by Lucia Franco
My hands hurt to make a fist. My skin was searing hot and tight, and I knew if I did any more practicing there was a good chance they’d bleed next.
When you held onto a bar for dear life, like I did, the skin on your palms bunched up and created either a blister or a pocket of blood. Of course I didn’t get lucky with just a blister. And now little red bubbles of blood were ready to pop any minute.
Bloody bars were just nasty.
“Take a five minute break and get some water. We will start again.”
Coach turned to walk away before I could say anything.
“He’s really doing a number on you.” Hayden appeared by my side.
“Tell me about it. He’s refusing to let me wear grips since I apparently hold the bar incorrectly.”
I turned my hands over and Hayden inhaled a sharp breath. “Is that all from today?”
“No, my wrists are usually beaten up pretty badly, but the blisters are new.” There was never a time when a gymnast didn’t have some type of rough or beaten palms.
“Do you have any Prep H with you?”
I looked at him in confusion. “Prep H? Like the stuff for hemorrhoids?”
“Yeah, it’s supposed to help with rips. It will help reduce swelling and numb the rip.”
I smiled shyly. “I’ve never heard of that.”
“I bet you never heard of using Bag Balm either, then.”
“Can’t say I have.”
“It’s used on cow utters since they tend to crack and split often.”
I stood with my mouth agape. I pictured the poor cows with the metal clamps, hyped up on steroids and growth hormones, forced to produce more milk than naturally occurring. Hayden chuckled at my expression. “That’s disgusting.”
I knew of all kinds of treatments, like using Vitamin E Gel, or a Band-Aid. Some believed in using warm tea bags on the rips with a sock to hold it in place overnight. A gymnast would do just about anything to heal a rip as swiftly as possible so they didn’t tear their skin any further. Some even went as far as using a pumice stone to scrub around a rip, removing any calluses and dead skin. Just the thought made me cringe. Hopefully I wouldn’t reach that stage. But hemorrhoid cream and the cow balm were new ones for me.
“My mom came up with a secret trick...I don’t share it with anyone, but I can stop by your place sometime with it and show you if that’s okay. I have a feeling you’re going to need it. But you have to promise not to laugh. Or tell anyone.”
I met his gaze. We hadn’t known each other very long, but I was willing to take my chances. “Thanks, Hayden. I promise not to say a word.”
“Social hour is over, girls.” Kova’s sarcastic tone did not go unnoticed. He clapped his hands and said, “Get back to work.”
Hayden nodded, his lips flattened to a thin line. “Make sure to give me your number before you leave.”
Back on the bars and my hands were raw, I’d never been in such pain before in my life. They were on fire, like burning flames of heat rolling across my palms.
Coach became relentless, forcing me to keep moving without a second to catch my breath or give my hands a break. He just kept yelling out orders until he was blue in the face and I mastered them to his imaginary level of perfection. My arms ached, the muscles strained and I was exhausted. But at least I had conquered the skills for the day. I was seriously contemplating calling in sick tomorrow.
But I couldn’t. There was no excuse to miss a practice. Ever.
With another two release moves and dismount coming up before I was done for the night, Kova moved in to spot me. I was capable of doing them alone, but having a spotter was always comforting. It was a built-in trust that came with the territory, one I knew he’d never break. He’d catch me before he’d ever let me fall.
After I landed my full-twisting double back tuck dismount, Kova patted the side of my ass the way coaches do with football players. I glanced up and he gave me a deep nod. We stood inches apart with our eyes on each other, but I couldn’t get a beat on his thoughts. I’d say he was pleased with me, but then again I just wasn’t sure.
The team parted ways and prepared to leave. I said goodbye to the girls and gathered my things from the locker room. Food was the only thing on my mind and it wasn’t one of those plastic prepared meals either. I was famished. Maybe I would have Alfred hit up a drive-thru on our way home for once.
As I was leaving the locker room, I pulled the door closed behind me and stepped into the narrow hallway as Kova came out of his office. He strode down the hall, eyes on me.
