Page 28 of Full Split
“You could never push me away,” I tell him honestly, and reach to pull him in for a hug, but stop myself.
We clean our equipment in silence.
“What did you think?” I ask, not able to help myself.
“It doesn’t matter,” he repeats, but I shake my head.
“It matters to me. I want to know.”
“It’s embarrassing…” He takes a breath and lets out a huff. “I thought there was something there. But you were just being the same amazing guy that you always have been. I took it too far, and I’m sorry.”
I want to tell him he wasn’t wrong. That, yeah, maybe he did take it a little too far, but I don’t think less of him for it. Even if he did open my eyes to something I wish I could rebury deep down inside me where I don’t have to find a way to cope with it, I could never think less of him.
But I can’t get the words out before he leaves the gym, and I don’t see him again for the rest of the evening.
Tuesday is podium training for Nationals. We’re all a little nervous. Last year, they almost made it to the national team but fell short. They’ve worked their asses off and improved so much since then. They’re entirely new athletes now.
I think about what last year’s Nationals were like, how busy the schedule was. Sid kept them in the gym almost the whole time, and on top of that, they were jet lagged for podium training because we didn’t think to arrive a few days early to adjust to the time change. Despite the nerves, this year feels different.
We leave for the SAP Center after a light lunch. We’re not able to enter the building early or through a back door, but the media presence isn’t bad. Truthfully, I don’t know what I’m expecting—for paparazzi to hound Niles like some A-list celebrity scandal?Even if that were the case, I can’t shield him from everything he’s facing or will in the future.
A few photographers snap photos of the athletes arriving, and reporters are hoping for soundbites, but there are no issues walking up to the entrance. Security escorts us in, and we get registered and checked in pretty quickly.
Niles and Weston have a smooth rotation through all six events with only minor corrections. I can think of several times Sid would have jumped in and yelled to adjust a landing or repeat something, but I think it’s more important that they’re getting comfortable with the space and lights.
I wouldn’t say it out loud, but I wonder if Sid not being here might actually be a good thing. He’s an excellent coach and has been pivotal in upping their training, but maybe a more hands-off approach is helping their nerves. Sid tends to get worked up and intense during competitions. I’m the opposite. The more stressful the event, the calmer I get. As long as I’m not the one competing, that is.
I never made it this far when I was competing. I don’t know how I would’ve handled this kind of pressure.
After their cool-down and a water break, they’re escorted to the press area. I stand at the back of the room while they field questions both separately and together, but it makes me smile to see them mostly interviewed as a duo. They’ve kind of been a package deal, especially this season.
They’re asked about their close friendship during the interview, and Weston answers in full PR mode that they have a collaborative training dynamic. It’s worked well for them, and they’ve succeeded with the support of one another. Anotherreporter asks what they’ll do if one of them makes the team and the other doesn’t. Niles jokes that they’d smother the other in their sleep, but Weston rolls his eyes and says they’ll be by each other’s side no matter what. If Niles makes it all the way to the Olympics and he doesn’t, he’ll be standing on the sidelines with the coaches to support his brother.
I almost tear up hearing that. Niles makes exaggerated heart eyes at Weston and gets the reporters laughing again.
A man wearing a grey sports coat over a t-shirt that says “Sports Are Gay” asks if Niles feels more pressure being the first openly transgender athlete competing in elite men’s gymnastics, especially given the adversity he’s faced from fellow competitors. Weston outright side-eyes Peter, who’s standing just a few feet away, waiting for someone to notice him.
Niles says he feels just as much pressure as every athlete here, that he’s worked just as hard as everyone else, and that they all share a common experience and common goal. He stresses that, for the most part, the guys at this level are supportive and there’s a camaraderie that feels more like a team than rivals.
“We’re all grown-ups here,” he says, then grins. “Well, everyone except Weston.”
The room laughs again.
After the media session, they pose for photos. Moods are light on the way back to the hotel, where we change and head out for a celebratory dinner.
While we’re waiting for a car, Weston calls his girlfriend. Niles and I stand near each other. He’s texting again, which gets my hackles up, but I try to play it cool.
“I’m proud of the way you handled yourself in the press session today,” I tell him. “I think you’re going to do really well in the competition.”
Niles stares up into my eyes for several long moments, like he’s peeling back the surface and looking straight through me, trying to read my mind.
I weirdly want him to say something snarky. Tease me. Get too close and make my heart beat like I’ve been defibrillated.
Anything but this return to normal that feels bland and sad.
It’s probably for the best.
But I hate it.
