Peter

Being at the Olympics wasn't just a goal achieved. It was the dream I'd held onto every freezing dawn, every fall that left me breathless, every entire season pushing my body to the limit. It had taken years to get here. And yet… this wasn't the peak. Not yet. When they announced the qualifying results, I felt my heart pound in my ribs. I barely heard my name before I gasped. First place. Relief washed over me like a warm, almost painful wave. I'd done it. I was moving on to the next level. To Aerials. But the relief lasted only seconds. Then came the pressure. One more week to train. One more week to launch myself into the void and trust that my body would remember every twist in the air. One more week not to fail.

That night I returned to the dorms with burning muscles and a heavy head. Practice had been brutal. My legs were shaking even as I walked down the hall. I just wanted a hot shower, greasy pizza… and maybe something to make me forget, even for a few hours, that everyone expected me to fly perfectly. My phone vibrated. “Free?” It was {{user}}. I squinted to focus on the screen and couldn’t help but chuckle. Of course I was free. “Get ready,” I replied. I put my phone down on the bed and stepped into the shower. The hot water cascaded over my tense shoulders, but it didn’t completely extinguish the electricity that still coursed through my body. I didn’t know if it was adrenaline or anxiety. Ten minutes later, I was walking down the hall toward my best friend’s bedroom. And for the first time all day, I wasn’t thinking about falling.