Chapter 45 Grace
Grace
Waking up the next morning, we know that Johnson’s recovery will get pressure tested today.
He’s meeting with the team medical staff, and now that he has clearance for moderate workouts, they’ll make a plan for next steps.
“Missing these games is frustrating as hell,” he says as he’s trimming his beard in the bathroom while I wash my face.
The team has held it together alright at least, with only two losses on the season still.
Once he puts his electric trimmer down, he looks down at the bathroom counter.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“I’m trying to decide whether I should track Landon down at the facility and force a conversation.” He still won’t return Johnson’s texts, and I’m close to going back to Landon myself and insisting he talk to him. Enough is enough.
“Feel out how the day goes, what they ask you to do,” I reply. “You’ll probably get a vibe if it seems right.”
He nods. “Yeah. I just hate not having a plan at this point. I’d love to host a big group dinner together for you, in honor of your new job…”
“The celebratory dinner you took me to was perfect.” We’d gone out this weekend to a trendy new restaurant, no longer needing to hide our relationship.
“I loved it, but it would be nice to have Landon and me cohost something, instead of making you keep it all separate. Anyway, I’ll see how it goes.”
As we both leave the house, I start mulling over my own point of uncertainty at the moment—why Coach Shelley asked for the meeting with me, which we ultimately set for ten this morning. But at least I don’t have to wait too long to find out.
When I walk into Coach Shelley’s office a short while later, she looks up from her desk and smiles. “Hi, Grace. Take any chair.”
Her expression is reassuring, which helps ease my mind a bit.
She has a couple of faux leather chairs, and I sit in the one closest to me.
“Do you have any sense of why I wanted to chat with you today?”
Nope. “It doesn’t seem like you’re mad, but no, I’m not entirely sure.”
She shoots me a knowing look. “No, I’m not upset at all. The opposite, really. Grace, do you know exactly what you did the other day? I mean, I’m sure you do, but maybe you need to hear it from an outside voice.”
“I…well, maybe tell me what you mean?”
“Without any recent formal training, you kept up with a near championship qualifying time for the 5000 meters, and then after slowing down in the middle for a cool down lap, reached a qualifying time for the 10000 meters.”
Oh.
“I’ve simply never seen anything like it from someone who isn’t training. You’ve kept up your running, obviously. Your talent was always enormous. Did you enjoy it?”
I look away from her for a moment, focusing on the back of the room to gather my thoughts, before shifting my gaze back to her.
“I did. I do. I love to run. I—I don’t know about competing now though.”
She pauses, studying me. “Why? If it’s okay to ask.”
“It’s…only a couple of people know this, but something happened to me at the NCAA indoor tournament my senior year. Do you know Larry Smalls at all?”
Her nose crinkles. “I do.”
I explain to her what I overheard, and what it did to me following the competition. How I crumbled mentally. Her expression goes from surprise, to sympathy, to frustration.
When I finish, she takes a deep breath. “I’m deciding where to start with this, Grace.
First, I’m so sorry that you overheard that from Larry.
That must have been so difficult to shoulder alone.
Larry is…just one person, in the end. He’s influential, but in this case, not only do I think he’s wrong, but I think you would have proven him wrong. ”
I stare at her, taking in the words.
“You can still prove him wrong, let me correct that phrase.” She’s got the most serious expression on her face that I’ve seen since we met. “Would you have gone pro if you hadn’t heard his comment?”
I nod. There’s no denying I would have. “That was my plan. Train and go to school at the same time down here.”
She presses her lips together. “I think you can do that still, if you want it. For all we know, taking time off from competitions did your body a favor by giving it a break.”
Wow.
“In the meantime, it’s obvious that you still got it. You still got it and more, Grace.”
Her words are starting to sink in, and I feel a tightness in my chest.
“I don’t want to push you to do something that you don’t want to do, and unfortunately, I can’t coach you since you’re out of eligibility and I need to focus on the team. But I would absolutely introduce you to Sanders Ravenly at Fairview Elite’s program, if you want to explore going pro again.”
Oh my god, what? Sanders Ravenly—he’s coached several U.S. champions.
