Perfect

~Day 2~

I take a deep breath. I'm standing at the top of the vault runway. AGAIN. "Grace! Again from the top!" Coach barks. I sigh and blink a few times. "If your chest is any lower on your vault you're going to be kissing the table!" I think about a high chest in my punch and a fast run towards the vault. This season, I'm going to be competing to different vaults. A front handspring with a full twist off, and a tucked yurchenko. Vault is my absolute worst event, by far. I need to work on it, yet it always feels like cruel punishment. I line up at my mark, and begin sprinting down the runway. I take long strides, my knees bent, gaining speed each time my feet leave the mat. After my final step, I take a long hurdle, position my chest as far up as possible, muscles squeezed, arms down. As I leave the springboard, I shoot my arms up, and position my head in between them. I drive my heels and push with my shoulders, getting the best block I think I have ever done. I wait until I'm finished with the block before twisting my body and dropping one arm, spinning until I see the wall again. I position myself for the landing. SMACK! My feet hit the mat, and I push my heels into the ground, begging my body to not take any steps. I turn towards Mark, beaming. "Much better! You stuck it with your feet instead of your bottom!" He says, and my grin begins to fade. "Now point your toes." 

I repeat my vault again and again, feeling tired but determined, until Mark calls me over. "How long have you been in the level 7-8 group?" He asks. I feel myself blush. "Three years." I respond. "You made so much progress just today. If you actually worked hard at practice instead of giving up after one wrong turn, you could be with the 9's in no time." He says, and gives it a second to sink in. I'm about to respond and ask him the question that I've been wanting to ask for a while now: Do you think I have a chance this season? But he yells "Alexandria! Get your hands off the vault quicker! You keep them on for any longer and you two will have to get married!" He turns back to me. "Go to bars. Work dismounts and connections." He says. "But the 7s and 8s are on vault and floor," I say. "And the 9s are on bars. Go." He says.

I strap on my grips and head over to Coach Chelsea to tell her why I'm here. "Hi, Coach," I begin. "I was working on vault with the 7-8's, and Mark"- Chelsea interrupts me. "Grace, you have a lot of potential. But if you want to work with the 9's then you'll have to step up your game. Working with us these first few months are going to feel awful." I wait for her to stop briefly so I can interject. "Actually, Coach, Mark sent me over just to do bars today. This isn't permanent." Chelsea's eyebrows go up and her eyes soften just a little bit. "Would you please speak to me after practice?" She asks. I nod. "Work your flyaway program."

I have no idea what Chelsea wants to talk to me about, but I decide not to worry about it. I head over to the chalk bowl and start my pre-bars chalking up routine. I rub a layer of chapstick over my calluses to protect them. I'm applying chalk to my water and hands when a familiar voice snaps me out of my routine. "Hi." Macie says in the patented Macie way of hers. Quiet, friendly, welcoming. You'd never know a two letter word could make you feel so much more comfortable. "Hi, Mae." I say. Macie's family is from the middle east. Her real name is Mandisa, which means sweet, but her parents quickly gave her the nickname Macie when most people couldn't pronounce her name. Most people don't even know that Macie is actually Mandisa. In and of itself, Macie draws a lot of nicknames too. People call her "Macie," "Mace," "Mae," "Mae Mae," "Mac," and so on.  "Are you going to start training with the 9's?" Macie asks. I shake my head quickly. "No, Mark wanted me to work bars. I don't know why. I need more help with vault." Macie's forehead crinkles slightly. "Oh..." She says and turns away quickly to get in line for the pit set. I can't ignore this now. Everyone is acting weird. Plus, a lot of the level 9s who are intimidating enough already are staring at me with expressions that say "what is SHE doing here?" 

I numbly begin my flyaway program. Three tap swing layout flyaways. Three cast away layout flyaways. Three free hip layout flyaways. Three giant layout flyaways. Then, I repeat that with double flyaways. I'm so lost in my own world that I don't notice Chelsea calling me over. 

"Come over to the trench bar with me." She says. So I do. The trench bar is a wooden bar in a hole so that you can practice things you would otherwise be scared to do. I have no idea what I'm doing. You can't do flyaways in the trench!

"Cast to handstand." Chelsea says, so I cast to handstand. She catches me there and holds me so long my shoulders start to burn. Without warning, she pushes my feet towards the ground in a giant. Fear clutches my stomach. I've never had this much power on... anything! Especially bars! "Be aggressive!" Chelsea says as I start dropping towards the ground, I decide that if I stop myself now I'll just peel off the bar. So I swing my feet down, then open my shoulders and adjust myself so I'm facing upwards. I come over the bar with astonishing force, and the next giant is faster and much easier. I keep going until I'm flipping around the bar so fast I don't think I can stop. I start become less tight and worry. I'm grateful when Chelsea stops me and sets me down.  "See how much more power you had when you didn't hold back?"  "Yes, but I don't think I can get that much by myself. "When you cast to handstand, don't hold it. Drive your legs down faster and more aggressively. You lose the most speed at the bottom because you stop being aggressive for the drive up. Try again." 

I notice Macie watching me. With her quiet personality, she isn't one to be stuck up. Still, I'm worried about not impressing her, which is weird because I know she supports me in whatever I do. 

I lean my hips against the bar in one second, then slam my feet around my hips and up, driving my shoulders forward until I'm on top of the bar. I wait just unil I hit my handstand position, toes pointed, head in, one perfect vertical line. A split second later, I am pressing my body towards the ground, trying to maintain the same perfect position as I stretch my feet down and whir around the bar. I begin to pick up speed, faster and faster. I catch myself slowing down, so I push harder and harder. As the giants get faster, they get easier, but my muscles get more and more tired. I've done ten, and probably could do more, too, but one of my leather grips peels off the bar as I'm swinging up. Because I have so much speed, though, that I can't stop. I can't shift or stay in a handstand position with one hand though. My stomach drops,  and I try and reach for the bar. The ground comes up too fast.

I lay there for a second, shaking, before opening my eyes. I'll definitely have some bruises, but nothing hurts too bad. Nothing except my pride.