My skin prickled in awareness and I raked my gaze down the length of his body. Navy blue basketball shorts displayed the power and muscle in his legs, and a seemingly tight heather gray T-shirt clung to his chest, showing off his pecs. He was a man who took charge and one you didn’t argue with. How someone could be so incredibly good looking and a complete jerk at the same time was beyond me. I bet he knew it too.
Tilting my head to the side, I noticed a look on his face I hadn’t seen since arriving here. Contentment.
He stopped in front of me and peered down. “You did well today, Adrianna. Very well. You are coming along just fine, surprisingly.” He took a swig of his bottled water.
It was almost too good to be true. I looked into his darkening eyes bound by thick eyelashes and saw he truly meant his words. I wasn’t sure how to handle his appraisal without grinning like a fool. He caught me by surprise. Every day I wished he’d say something positive, and not once had he until now.
“Thank you, Coach.”
“I will see you tomorrow,” he said before continuing his walk down the hall.
“Ah, Coach?”
Kova paused, looking over his shoulder.
“Will I be able to use my grips next practice?”
“Not a chance. I know there is no way you learned after one day how to hold the bar correctly.”
My jaw dropped in disbelief. You. As if I was an idiot. “But my hands are raw, it hurts to even wash them with soap. I’ll bleed tomorrow and be completely useless.”
Kova turned around to face me, his broad shoulders pulled back, one hand clenched around his water bottle. “Do you think you are the first gymnast to show wear and tear on their hands from bars? You are not in Palm Beach anymore, malysh—”
Kova visibly tensed, stopping short from his last word. Since I didn’t speak a lick of Russian, I didn’t have a clue as to what he said. But judging by the alarmed look on his face and the thick air between us, whatever he said couldn’t have been good.
Snapping his head to the side, he cracked his neck. “I am not going to go light on you. Get used to it. Nobody said it was going to be easy, it only gets harder from here on out. You need to learn to toughen up and take it. Remember what I said earlier? Prove it to me. Every time you step foot into that gym—make it count. I do not care if your hands hurt or your back is sore or you are running on two hours of sleep. Prove it. Champions are not made by complaining. They are made by the endless pursuit of their dream, despite the obstacles they are faced with. Push through it and do it.”
I took a minute to let the weight of his words sink in. While an outsider would think they were laced with malice, I knew they weren’t. That was the furthest thing from the truth. I knew he was pushing me to be better. Not only to prove it to him, but myself as well. Without a doubt, Konstantin Kournakova was one hundred percent right.
Slowly nodding, I looked into his eyes and said, “You’re completely right, but I never expected you to go light on me. That’s not what I wanted. That’s not why I came here. I want the challenge. I want to be better. It’s why I pour every ounce of blood and sweat into a sport that gives me so little in return. The truth is, I’ve never been challenged by a coach the way I have by you, so I’m learning to adjust to it.” I held up my hands and showed him the bloody blisters threatening to pop under my palms. “You won’t hear a complaint come from me again.”
Kova’s shoulders loosened an
d he blew out a ragged breath. His gaze openly traveled the length of my body, taking in every inch. The way his eyes pierced mine, like he was pleased with my response, made my heart rush against my chest with satisfaction.
I took more verbal beatings than any of the girls on the team. Constructive criticism at its finest. The only explanation I could think of was he was frustrated over having to break a seasoned athlete of old habits. He was always on me for something I was doing—grilling me, yelling at me.
“Good. That is what I want to hear.” He gave me a lengthy gaze. Stepping closer, he gently brushed his thumb across my cheek. “Chalk,” he said in a softer tone, and walked away.
I couldn’t explain why, but my gut said there was more than meets the eye with him, I always trusted my gut. And him calling me whatever he just said in Russian, and the speech that followed, cemented it.
That being said, he was out of his ever-loving mind if he thought I was going through another day without using my grips.
Stepping into World Cup this morning, I felt fresh and ready for practice.
