Page 7

seven

. . .

Tony

The gym is where I go to be myself. The U.S. Gymnastics Men’s National Team has a facility in Waltham, and though we don’t have to train there, strictly speaking, we can train at any gym in the country that accepts us; it’s the best facility in the country. Plus, it is practically in my backyard. I’d have to drive farther to go to a lesser quality gym in the suburbs.

There are a handful of major competitions each year, and each member of the national team is gunning for a bid on each assignment. A guy might get one or two major assignments each year. Each competition’s score determines eligibility for the big ones like Worlds and the Olympics next summer. There are also smaller competitions, ones that don’t result in qualifying the team for major championships and have a decent prize money purse attached to them.

I started gymnastics relatively late. When I was seven, Cari was one and a half, and our parents signed her up for gymnastics. She looked adorable in her little leotard, her diaper sticking out underneath the spandex fabric. Al was in hockey already, but I hated being on the ice, so I’d tag along to the gym.

And I fell in love.

Cari stopped doing gymnastics by the time she was five or six, moving into other sports, but I was already on track for an elite competitive career by then. I made the junior national team at fourteen and competed internationally by seventeen. It helped earn me a full-ride athletic scholarship to Cal Berkeley. I’ve competed at two different World Championships; I’ve been to the Olympics. I still want more. I want to win .

But I also want to move on to the next stage of my life. My body doesn’t rebound the way it used to. The younger guys are getting the more coveted assignments. I can still hold my own on the competition floor, but it takes more and more work to get there.

And I’m tired. Outside of training, my job at the steakhouse, and my days at the animal shelter, I don’t have any time for myself , and when I do, it usually involves cleaning the house and taking care of my siblings. Sure, they’re adults. That doesn’t mean they’re good about cleaning the bathroom or emptying the dishwasher or any of the other things that have to get done.

I’m sure if I asked Al for the money for vet school, he’d give it to me or at least offer me a loan. I don’t want to do that. Mixing money and family is tricky business. I’ve seen enough friendships dissolve over it that I can’t do it. As much as I complain about Al, I don’t think I’d be able to handle us not speaking. He’s my brother. I love him. Even if sometimes I want to strangle him.

Inside the studio, Brody, my old teammate from Cal, is stretching on a yoga mat. He gives me an up-nod as I enter the room and unroll my mat. About half of our workouts are self-guided. Coach Jack and the rest of the training staff will guide us on the actual apparatus. We have a certain number of other workouts we do per week. Strength, conditioning, cardio, stretching… that part is mostly on our own, and we have semi-regular check-ins with Coach to check on our progress.

“What’s up, dude?” Brody says as he stretches his hamstring. “I’ve barely seen you the last few weeks.”

“Work stuff,” I mutter, starting my stretching routine.

Nobody here knows about my time at the animal shelter or my plans for vet school. They think the steakhouse keeps me busy.

“I feel that,” Brody nods, switching sides. He’s a personal trainer at a franchised gym and coaches kids’ gymnastics at another in the suburbs. “Sometimes I get so tired, I sit on the couch for hours and disassociate.”

Grunting my agreement, I pretend like I can relate. I would love a few hours to do nothing.

Shadow, essentially my shadow, has taken most of my free time lately. She’s having serious separation anxiety. This morning: This morning, I took her to the shelter for a playdate with the other kittens. I’ll pick her back up after training and my shift there, and then she’ll come home with me. I’m not ready to leave her alone at the house all day yet. Thirteen hours is a long time for a kitten to be on her own, even with treats and toys to keep her occupied.

I wasn’t planning on bringing her home. She’d follow me around the shelter whenever possible, complain when I wasn’t playing with her, and generally make a nuisance of herself with any of the other staff. Susan thinks she imprinted on me. I don’t know if that’s really a thing or if she’s been reading too many werewolf romance novels again. I just know that the little black kitten makes me happy, and I’ll do anything to make sure she’s safe and comfortable. If that means bringing her home with me each night, I’ll do it. She stole my heart with the first tiny little meow.

After I get stretched and warm, I spend a few hours training under Coach’s watchful eye. My new vault combination is freaking fantastic—when I nail it. Half the time, I misjudge the landing and end up on my ass.

That’s part of gymnastics and part of life. Sometimes you do some really incredible feats and still end up on your ass. Doesn’t mean it’s over. You just have to brush yourself off and do it again.

And again.

And again.

Until your muscles are burning and your heart is pounding and you feel like you might die. That’s when it kicks in. That’s when you nail it.

And when I stick the landing? It feels fucking phenomenal.

“That was awesome,” Brody says, from where he’s hanging out on the side of the vault. He’s serving as my spotter, ready to intercept if I look like I’m about to crash onto my neck. “You really got it down.”

“Now just have to do it again,” I mutter, reaching for my water bottle.

He hands it to me as I unwind the wraps around my wrists. “You will. You did it once. You can do it again.”

Making a noise of agreement, I gulp down my water. I’m drenched with sweat, my muscles sore from a good day’s work.

After a quick break, I get back to work. I’m pleased when I land more than half of the vaults. The combination is new for me. I can do a round-off and back handspring into three and a half twists laid out on the floor. No problem. It’s when I do it off the vault that I struggle.

But if it was easy, everyone would do it. And there’s a reason only a handful of guys in the world are able to throw the Shirai II vault. I’m one of them. Sometimes.

I get the theory of it. I understand where I’m going wrong. That doesn’t mean fixing it is any easier.

When Coach claps his hands and declares my time is up, I’m so relieved, I collapse on the mat.

“Go cool down,” he barks.

Brody steps toward me with my water again.

“Don’t you have to practice?” I snipe as I snatch the bottle from his hand.

He laughs. “You’re grouchy today.”

“Shut up,” I mutter.

He shoves me gently. “Come on. I’ve got to do some time on the high bar. You can spot me.”

Grumbling under my breath, I follow him across the gym. There are plenty of other people around that could spot him.

Lifting him to the high bar, he does a few swings around the bar before he hangs there, stretching his arms and shoulders.

“A few guys were talking about going out to the bar after this,” Brody says, folding into a pike and then stretching into the laid out position. He does a series of toe-touches, alternating between pike and straddle.

Letting out a sigh, I sink onto the mat and stretch. My legs are so sore, they’re almost shaking.

“You need to come,” he continues.

I roll my eyes. “Pass.”

“Come on,” he wheedles. “You never come out with us.”

“Yeah, because I’m—” I cut myself off abruptly.

“You’re what?” Brody asks.

“I’m not up for socializing right now,” I finally say.

“You just need to get laid,” he says.

I make a face. I don’t like to talk about my personal life. It’s personal for a reason.

“Come on. You could use a break. You’re always working or training. When do you ever take time for yourself?”

I open my mouth.

“That’s right, never,” Brody pushes. “You’re going to burn out, man. Then you’ll crash and get hurt right before Worlds. We need you on that team. We can’t bring home a medal without you.”

“I don’t have the time,” I say honestly. “I have to work.”

“Do you work today?” he demands.

“Well—no.”

“So tonight, you’re coming out with us,” he says, as if he’s decided for me. “It’s been forever since the guys got together. Frankly, we could all use a night out.”

With a groan, I hang my head. “Why are you so obsessed with me?”

Brody laughs, swinging around the bar in a simple giant. “So that’s a yes?”

This is not what I wanted to spend my evening doing. I was looking forward to a nice evening off, not going anywhere or seeing anyone or doing anything.

But I also know he won’t rest until I give in.

“Ugh. Fine.”