I can hardly breathe at this point, as the weight of her words sits on me.
“Oh, wow, Shelley. This is a lot to think about.”
She nods. “I know it is.”
I need to get out of here. To think. “Can I get back to you?”
At this point, she must be used to me making this request after our conversations. “Definitely.”
We say our farewells, though I hardly remember leaving her office, and when I walk out of the building, I head to the nearest bench and sit down. Reeling.
What exactly had Larry Smalls cost me? And even more precisely, what had I sacrificed in believing him more than I believed in myself?
If Shelley saw this potential in me, had I wasted almost two years of my running life because of some unkind words?
The thought brings with it a wave of anger. At him. At myself.
Why did I allow him to affect me so much?
But I know the answer. It’s me. I permitted it. I put my view of myself in the hands of another person, instead of owning it myself.
Just like I have with my mom so many times.
No different from what I observed after Jasmine confessed her own struggles with her ex.
This is not who I want to be.
As I sit here stewing, I can’t move past the regret I’m feeling. If only I had made myself push through my hurt, spoken up to someone, maybe I wouldn’t be in this place today.
I boxed myself in, limited myself, by not taking action. By accepting what he said.
I don’t want to regret anything else.
And there’s one situation that’s been nagging at me for months, dangerously close to the surface most of the time, even as I try to avoid it.
I pull out my phone and click out a long overdue text.
GRACE: Mom, can we talk?
It’s been over a month since we had a one-on-one call, and my texts to her have been sporadic, usually occurring during a group text exchange.
She FaceTimes me five minutes after my text. I’m still sitting on the bench, revved up with emotion. Maybe I should move to a more private location, but I don’t want to lose my head of steam.
“Hello, Grace,” she says, her tone crisp. “To what do I owe the pleasure of a call?”
I’m direct in response. “Hi, Mom. I have some news.”
She doesn’t follow up on that statement, instead studying me. “What’s this new look? You don’t have your face on. With those blonde lashes, you really need a pop of something on your eyes.”
“Mom, no one says ‘have your face on’ anymore, first of all.” Normally, I would temper my words, but my tolerance is non-existent right now.
“That’s not true,” she argues.
“Second of all, I’m just not into wearing a bunch of makeup. It’s not me. I did it when I was younger because you said to, but I’m an adult now, you know?”
“I don’t see what that has to do with looking your best.”
I don’t answer her. There’s not really a point.
“I wanted to let you know that I got a job for after business school. I’ll be working as a business manager for soccer players, under this really gre—”
“A business manager? Soccer? I don’t understand.”
I try to put in terms she’ll appreciate. “The clients are elite athletes, like Landon, only in soccer. And my boss is one of the best in the country. His client roster is amazing, and I’ll be helping manage their financial and business interests.”
She’s quiet for a moment, looking like she’s considering her options in responding. Finally, she picks a direction.
“Have you heard back from any of your applications yet?”
“What applications, Mom?”
“Your law school applications,” she says, with the utter confidence that I’ve actually applied anywhere. Is she gaslighting me? Herself? I’m confused.
“Mom, I haven’t applied anywhere. Why do you think that I did?”
She looks genuinely surprised. “What? I thought that’s been the plan? We’ve talked about it so many times.”
“You’ve talked about it. I’ve barely responded lately when you brought it up. A total one-sided conversation.”
Mom’s voice intensifies. “Watch how you talk to me, Grace.”
Her manner immediately causes me to shut down—it’s a reflex. I hate evoking this side of her, feeling like I’m disappointing her. But then my frustration roars back in return, and I find the courage to say something.
“I am thrilled about my new job, and I think I’ll be successful at it.”
“You should be successful as a lawyer. The whole pathway is already paved for you. I can get you into Auburn at the snap of my fingers, anyway. That’s what I’ll do. I’ll write the dean Monday…”
“Mom, I’m NOT going to law school!” I yell out, loudly—it’s maybe the loudest I’ve ever been. Three people walking nearby stop and look at me.
Oh no.
“Sorry…” I start to say.
But.
But.
I’m not sorry.
