Page 3 of Reputation (Tempt)

I visualized running in a competition. Women on either side of me. I imagined a crowd in the stands. I blocked them out. I shut out everything and tried to focus on the race. I made it a few meters, but then the crowd started laughing. Their taunts growing louder and louder as they chanted, “Loser. Loser. Loser.”

I squeezed my eyes shut briefly and tried to center myself.Focus on your body. Block out your thoughts.

But my pulse charged ahead, my heart climbing into my throat until I thought I was going to be sick.

“Now is not the time to back off,” Dad said, and I got the feeling he was referring to more than my speed on the track. “Keep going. Keep pushing.”

I tried. I really did. But finally, I stopped, doubling over and placing my hands on my thighs. Spots danced in my vision, and I nearly collapsed to the ground.

It’s not real. It’s not…real.

Maybe if I repeated it often enough, my brain would believe it. But I’d been trying for months, and I still couldn’t seem to get it through my head.

When I glanced up, Dad was frowning from the sideline. I took my time, walking around the track to cool down. To give myself a moment.

“What happened?” Dad asked when I finally approached for some water.

“Just…” I lifted a shoulder. “Got in my head.”

“Mm.” He glanced down at his tablet, making notes. “You mean you let other people’s opinions get in your head.”

I huffed, drying my face and neck with a towel. Sometimes having my dad as my coach was a blessing and a curse. Like now—when he saw too much and knew me too well.

My dads had always encouraged my twin Astrid and me in anything we’d wanted to pursue. But they’d invested a lot of time, money, and energy into my career. Dad especially had devoted himself to it, to me. It was our thing.

But lately, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was a disappointment. Or worse, a failure.

“Come on, Emmy.” He lifted his baseball hat with a hawk embroidered on the front—a reminder of the years he’d spent playing pro hockey for the Hollywood Hawks—and scratched his head. “We’ve talked about this. It was one race. You weren’t ready then, but you are now.”

Was I?

I’d torn my plantar fascia nearly a year ago. Since then, I’d rehabbed my body. Improved my technique. I should’ve been at the top of my game, yet I wasn’t.

The ironic part was that it wasn’t even the fear of pain or reinjury holding me back. No, my mental game was trashed because the first time I’d tried competing after my injury, I’d had the worst showing in my entire career. I hadn’t competed since.

“Don’t let that one race define you. Define your career.” Perhaps sensing I remained unconvinced, he added, “What would Taylor say?”

I smiled, thinking of my idol Taylor Swift. “Shake it off,” I muttered, shaking out my wrists as if to loosen the bad mojo that seemed to haunt me since that race.

“What was that?” Dad held a hand up to his ear, a smile teasing his lips.

“I said…” I dragged out the word. “Shake it off.”

“You can give me more than that,” he taunted.

I belted out some of the lyrics, complete with a few dance moves. Dad joined my dance party, and I instantly felt better. Taylor’s music might not solve all my problems, but her songs helped me forget. Even if only for a moment.

“That’s right.” He nodded as a passerby whistled their appreciation. “You can do this. You can shake off that experience and dominate. I know you can.”

I appreciated his faith in me, but I wasn’t sure I even wanted to compete anymore. I’d accomplished all my goals and then some—four-time All-American, two Olympic gold medals, and enough trophies to fill an entire room. I’d hinted at wanting to retire before but never outright said it.

“I made you an appointment with another sports psychologist,” he said.

I moved into my stretching routine so I wouldn’t have to face him.This.He’d spent years training me, molding me into a successful athlete. But every day, this felt more like his dream and less like mine.

I was honestly happier not competing than I had been in years. Traveling for competitions was exhausting. I had other things I wanted to pursue, like designing an inclusive and adaptive athleisure line. And so many other opportunities I’d had to put on the back burner because they’d take too much time away from my training—Dad’s words, not mine.

Not to mention just living life. I wanted to stay up late every so often. Go to parties. Drink alcohol. Normal things I’d missed out on in my late teens and early twenties because I’d been training for the Olympics.