25. Zeke
DAY FOUR OF THE 2024 OLYMPICS
Zeke was sitting in a soft leather armchair, drinking a glass of water and evading questions.
“Are we doing small talk for an hour today, or do you want to talk?” asked Fiona.
Fiona was the Team GB therapist he’d been assigned to ever since his first panic attack back in Tokyo. She was a forty-year-old Welshwoman who had a way of saying things that coming from anybody else would have sounded passive-aggressive, but from her just sounded refreshingly straight to the point.
“The weather in Athens is great, isn’t it?” said Zeke.
She smiled at him, but it was the kind of smile primary school teachers gave you as they readied themselves to explain something they’d already spent a week trying to teach you.
“Zeke, I have to remind you these sessions aren’t compulsory. If you don’t enjoy talking in this setting, you won’t get into trouble for not showing up,” Fiona said.
“Are you saying you don’t love our sessions? I thought I was your favorite athlete. You’re breaking my heart, Fi,” Zeke joked.
“Zeke, this is session number… twenty-three. I can rank your favorite colors, list every TV show you’ve watched over the past three years, and remember all of your favorite running stories. But I’m not sure we’re actually making progress… If you don’t enjoy therapy, what motivates you to keep coming?” she asked.
He sighed. “Honestly, I just come so Coach and the rest of the team don’t worry about me,” he said with a shrug. “If I stop going to my therapy sessions, they’ll start pulling me aside for heart-to-hearts. And I don’t really want to go through the constant ‘How are you really doing, kid?’ routine again,” he said, imitating Coach Adam.
“How are you really doing, kid?”
“Great,” Zeke said.
“As always.”
“Exactly.”
“Have you spoken to your family much since you’ve been here?” she asked.
“Every day,” he said, already tired of the conversation.
“I know times like this can sometimes feel a little bittersweet—” Fiona began, but Zeke cut her off.
“I feel absolutely fine, Fi, no need to worry,” he said. He knew he couldn’t hide his feelings from her, but that didn’t mean he had to engage in a conversation about them.
Zeke was always the first to check in on his friends, but he didn’t like talking about his feelings because he didn’t like people worrying about him. His mother had been so worried about him after his dad died that she’d booked him in for a four-week series of counseling sessions. Zeke had hated them. At fourteen, he’d just wanted to move on with his life, to make everything go back to normal again. He didn’t want to fall apart all the time like his mum did or spend all his time reminiscing like his brothers did. But each time he’d spoken to a counselor, they’d asked him questions that threatened to reopen the wounds he’d been trying so hard to heal. So, he’d disengaged and convinced his mother to stop the sessions.
But when Coach Adam had found him in the middle of a panic attack on the other side of the world during his last Olympics, Zeke had agreed to regular meetings with the Team GB therapist… despite his aversion to the whole thing. All of his friends who went to therapy said they left feeling lighter. Like talking about what they’d been holding in took a weight off their daily lives. But for Zeke, there was something about sitting face-to-face with someone whose job it was to make him open up that felt suffocating. He felt like if he did start talking, she’d find something in his words that would worry her. Or worse, that if he talked for long enough, he’d find something in his words that would worry him.
Once you opened a locked door in your brain, it was impossible to close it without walking away from the room a different person. If he truly allowed himself to crack open, it would lead him down a path that would eventually force him to make changes. But Zeke liked his life and who he was; he didn’t want to put that in jeopardy.
“Zeke?” said Fiona.
“Hmm,” said Zeke, his mind still wandering. “Sorry, Fiona, what were you asking me?”
“I said, have you been sleeping well? You have bags under your eyes.”
Zeke hadn’t been sleeping well, but he’d made the decision to blame it on the jet lag, even though Athens was only two hours ahead of London.
“I’ll take that as a no,” said Fiona, as if she could see right through him. Usually, he tried to hide what he was thinking, but for once, Zeke wanted to tell her everything.
He was almost twenty-five now and, while that was young by most people’s standards, he knew that he was at the start of his peak in the athletics world. If he kept training, looked after his body, and avoided any major injuries, he was pretty sure that he’d make it to at least two more Olympic Games. But he wasn’t sure if he wanted to.
It’s not that he’d fallen out of love with running; it was still his favorite thing to do. And being an athlete was so wrapped up in his identity that he couldn’t even imagine who he would be if he wasn’t competing. But, lately, something about it had started to feel a bit empty. He felt a low-level sense of foreboding before he went to practice each day, and qualifying for the quarterfinals hadn’t filled him with the same sense of accomplishment that it usually did. So, the answer to Fiona’s questions was yes—he did have something on his mind, and no—he wasn’t sleeping very well. But before he could convince himself to open up, their time was over. As he left her office, his phone rang.
“Zeke, I’m not kidding you when I tell you that I really do think I’ve found the love of my life,” said Haruki.
“Again? Who is it this time? A Dominican weight lifter, an Italian fencer?” asked Zeke.
“No! The girl I told you about last time. The one I took a photo of on the first day and ate lunch with. I just saw her again,” said Haruki.
Zeke could hear the smile in his voice. “So, I should start planning my best-man speech?” he said with a chuckle as he walked down the hallway.
“I got her number and made plans to see her. I think it’s going to work out,” said Haruki.
“You asked her out? Okay, Endō—I see you,” Zeke said, impressed that his friend had finally taken the plunge.
“Yeah, we’re going to see a movie. She said that she was going to bring her best friend along, but—”
“She’s bringing her best friend… on a date?” asked Zeke.
“Yeah… that’s not a good sign, is it?” said Haruki, sighing.
“Maybe she just wants to bring her wingwoman?” said Zeke, trying to reassure him.
“Well, that’s actually why I was calling you. I thought I should bring someone too… So, what are your thoughts on a double date this weekend?” he said, trying and failing to sound nonchalant. Whoever the mystery girl was, Haruki was in deep.
“If you need me to come, I’ll be there,” said Zeke.