There are certain things they don’t tell you when you first start gymnastics.

“Welcome back to the 2020 Gymnastic Olympics! We’re starting this event off strong with Team USA ready to take the floor while their starter, Cade Rune, gets into position! For those who are just tuning in Cade Rune is a 3-time gold medalist, getting his first gold at only 15 in the Junior Olympics and now at 27, he’s going for his fourth win overall. There were rumors earlier this year that this might be his farewell season but after snagging a look at his practice last night I’m not sure I could agree.”

I forced myself to take in a deep breath as I stepped up to the mat, flexing my ankle painfully.

Last night’s practice had been brutal; my last round of the night ended in my ankle popping loudly with a landing that had been less than perfect. My shins had been screaming at me and my wrists were starting to cramp but I had needed to run that routine one last time before today and now I was regretting that decision.

My ankle was killing me but as long as I could get through this one event I would have all day to recover before tomorrow’s event.

They don’t tell you that the reason most gymnast’s start out so young is because you have to stretch your body before too much muscle has grown. They don’t tell you that starting young means faster recovery when things go wrong. They don’t tell you that as you get older things get harder and your bones don’t bounce back as quickly as they used to. They don’t tell you that you’re going to get hurt.

Some coaches warn against broken bones or sprains but no one talks about the dents you’ll get in your shins and how much they’ll hurt with every step you take. They don’t talk about the lingering pain of past injuries when the atmospheric pressure skyrockets. 

They don’t tell you that getting older in this sport is a death sentence.

I could do this. I could do this routine in my sleep. All I needed to do was get out of my own head and do the steps as I have practiced them for the past four years, all leading up to today.

One last breath to steal my nerves and I was off.

The wind that hit my face was welcomed as I took off. My hands were on the mat for mere seconds before my feet took their place and suddenly I was flying through the air.

Flashes of color as I spun were the only things I could see while the cheering voices from other events bounced through the gym.

I landed perfectly, not a step out of place, and raised my arms before looking at the rest of the mat.

Easy part down, three more passes and you’re done.

They don’t tell you that as you get older, the next competition you go to could be your last. 

“Gorgeous triple full,” the announcer said, a clear smile in his voice despite the fact that he was supposed to remain unbiased; the American announcers always seemed to struggle with that. “He stuck that landing perfectly and I’m sure it will help him if any missteps occur later in the routine.”

I couldn’t let myself entertain that idea. The landing was perfect because it had to be, not to help me out later should I fail.

My ankle protested the landing but I didn’t have time to worry about that. Three more passes and I could rest but now wasn’t the time for pain.

Arms still raised, I ran.

“Double front full straight into a triple front full into a round off back full. Absolutely stunning!” The crowd is cheering and I can barely hear them over the pounding of my heart.

Deep breath, arms raised; two more passes, and I was done.

“Backhand spring, double back tuck, straight into another triple full,” the announcer’s words fall deaf on my ears as I try to focus on the landing.

I was off somehow.

The take-off had been shaky, my ankle shot with pain seconds before I took off and now my right side lagged behind the left. How high had I managed to go? Was there room for three rotations? I wasn’t balanced. How was I going to land when I wasn’t balanced?

They don’t tell you that any competition you go to could be your last. They don’t prepare you for the heartache when the day finally comes. They don’t give you ideas to retire while you’re ahead. 

I hadn’t landed perfectly. I hadn’t really landed at all. I had corrected myself midair but was leaning too much to my right side. My left foot hadn’t even touched the ground before I heard my right ankle snap.

“Nasty fall made by Cade Rune and he’s not getting up.”

I forced myself into a ball as I clutched the broken ankle to my chest the best I could. Through clenched teeth, I tried to yell for anyone who could be helpful but the gasps and yells of the crowd drowned out my plea. 

“Medics are racing to him now, let’s all pray he’s alright. That fall looked nasty and replaying it now I’m not so sure he’s going to be able to recover from that one.”

“What hurts,” a woman asked as she touched my shoulder, then looked down to the ankle I was holding onto for dear life. Her face went white and I could only assume that wasn’t a good sign. “I need a stretcher,” she yelled over her shoulder before turning back to me. “We’re going to get you taken care of, can you try to lay flat on your back for me?”

My ankle had been broken in three places and due to my weakened shins, my right leg was littered with fractures going all the way up to my knee.

I did not compete in any other events that week, or any other in the years following.

That was my last competition. That had been my last trick. That had been my last time stepping onto a gym floor and I was not prepared to see it go so quickly and without warning.