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Quietly, we made our way down a chilly, narrow hallway and through a set of double doors. The material of our uniforms swish-swashed as we reached a room with a sign taped to the door that read coaches and athletes only. Ushered inside, we took a seat on the floor and crisscrossed our legs while all of our coaches talked softly amongst themselves. Leaning back on my hands, I glanced over my shoulder and eyed Kova. He seemed to know I was looking for him and glanced at me from the corner of his eye. We exchanged a brief look. He was leaning one shoulder against the wall with his arms crossed in front of his chest as he spoke to another male coach that looked roughly his age.
I looked back at the girls. My nerves were so bad I felt like I was going to vomit any second. I was sure we all felt that way judging by the look of panic written on everyone's faces.
"Is everyone replaying their routines in their head wondering where they could've been better?" one of the pixie girls asked.
We nodded in unison, giggling here and there. The small talk did nothing to hide our jitters.
"Does anyone else feel like they're going to throw up any second?" I asked. Most nodded their heads, and giggled again. Using the back of my hand, I dramatically swiped it across my forehead pretending I was glad it wasn't just me who was a damn wreck.
Time passed painfully slow. Just as we were starting to soothe our nerves, the door opened and five people strode in, three of whom were the Olympic coaches. They carried six large bouquets of roses and sunflowers. It was what the team held in the air once names were announced.
My stomach dropped. I felt like I was going to have a heart attack. My pulse was in my ears and I started sweating. A nervous energy filled the room. There was no denying each of us—including the coaches—felt it. I wanted to unzip my jacket and shake my arms out. I glanced around looking for a bucket because I was sure I was going to vomit any second.
We all came to win, but tonight was the end of the road for eight girls in this room. They'd go home in tears, debating whether this backbreaking lifestyle was worth enduring another four years to achieve Olympic glory.
I knew where my road led if I wasn't chosen.
The door shut with a click, and Romanian Coach Elena, who I last saw at the training camps, held a piece of paper in her hand that sealed our fates. Voices decreased and each of us waited with baited breaths to see who'd been chosen.
Twenty-One
"Ladies and gentlemen…"
Chills kept pebbling my arms. I closed my eyes and listened as the president of the gymnastics committee spoke to the crowd. The team had been selected and announced in the private waiting room, and now the four were just waiting to be individually called to the floor.
The air in the room was packed with tension, anguish, and exhilaration. Tears fell for those whose road came to an end tonight, and for those whose dreams were only beginning. The anticipation was wreaking havoc on all of us. For me, it was a bittersweet ending.
"How does my mascara look?" I heard one of the girls ask another as she hiccupped.
After the team was announced, my stomach had been a disaster of emotions and still was. Now I knew why coaches were brought into the waiting room too—they had to console us after. My knees had buckled, and my heart had crashed to the ground in shock. Kova had been right there when my vision became spotty and I almost fell over. He grabbed me immediately and took me into his arms.
He’d comforted me as I cried on his shoulder, then held my face between his palms and kissed my forehead. It had been both heaven and hell for me.
Heaven, because this was it and what I'd worked so damn hard for.
Hell, because I knew what came after.
I took a deep breath and sniffled, and watched the rowdy crowd with blurry eyes through the tiny window. Coaches were sent to the floor while the rest of the gymnasts stood behind the double doors, waiting. I could see Kova standing next to the other head coaches with his arms crossed in front of his chest as he wavered back and forth on his heels. They were standing near the floor. His black dress pants were custom tailored and fitted to form around his butt and thighs, and the polo World Cup shirt made his biceps stand out. He wore a massive smile, one I rarely saw unless I was alone with him. I loved seeing him like that, though it had been a while since I had. A few feet down were the members of the men's team in matching sweats that'd been selected and announced before us. We'd only been standing there for three minutes max, but it felt like three hours.
"The United States is the number one team in the world…"
My pulse hammered in my chest. I took a deep breath and exhaled. I looked ahead through the narrow windows of the doors and tried to locate Dad and Sophia in the seats. I thought they were somewhere on this side of the building, but I couldn't find them. I probably looked right at them and didn't even notice. Dad was probably on the verge of a stroke waiting for what felt like forever. Even the parents were left in the dark as to who made the team. Any minute, names were going to be called again. And any minute, the tears would start up again.
"I'm sweating right now!" I heard one girl say. I chuckled, so was I.
"It is with great pleasure, I announce the four women who will make up the United States women’s gymnastics team…"
The crowd went wild. They were so loud I could barely hear the first name announced.
The double doors were pulled opened by two people with earphones and microphones. Cue the tears. They waved with frantic hands instructing us to hurry up. The coaches turned around and my eyes immediately locked with Kova's.
I didn't hold back the smile on my face. Neither did Kova. The pride in his eyes made everything we'd gone through together worth it. He was so happy.
I pulled my lip into my mouth and bit down. It was hard to believe we were finally here. My chin trembled and I sniffled again. After all the tears and rips, the aches and pains, aggressive coaching and daunting practices, we were finally at the moment we'd worked so hard for. There'd been so many days where I didn't think I could handle another second, yet, somehow, I didn't give up. Sometimes I was surprised myself that I didn't give. I'd made mistakes along the way. A lot of mistakes. There were a few meets where I'd let the nerves get the best of me, but I'd gone into the next meet challenging mysel
f ten times harder to be better, proving to myself and my coaches and those watching that I had what it took.
And it had paid off.