Dropping my duffle bag to the floor, the fabric of the strap scrapped along my sore palms and I sucked in a pain filled breath. Looking down, my hands were tattered, the skin pulled tight, aching from working bars. Pressing down on one of the blood blisters with my thumb, I watched the fluid shift under the skin in morbid fascination.
Grimacing, I shook my head and removed my pants and top, shoving them into my bag along with my flip flops. Today, I went with a faded, light blue sports bra and black mini shorts instead of the leo. This wasn’t something I typically wore, but I’d seen the other girls do it and decided to. I pulled my hair into a messy bun and then placed my things into my locker and made my way into the therapy room.
Of course Kova was already there. His back was to me and I took the time to study him for a long moment before I made myself known. There were so many things I was curious to know about him. Like how he got started in gymnastics, what drove him to the sport. How long he’d been a gymnast, how he ended up in the States. How he and my dad became friends. I was oddly intrigued by him. I tried to picture what he’d look like competing at the Olympics. Large, muscular arms. Broad shoulders and a fit waist. Overworked hands and tight buns. Focus pouring out of his eyes. For male gymnasts, their workout consisted mostly of bodybuilding exercises, unlike ours. They couldn’t get too big and hefty, strength and balance went hand in hand for them. The rings were commonly used for straight arm work. They’d hold an Iron Cross position with weights tacked on to their feet or waist. This built an incredibly large and tight top half. Not to mention, high levels of strength. I sure as hell couldn’t hold a T position, even without the weights dangling on me.
Kova wasn’t ripped anymore like I’m sure he once was, but he was still quite built and trim. Sinuous was the perfect way to describe his body. He was definitely easy on the eyes. The muscles in his forearms rippled with strength, and if you watched closely, like I was doing at the moment, you’d see his back flex under his white shirt, along with two round mounds of steel that shifted with each step he took. I could stare at him all day long.
“Ah, Adrianna, you are here,” he said pleasantly, taking me out of my daze. I stepped into the room, the cold tile zipping through my bare feet and I shivered.
“I’m here.” I walked up to him. “What’s on the menu for today?”
Kova turned toward me. “We will work on proper breathing and more of the same stretching we did the last time.” He motioned toward the large square blue mat on the floor. “Go lie on your back, legs straight and together.”
Walking over, I got into position as Kova followed closely behind. He kneeled on my left side and looked down at me. He spread his hand out and placed it on my stomach just below my ribs.
“Along with brain manipulation, as you so lovingly called it during our last session, you have to breathe correctly, or this extra work will all be a complete waste. It works much like a jigsaw puzzle. One wrong piece and nothing will connect how it is meant to. Proper breathing gives you back and core control. You will have more stamina and won’t get tired so fast.” He tapped on his temple. “It is all a mental game of tug-of-war. You want more belly breathing, more of using your diaphragm. It will lessen your chance of spinal injury as well. Remember, no fish out of water gasping like last time either. Now, take a deep breath.”
I nodded and inhaled. He pinched my sides. “No, wrong. See how your stomach went toward your head and your chest popped up? We do not want that. We want your ribs to expand and your shoulders relaxed, not in your neck. Do it again.”
I did it again. “No, keep your hips down,” he ordered, and placed his other hand flat on my pelvis. “Again.”
I focused on his words as Kova focused on my stomach. His brows furrowed. Breathing shouldn’t be this complicated.
His hands stayed in place and pressed into me. “Good. Perfect,” he said. “Let us do a set of ten.”
I wanted to ask Kova how he knew to breathe like this, who taught him, but thought better of it and decided to wait until stretching came. I didn’t think he’d like me to talk while I was learning to breathe properly anyway. So instead I focused on his hand resting on my lower belly. Wondered at the warmth surging through me from the feel of his fingertips on my skin.