And so I’m going to say what I mean.
“I take that back. I’m not going to apologize.” Mom’s mouth is hanging open. “Law school is out. Zero interest. Done. I don’t want to talk about it again.”
“Grace—”
“I’m not going to be you,” I say in a quieter tone, with a fierceness still running through it. “I’m going to have my own path. And it won’t follow yours.”
“Well, I don’t even know what to say anymore,” Mom says, blustery like she’s trying to find her footing in the conversation. “I need to go.”
She hangs up without waiting for me to respond.
Within a minute, I’m coming down from my adrenaline high and dying to talk to someone.
Did I really just do that?
I don’t want to interrupt Johnson at the Waves facility, and I’m too irritated at Landon right now, so I pick a different option—Rawley.
I explain the entire conversation, and he responds seriously, tamping down his playful side.
“This is so huge. I’m proud of you. How are you feeling?”
“I’m glad I got to say my piece,” I confess. “Because I feel like it may be a long time before I speak to her again.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
“I am. I’m…I finally feel like my future is my own to decide.”
“It is, Gracie, it is.”
After a few more minutes of collecting myself at the bench, I start walking to my car, my mind starting to digest everything that Shelley had said.
I know I’ll talk it through with Johnson once I’m home, but there’s another person whose opinion I value on this topic—Sarah. She’s one of the few I’ve confided in about my track history, and who will get the push and pull of leaping back into elite competitions, even if we do different sports.
We haven’t been hanging out this fall, even though the Surge’s season is done. Between her jetting to Tampa to see Malcolm and my schedule with school and Johnson, this year looks a lot different than last fall. Still, I know she’ll be happy to talk about this with me.
Hoping she may be free now, I give her a ring as I walk into the parking lot.
“Hey, Grace!” she says as she does indeed pick up.
“Hi, I’m so glad I caught you! I wasn’t sure if you’d be in the middle of something.”
She laughs. “Yeah, I know, I’m a pain to be friends with. No, I’m good. I’m hanging with Malcolm, but we’re just relaxing.”
“You are not a pain—well, maybe your schedule is. But you’re one of the only people who I can talk to about this.”
“What’s going on?” Her voice loses its joking timbre.
I catch her up on my runs with the Tolliver team, bringing the story all the way forward to Shelley’s feedback today about going pro.
“Grace. That’s frickin’ amazing.”
I smile at her enthusiasm. “It’s just one woman’s opinion, but it’s definitely made me rethink everything that’s gotten me to this point. Why I’m not competing.”
“Even with zero track and field experience, I know this is probably easier said than done—but why wouldn’t you go for it?” Sarah asks.
I take a deep breath. Sarah has such a strong belief in her athletic abilities. I wonder if I can translate my challenges into a framework she’ll fully understand.
“I just—I’ve always been swayed by other people’s opinions of me. You aren’t like that, I know.”
“No,” Sarah says. “But I’ve had plenty of friends who are. It’s already tricky to manage your mind in sports at any level, but when you’re vulnerable to other’s views of you, it’s a major struggle.”
“Yup, that’s the way I’ve been my whole life, including with my running. But I don’t know, something’s shifted. Maybe it’s growing up? Being on my own longer?”
“Yeah, the passage of time helps put things in perspective too.”
“Definitely.” I’ve now reached my car, and I lean against the driver’s side door. “I don’t want any regrets—well, any more than I already have for missing the last twenty or so months.”
“Well, then, is there even a question in your mind of what to do?” Sarah asks.
I sit with her query for a few beats. And I put words to something that I’ve been unable to articulate until exactly this moment.
“It’s going to sound weird to you, I think. I have to give myself permission to go for it. Permission to do what I want, without waiting for direction from anyone else.”
“Well, then you don’t need me. You only need yourself.”
She’s entirely right.
“Having said that, come back to me if you want to talk more, Grace.”
“Thanks, and see you soon I hope.”
After a couple more minutes of catch up, we end the call and I start the drive home to Johnson’s.
I still want to talk to him, but the conversation with Sarah is cementing my thoughts.
I’m done shrinking myself to fit for other people.