Sunny(17)

Coach demonstrated how to hold it, and I tried to copy but it felt like the discus was going to slip out of my hand.

Coach said I have to trust it. Said I have to know that it will move with me.

Coach held it in his palm, then wound his torso, flipping his hand over so that the discus was on the underside, and when he brought his body back around he flipped his palm back up. He repeated this over and over again. Then told me to try, but this time try it with trust.

It all felt so strange, and it got stranger as soon as I brought it back, because it slipped out of my hand and almost dropped on Coach’s foot, but he moved just in time.

I was embarrassed and scared for Coach’s toes, but he was cool about it and just told me not to ruin his dancing career.

I tried again, and again, bringing it back and forth, following Coach’s lead. He told me to spread my legs a little more, to open my stance and drop my butt down some, to sit on the invisible stool. Eventually it started to feel better. Back and forth, swinging my arms, swinging the discus, winding it up.

Coach reminded me that the discus was all about technique. He said that even though it’s heavy, it’s not about strength, it’s about movement. He said to consider this the third part of our very unique dance routine, which would be the seventh rule.

7. Release.





Dear Diary, It’s best to have these in one place.

STEPS TO A WHOOSH WHOOSH AHH (for optimal discus throwing): 1. Stand straight, bend knees just a little.

2. Spread arms like wings.

3. Wind body back and forth with hands straight and stiff, cutting the air.

4. Count to three.

5. On three, spin right leg 230 degrees around.

6. Then go straight into a 180-degree turn, completing the second whoosh.

7. Release.





Dear Diary,

Did you know that you don’t actually throw a discus? Right. What you do is push it. Yes, push it. And the funny thing about that is, Coach kept saying it should feel natural. But how?

I mean, the spinning feels natural. And Coach said if I’m spinning right, the discus will just move with me even though I’m barely holding it. But then . . . I’m supposed to push it off my first finger, instead of letting it fly off the back of my hand.

Coach demonstrated this. The first time he did it at half speed, and the discus didn’t go too far.

Then he did it again, this time full speed, and the discus still didn’t go that far. I mean, it didn’t go like a mile or nothing. But it went. It definitely went.

Again. This time the discus flew flatter and farther.

Then it was my turn. And, Diary, let’s just say it didn’t go so well.

Turns out, throwing a discus is like . . . it’s like nothing else. All I know is I was terrible at it. It was flying to the left and to the right, and when it was actually going straight, it was wobbly and clunky.

Coach said to do it again. To trust it. To trust me.

So, I did it again.

Again. I did it again, again.

Again. Again, after the second again, each time different than the last, my index finger rubbing raw from the steel. It was all feeling weird, which somehow felt not weird for me, if that makes sense.

Until everyone started trickling back onto the track from the long run. Lynn came in first, Coach Whit running alongside her. Then came Curron and Freddy, and Patty and Krystal and Deja and Ghost and Lu and everyone else.

Coach told them to stay off the track, shooing everybody over to the benches. Then he turned back toward me. Told me to remember it’s like dancing. A fluid movement. And that he could tell I was thinking about it too much.

I took a deep breath. Wound up again, holding another one of the cold plates in my hand.

Lu yelled out, Let’s go, Sunny! And gave me a few claps. I could hear all the teeth sucking from all the way over there, probably because everyone figured he was just sucking up to take Aaron’s spot as captain of the team. Either way, I appreciated it. I wound up again, back and forth, back and forth, bending my knees and settling into my stance, and after the fourth wind, I tore into my spin, once, then twice, and then I let the discus go. And it went. And it was perfectly flat, spinning like a record.

Headed right for the rest of the team.

Coach yelled for everyone to look out. They scattered, and, Diary, I’m so glad they did, because the discus smashed into the wooden bench, cracking it, knocking it over.

Curron barked my name.

Lynn stood beside him, looking at me with mean eyes.

It was just like the race. Just like when I pulled up. The looks on their faces of surprise and disappointment, like I had done something wrong. Like something was wrong with me. Like I didn’t belong at the only place . . . I belonged.





Dear Diary,

If anyone ever calls you Journal because you look like one and they want you to be one, or if your spiral backbone spins out again and you’ve come all loose and they mistake you for trash, or think you’re unusable, I hope I have the courage to do for you what Lu, Ghost, and Patty did for me.

Threaten their fingers until they call you by your name.





Dear Diary, After the newbies got everybody off my back, and Coach gave his usual knock-it-offs and cut-it-outs, followed by his end-of-practice pep talk about how the best never rest, he hit me with a surprise.

I have practice tomorrow.