresh for you, for us."
Harsh lines creased between my eyes. "What do you mean I'm the only one who thinks that way?"
Dad observed me for a long moment, unblinking. The silence grew thicker, dread curled its way into my stomach, one hefty bag of coal at a time.
No.
He wouldn't.
"Dad," I said, rattled. I sat up straighter. "Dad, you promised—"
He waved his hand through the air. "I just meant you're too deep in your head and reading too many what-ifs online. You put too much pressure on yourself and start thinking the worst. That's all."
"I had to read about the diseases so I could understand them."
