Page 24

twenty-four

. . .

Tony

This is it. Do or die.

Standing at the top of the ramp, I stare at the vault sixty feet away. I can do this. I’ve been training like crazy for the past few months, getting ready for this. It all comes down to this one, singular moment.

Hopping into a run, I sprint down the ramp toward the table. After a round-off onto the springboard and a back handspring onto the table, I stretch my body into the layout position as I twist three and a half times. Focusing on my breathing, I keep my eyes on my spot, letting physics do its thing while I twist.

The landing comes out of nowhere. I’m not prepared for my feet to crash into the mat. I brace my knees and dig my toes in, sticking the landing by the skin of my teeth.

I did it. I landed the vault.

Cheers go up from my teammates on the sidelines. I glance over at them, genuine happiness on their faces as they cheer for me.

Yes, we’re competing against each other. They’re picking the teams for the next two major competitions. While I wouldn’t say boo to a spot on the Pan-American Games team, we all want one of the coveted World Championships team positions.

There are only five spots on the Worlds team plus two alternates and there are twenty-four guys competing. All the guys on the national team have come to Boston for this selection camp, plus a few college gymnasts who were invited for consideration. The elite gymnastics world is a small, tightly knit community, and at the end of the day, we want Team USA to do well. We want each other to do well.

Brody slaps my back as I walk past. “Nice one,” he says, handing me my water bottle.

“Thanks.” I’m in the middle of the vault rotation, with a few more guys to compete after me. I tear the tape from my wrists and prepare to re-wrap them. Each apparatus requires a different level of support and preparation.

There are six apparatuses in men’s gymnastics compared to four in women’s gymnastics. For men, we compete in the vault and floor exercise, same as the women, plus pommel horse, still rings, parallel bars, and horizontal bar. I’m not the best at rings or either of the two bars events, I can hold my own, and I’m decent at pommel horse. I can contribute decent routines for a team score.

Where I shine is on the floor and the vault. My legs are more powerful than my arms. Tumbling has always come more naturally to me than the strength exercises.

We rotate through our events, putting on a show for the selection committee. Ross, the national team’s coordinator, gets the final say with input from Coach Jack and a handful of other Team USA executives.

When we’re done with all six rotations, we break for lunch in the cafeteria as they deliberate our fates. Whereas normally I’d be ravenous, right now I can’t eat.

I’ve been glib about wanting a spot on the team. I want it. I want it bad. This is my last chance to make my mark on the world of gymnastics. Sure, I’ve been to two World Championships, bringing home a few silver and bronze medals. Sure, I’m an Olympic bronze medalist, helping to earn the first team medal for my country since 2008. I’m internationally ranked and well-respected among my peers.

But as much as I’m ready to be done with the world of gymnastics, to move on to the next stage of my life and hopefully go to vet school… I’m not ready to be done with it, either.

Making the Olympics next summer is a pipe dream. A lot will depend on how I do throughout the rest of this competition season. If I make the Worlds team, I might be able to find the push to compete for a spot on the Olympic team.

But if I don’t make this team… that’s it. I’ll compete the rest of this season, I’ll still give it my best, but I’m prepared to walk away.

It’s not that I want to be done. I’m one back injury away from possible permanent damage. My knees always ache. My wrists are shot. I want to be able to grow old and still have a functioning body, I want to be able to walk and run and bend down. Take care of my patients.

Maybe one day, run around after some kids. Maybe not. I haven’t decided whether I want kids, it’s too far in the future for me to think about. I’d be fine with nieces and nephews. I know I want animals in my home. That’s enough for me, at least for right now.

But first: Worlds. Maybe the Olympics. Then vet school. The rest can all be figured out later.

Ross calls us all into the small conference room. The team staff are all gathered around the back of the room, Coach Jack with an inscrutable expression on his face. I don’t think that’s good. Shouldn’t he be happy? They’ve decided on the team!

A rush of nerves runs through me as I take a seat at the conference table. Brody and Dylan, on either side of me, each give me fist bumps. My deep inhalation rattles through my chest as I try to calm my racing heart.

“We’ve put a lot of thought into the teams,” Ross says. “We’ve tried to find a balance between what the team needs and rewarding your hard work and consistency.” He goes on about what an honor it is to wear the country’s badge on our chest and how we’ve made Team USA proud, all the flattery with none of the fanfare.

“For the Pan-American Games,” Coach Jack says, “We’ve got Brayden, Connor, Paul, Davis, and Joseph. Alternates will be Max and Will.”

My stomach drops. I’m not named to the team.

Well… I didn’t want to go to the Pan-American Games. I want to go to Worlds.

There’s still a chance. It’s not over yet.

Ross takes over. “For World Championships, the team will be Brody, Tommy, Dylan, Steve, and Tony. Alternates are?—”

Blood rushes through my veins so fast it makes me dizzy. I can hardly breathe.

I did it.

I have one more shot. One more chance. One more opportunity.

I’m sure as fuck not going to waste it.

Brody turns to me, giving me a fist bump. “We did it,” he says, a happy smile on his face.

“We’ve got this.”

“We should go out tonight,” Dylan says. Steve lives in Colorado, training at a facility out there. He leaves in the morning. The two alternates, Alex and Doug, leave the day after. They’re both still in college.

“Unless you’ve got plans with your girl?” Tommy raises his eyebrows at me.

It’s no secret that Vivienne and I are together. Between the kisses being caught on social media, which the guys ribbed me about endlessly, and the smiles on my face the last few days at training, it’s been fairly obvious that I’m seeing someone new.

I’d shout it from the rooftops if I didn’t value my privacy. Just because I’m a semi-public athlete doesn’t mean I can’t have a private, personal life too.

“We’ve got plans,” I say simply, and he smirks at me.

The coaches release us for the day. It’s a rare break before my shift at the shelter this afternoon, so I swing by the grocery store for some supplies for dinner. There will be four of us in the same room for the first time. I can’t wait for her to meet my siblings properly, to get to know them. She’s my partner, but they’re my family. They have to get along.

Vivienne is my first call. She doesn’t answer—I know she’s at training—so I leave her a quick voicemail telling her we’re celebrating tonight.

Alycia is my second.

“I’ll do it. I’ll sign,” I tell her.

“Great,” my new agent says. “Let’s get started.”