“Beautiful,” he said softly. “Yes, just like that.” He looked into my eyes, almost as if trying to make me believe his words. “It is all about training yourself and remembering it. Doing it a thousand times until it actually sticks. Like muscle memory. Think of it like this—when you flex your abs and breathe at the same time, you are using your diaphragm. It is what gives you a strong core, which is key in so many aspects of gymnastics. The last thing you want is to overexert yourself.”
Twenty minutes or so of instructional breathing skills passed, when I said, “I didn’t know how important this was. How it can hinder me in this sport. It’s very interesting.”
He clucked his tongue on the side of his cheek and winked. “Stick with me.”
Kova stood up and placed his hand out. I grabbed it and he helped me up. My belly fluttered in response and I averted my gaze. He pointed to the exam like table and said, “Go lie on your back.”
I did as he ordered and pulled my knee to my chest and winced, feeling a slight tightness in my hips at first.
“Now, when you do these stretching techniques, remember to breathe properly. It all goes hand in hand, Adrianna.”
Kova placed one hand on my leg and the other hand on my hip to steady me, pressing my knee deeper to my chest. I grunted. “All you need to do is hold this position, along with the others, for twenty to thirty seconds every time you stretch. I promise you it will make all the difference.”
“Kova? How did you learn all of this?” I asked.
He peered down at me like it was common sense. “I learned most from my coach back in Russia. He was an extraordinary man and taught me well. I also took classes on it to further my comprehension. I wanted the upper hand when it came to coaching, and by applying both methods, I feel like I have that extra something the majority of coaches do not.”
A small smile tugged at my lips. He was cocky and I liked that. I liked how he wanted to be a step above other coaches. It’s what set them apart. We shifted to my other leg in the quiet room. The heat from Kova’s hand danced across my pelvis and my belly dipped in return when he clutched my leg.
“Did you always want to go to the Olympics?” I asked curiously.
He gave a blasé shrug. “That is a tough question. Gymnastics for me was an escape from the life I was born into.” A shadow formed in his eyes but it quickly disappeared before I could ask what he meant. “I looked forward to practice every day, but I never saw it as anything other than a hobby that would soon come to an end. My love for the sport definitely ran deeper compared to my teammates that is for sure. I was always trying to do more and I never cut on conditioning. I showed up early and I did not play
around. I was devoted. My coach saw something in me and he spoke with my mother. He devised a plan, much like how Madeline and I did for you, and we stuck to it.” He took a deep breath and angled my leg to the other side. “It was not until we changed my training and I had a new goal, that I realized just how much gymnastics meant to me, what security it brought me each exhausting day. It is why I went straight into coaching.”
Something shifted inside of me and my heart constricted. His fingers dug into my skin as he focused on what he was doing. I felt his words, felt his love for the sport filter the air around us. He spoke from his heart. It was overwhelmingly obvious and I relished it. I didn’t have friends who felt this way about sports the way I did, it was just fun and games to them. But watching Kova’s eye color change, and hearing his heartfelt words really struck a chord with me. Gymnastics wasn’t just a job for him, it was his lifeline. His salvation. And I respected him so much for it. I wanted to know more, like how it brought him security. I suddenly was very interested in my coach.
“In a way, you sound like me.”
His brows furrowed as he moved me into another position. I winced when I felt the pinch in my hips and the heat of my hamstrings stretch.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“Like you, I used gymnastics as an escapism from my life, from my family. I don’t have a hard life, and I’m aware of how fortunate I am, but people don’t see what goes on behind closed doors that shape us. This may sound terrible of me to say, but I don’t look up to my mom as a role model. My dad, a little bit because of his drive, but not my mom. She wants me to be so much like her, but she’s everything I don’t aspire to be. I don’t want to be anything other than me. I’m a gymnast with a craving to take it to the next level. So I decided the only way I could make that happen was to put every waking minute I could into the sport. When I think of gymnastics, I have peace of mind. I see me, and I think that’s the most important thing as a person. To be who you want, not how others want you to be. It was how I decided I wanted to go all the way.” I paused at the strained look in his eyes. “I’m sorry for rambling.”
