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My dad’s words echo in my brain as I breathe into this deep squat, readying myself to flip the tire. I shake my head as if to physically remove the thought from my mind, but it stays there, loud and distracting.
“Are you going to stay like that forever, or are you going to do something?” Coach Krav sneers, leaning over so his face is inches from mine.
I hate that asshole.
My legs start furiously trembling under the strain of the weight, my hands cramping as they struggle to hold the tire. I go to the quiet place in my mind and tune Coach Krav out as much as I can.
Gritting my teeth with effort, I gather the last remaining vestiges of my strength, release an animalistic scream and push off from my heels.
My weight explodes off the ground, my arms extending as they shove the tire and I watch with a combination of smug satisfaction and relief as the tire flips, landing with a loudthwack.
I don’t get a second’s rest.
“Ten laps around the facility for wasting my time,” Krav announces before walking off to check on another student.
I wipe my brow with my forearm, my hands coming back down to my hips as I watch him march leisurely off. I’ve already done an hour of calisthenics, an hour of technical training, and this last hour of footwork and weights. The thought of doing an endurance run, even a short one, makes something shrivel up inside me. I bury that feeling, locking it away with all the other feelings I don’t let myself have, and will my legs to start moving.
I ignore the way my head spins and focus on putting one foot in front of the other. I go to that place in my mind where I can disassociate from the physical and mental pain and justdo.
Coach Krav is new this year, paid for and brought on to the RCA staff by my father with the sole purpose of getting me gold medal ready in time for this summer’s Olympic games. This is only my tenth workout with him and every single one has ended with me in physical agony. He coached the gold medalist from two Games ago, so his track record is proven but his methods feel like they must be in violation of the Geneva Conventions.
No matter how much I give, it never seems to be enough. I’ve never once complained, never once shown him any weakness, and yet every second I’m not working myself to bleeding in front of him, he acts like I’m not taking it seriously.
My improving footwork isn’t enough. My new personal best time in the 5k warmup isn’t enough. My place at top of the leaderboard in victories within the team isn’t enough.
I think even if I do win the gold, he’ll find some fault in the way I did it.
I love fencing more than anything. When I’m on the piste with épée in hand, it’s the only time where I feel strong and in lockstep with my body. When I’m fully suited up and donning my mask, I feel like a badass. I’m brilliant at it, but this pressure to be better than the best is suffocating.
My fists clench when I feel anxiety and dread start to balloon inside me.
No weakness, Nera.Failure is not an option.
I chant it to myself repeatedly until the mantra is the only thing left on my mind, those other unproductive thoughts smothered.
I’m pulled from the mental rabbit hole I’ve stuffed myself into when footsteps fall into pace next to me.
“Hey, babe,” a voice drawls.
Great. Just what I needed.
I increase my pace to distance myself from him and my calves scream at me for it. It’s not even worth it; he keeps up with me easily.
“Leave me alone, Rex.” I say.
“Woah,” he answers, putting his hand lightly on my arm, “That’s not very nice, babe.”
I don’t stop, rounding the bend to finish my fourth lap. My jaw is clenched so hard it feels like I’m shaving the top layer of enamel off my teeth.
I decide to ignore him, certain that he’ll lose interest and veer off back to where the boys’ team is finishing their stretches.
But I’m wrong.
Instead of releasing me, his hand fists around my forearm and he drags me to a dead stop.
“Let me go, Rex.” I say, my voice even, my eyes fixed on where he still has my arm clenched between his fingers.
“Ask me nicely and I will,” he answers, his tone fake nice. Barely concealed behind his words is how much he gets off on any moment where he has power over me. “I just want to talk.”
