Of course the day I don't want to be at practice the weather is awful. It just makes everything worse. The coaches will be in a bad mood. A quick shiver ran up my body, almost as if to warn me of the chain events that were to come from practice. Just the thought of having to practice makes me feel like I am going to cry. I look up to the sky, its grey and droopy, like it too has so much welled up. As if at any moment the sky could crack. Like at any moment I could crack. I’m limping, in pain, my foot is swollen and bruised. The tears strolling down my face as if it were a sunny day in the park. 

Last week the day before we left for our competition in Florida I took a bad fall on beam. A split jumping standing tuck. I’ve done it a thousand times but this one was off, and I went anyway. My right foot missed only for my left foot to slam into the beam to try and catch the rest of my weight. I could almost hear the crunch of my bones as I landed. Immediate pain shot through my foot. I knew instantly it was broken. I went to urgent care that night after finishing practice, they didn’t see anything on the x-ray, maybe it was just sprained. But, it has been over a week and the pain is still excruciating. 

This hallway is all too familiar, windows on the left, dirty, wet rugs that hurt your feet beneath, the only source of light coming from the door I left behind as I slowly made my way down the hallway. I can feel the eyes staring at me. I pull the door open at the end of the hallway letting the chalk and sadness slap me in the face as it tries to escape. I keep my head 

down as to not draw attention to the tears running down my face. That would get me in trouble. Wipe your eyes, walk to the floor, smile, keep your chin up, don’t let them kick you while you're down. I told myself this repeatedly as I completed the steps I had made for myself. Steps. Of course, I had to take steps. The eyes, they're still staring. 

“What's wrong with you?”, the tone attacked me. I looked up to see coach Nathan standing on the floor with that smirk. 

“I’ll be okay. I think.” I responded just trying to keep on his good side. I could tell this was not my day. We started warmup. I, barely able to walk, began to run. Sharp, stabbing pain with each step on my left foot. Unbearable. I began to cry, again. I continue to run. I finished the warmup. I knew the verbal beating I would take if I stopped. Today of all days, I would not be able to handle it.  I was already too broken to get hit again. 

We start on floor today, of course, of all days.’ States is in three weeks’, that's all I’ve heard all week, ‘Make it three more weeks and you can rest.’ Floor routines. You have got to be kidding me. A full out floor routine. A roundoff back handspring, back full and a half twist punch front. First tumbling pass, and that's only my first pass. How am I going to do that? I can barely walk on my foot. It's not broken, I’m convinced. If it was broken, I wouldn't be able to walk. I go for my first pass wincing in pain with every step, I land right on my butt. I stand up, more tears, I can barely even see.

 “Stop her music!” Coach Nathan yells. I look up, I can see the anger welling up inside him. The sky, it’s gonna crack. The thunder is going to roll and shake and beat me to the ground. I look at my teammates to see the terrified looks on their faces. I walk over. 

I've had enough. My foot is broken. My passion is broken. My emotions are running wild, I can hardly control myself. I am so upset with how I competed this year and I'm upset that I 

can't grasp the skills I’m doing. I'm sorry that I'm an emotional teenage girl, I’m sorry I’m not good enough for you. Maybe I should just leave. But none of those words come out. I look up from my feet. Prepared. I already know what's coming.

 “You have been a disgrace to this team this year. You have dragged every single person down. If you would stop telling yourself that you are hurt and if you would put in some effort and try for just once, maybe you wouldn't be in this position. I guess you don’t care enough.” he began. I stand there just taking it, like always.

 “It's utterly embarrassing to take you to competitions in front of people. It makes me look bad, do you realize that? It's your fault you don't have the skills, it's your fault, our team has done awful this year and it's your fault that you are even in this position. For all, I know you purposely hurt yourself just to get out of practice. You know what, that's just it, you're not even hurt. Go get the tape, I’ll tape it and you'll do three more floor routines.” His voice was getting louder so when I looked up and said, “I can’t”. It pushed him over the edge. 

Coach Nathan took the phone in his hand and threw it across the gym hitting the window leading to the hallway. Shattering the phone just as he had shattered my confidence. Why do I put up with this? Why do I allow him to treat me like this? Don’t I have any self-respect? But I do nothing, I grab the tape and let him yank my swollen foot till its purple because the tape is so tight. I go into overdrive, no emotion, no thoughts, just going through the motions. I finish the next three hours of practice without saying a single word: the moment I leave the gym, the moment I walk outside into the rain, it all becomes too much. The sky cracks and so do I. I stand there sobbing, unable to move, so much emotion so much pain. I am broken, mentally, physically and emotionally.

I get in the car and tell my mom everything, I tell her about coach Nathan and how he blames me for everything that happened this season. I continue to tell her how badly my foot hurts, how much I hate this sport, about how much I wish I could just stop going to practice. She says nothing. I guess I can’t just quit gymnastics, going to the doctor would be a start though.

We go the next day to find my foot is broken, a chunk of bone broken off with three broken metatarsals, no states for me I guess. Maybe it’s better that way, to prove a point to coach Nathan. I was truly hurt. I am not worthless, but maybe he is.