Page 27 of Racing Hearts

Ugh, not this. The silver lining of being sent home was that I wouldn’t need to have this argument with Carla yet again. My routines worked just fine for the years before I started dating Maxwell. Carla wasn’t complaining about my routines a year ago when I was making A finals.

“Routines and schedules make me successful,” I say. “Sticking to the plan is how I perform my best.”

Carla pinches the bridge of her nose. “I’m trying to offer you an opportunity here, and if you could yank your head out of your backside for a moment, you’d see that.”

I inhale sharply, stunned by her tone, but even more angered by her words.

“I’m sorry, an opportunity?” I say, channeling the last seventy-two hours of frustration into my tone. “To train with this guy? You want an honest review of his coaching style?” I start pacing circles in the bathroom, holding the phone up with one hand and my robe closed with the other. “We don’t need to wait eight weeks, I can tell you right now. He’s stubborn and opinionated. He doesn’t value the importance of hard work or time on the water. Instead of a structured training program, he relies on, I don’t know, stream of conscious, nonsensical notes, and probably some astrology for good measure. Oh, and he smiles way too much to be taking his job seriously. So, yes, I can already tell you what it will be like to train with him and, no, I don’t think it’s much of an opportunity at all.”

When I finish, I’m breathing hard from emotion, pacing, and keeping my voice just below a shout. Thankfully, my mom is at her yoga studio, so I don’t have to worry about her bursting into the bathroom out of concern.

Carla doesn’t speak, her serious brown eyes boring twin holes into my face. My neck pricks under the thick silence, punctuated only by the screech of brakes as a garbage truck comes to a stop outside and then hums and clangs. The engine revs again and the sound fades. A shiver races down my spine and I hug the robe closer.

“Are you done?” Carla asks.

“Yes,” I say.

“Good. Because those subjective opinions aren’t going to cut it when you submit Adrian’s evaluation in two months.” I raise an incredulous eyebrow and she puts up a hand. “Enough. Let me finish. The reason I said this is an opportunity is because I have a deal for you. You haven’t talked me out of it, but only because you still have an ounce of my goodwill left.

“If you do this—if you spend the next two months training with an entirely different coach, and one with such a clearly different style than what you’re accustomed to—it will go a long way to proving you are more adaptable than we all thought. It would help change the board’s position on your residency.”

Wait, what? Everything freezes. My breath. My feet. The shaking of the phone in my hand.

“What are you saying?” I ask. “If I do this, USRowing will give me my spot back?”

“I can’t guarantee it. You’ll still have to perform well enough at Pan Ams that the board is willing to accept my recommendation. I think that would be top two. But if you do that, and participate fully in Adrian’s programming, and give us an unbiased account of his strengths and weaknesses at the end of the summer, I will be able to submit a recommendation that they are likely to accept.”

My breath is coming in short gasps now. Holy crap. Top two. Difficult, but doable. I wouldn’t have to beat the unbeatable Canadian. I’d still have to place above everyone else in Central and South America, but I’ve done that before.

“Would I be able to tell Adrian what’s going on?”

“Yes, I already told him about this possibility. But you cannot share with anyone else.”

“I can’t tell Sofi?”

“Especially not Sofia.”

“Why not?”

Carla runs her tongue over her teeth. “These kinds of things are fodder for rampant speculation. Athletes will get a say through the formal channel—their representative on the board. Otherwise, this is USRowing’s decision.”

“But you’re evaluating him for the junior national team,” I say. “No one I know would care about that job.”

Carla doesn’t answer for a moment. Then she says, “Just promise me, Kath. I don’t want this getting out too early.”

“Okay,” I say, already moving on. I’ll just have to be careful of what I say to Sofi. “I promise.”

It doesn’t matter anyway, not compared to everything else. Obviously, training under Adrian is not ideal. I’ll have to keep modifying his program so I don’t lose a huge amount of fitness this summer. I still have Olympic qualifiers next year to think about. But. This bargain is way too good to refuse. At this point, it’s my only real shot to get the spot back.

“I’ll do it,” I say aloud.

Ten

57 Days Until Pan Ams

When I mention the evaluation—in conjunction with yet another request to get back on the water—Adrian lifts a shoulder and asks about my resting heart rate.

“You don’t care?” I splutter. I’d thought the whole tenor of our conversations might change, ideally make him more accommodating to my requests. Our power dynamic should have completely changed now that I’m the one with control over his destiny. At the very least, I thought he’d have a few questions about how the evaluation is going to work. “How can I evaluate you without, you know, training with you?”