It was an idea I hadn’t quite wrapped my head around. The position as the head coach of the U.S. women’s gymnastics team had been uncontested for the last thirty years. My father had held the job for a year longer than I’d been alive and now here I was, poised to take over for him whether he liked it or not.
My father’s medical leave had come as a shock to everyone in the gymnastics world. The team had already qualified for the games, competed in Worlds, and developed relationships with my father, but when his heart had put him in the hospital, the committee had been forced to scramble to replace him.
I wasn’t their first choice, but in the end I was the best choice. I had experience in both training as an Olympic athlete and coaching Olympic athletes. My gym in Seattle was the best place to train on the west coast and on top of that, I already had the infrastructure in place. I had a guesthouse and a small gym on my property where the girls could do their early morning workouts. For practice, we’d convene in my Seattle gym where they’d have uninterrupted time to work on their routines for Rio.
For one month, I’d push them harder than they’d ever been pushed, and they’d hate me for it, but in the end, I knew they’d come back from Rio with gold.
“There you are.”
I turned to find Birthday Queen posing on the last stair wearing one of my shirts as a dress. Property of U.S. Men’s Gymnastics Team 2004. She must have dug deep into my dresser to find it; that thing hadn’t seen the light of day in years. She pinched the shirt between her thumb and forefinger and pulled it away from her body.
“Were you really an Olympic gymnast?” She seemed surprised by the notion. “You don’t really look like you have the body type.” She dragged her gaze across my broad chest, down over my sweatpants. “You’re really tall.”
I’d heard the same thing my entire life. I shook my head, staring down at the words on her shirt before turning back to the coffee grinder. “No. I wasn’t an Olympic gymnast.”
My answer probably confused her more, but I didn’t feel like explaining it.
“Listen, I’ve got to head into town for a few errands…”
“That’s cool,” she replied, unfazed. “Want to get dinner or something later?”
I thought of the team.
“Dinner probably isn’t an option for a few months.”
“Months?” she asked, confused.
“Listen, do you want me to call you an Uber or something?”
She finally understood. “No, it’s cool. I’ll have my friend come pick me up.”
She spun on her heels and headed back up the stairs, presumably to change back into her clothes and stuff my old t-shirt back into a drawer, forgotten once again. I made two cups of coffee, poured hers in a Styrofoam cup, and set it beside a granola bar. After I made sure she’d see it on her way back down the stairs, I reached for my own cup of coffee and the rolled-up newspaper I’d been avoiding.
It was a cold morning, foggy and dark, but the slight chill in the air woke up my senses as I stepped out onto the porch. I nearly reached back inside for a jacket, but I took a few sips of the coffee instead. It warmed me from the inside out as I leaned against the wooden banister and pulled the thin rubber band off the newspaper. I knew it wouldn’t do me any good to read it—thus far, I’d ignored every article and news story they’d aired about me—but this time curiosity won.
I whipped open the paper and found the article staring back at me. I folded down the bottom half of the page where they’d blown up a photo of me from my time as an elite gymnast, then started from the first line of the article.
With just over a month remaining before American athletes pack their reds, whites, and blues and head southeast toward Rio de Janeiro, a handful of Olympians are suddenly gathering in the northwest. The emergency summit is U.S. Gymnastics’ response to the surprise announcement of perennial coach Filip Winter’s indefinite leave of absence for an undisclosed medical condition. At a press conference Tuesday, the committee revealed that Winter’s son Erik, 29, would not only be taking the reins in Rio, but would also be hosting the newly inherited team at his Seattle-based gym during the weeks leading up to competition.
“Obviously changing leadership so close to the Olympics is hardly ideal,” committee President Sandra Bixby said. “However, I have the utmost confidence in Coach Erik Winter and I look forward to seeing the team grow together in Seattle.”
Contrary to the committee’s words of support, sources indicate many gymnastics insiders were unhappy with the selection.
“It’s nepotism, clear and simple,” said one ESPN pundit. “The man’s father runs the program for 30 years, steps down, and within a day his son’s got the job? What is this, North Korea?”
Contrary to allegations of familial favoritism, it soon became clear that the largest source of opposition to Erik Winter’s appointment is actually his ailing father. A source close to the family made it clear that the elder Winter lamented his son’s “inexperience” and described him as “smart, but ultimately a quitter.”
The scathing words come from a man who is no stranger to success. Filip Winter competed in the 1964 Olympics, leading a Swedish team to all-around gold. Subsequently, he immigrated to the United States to open a training center in Austin, Texas. Since the 1970s, Filip and his wife Sarah have consistently produced Olympic-quality athletes year after year. This list includes Erik, although he was forced to retire and withdraw from the Olympic team in 2004 due to a chronic shoulder injury. Perhaps it was Erik’s decision to retire that kicked off the decade of iciness between father and son.