Vancouver, Canada 

February 5th, 2017

10:52 pm

“I hate to say this,” Brian tells her at the end of practice as Jessica leans heavily against the rink wall desperately trying to catch her breath. 

Lately, the practices have been more tiring than usual, or perhaps her body’s just weaker than normal. She can barely hear him over the sound of her own breath and pounding heart, but the silence that follows his words is deafening.

“But I don’t think you’ll be ready by World’s.”

Jessica is panting so hard -- her lungs desperately heaving for the air her body lacks -- that she can’t even properly frown at Brian’s words. 

Deep down, she knows Brian is right and surprisingly, the admission of the fact is not as hard as she’d thought it would be.  

She’s not blind. She herself has considered the necessity of sitting out Worlds this year. The notion hits her in her most exhausted moments before she falls asleep each night after practice, the slow improvement weighing on her mind and body. 

Everyday she pushes her body to the brink of exhaustion. And everyday, she pushes a little more than the last. 

Jessica has been racing against time, and her body has suffered for it. 

Jessica knows she’s been dangerously testing her limits. At the rate she’s going though, she’ll end up killing her body. One wrong move, one moment of lost focus, and there goes her entire career. Bye bye Olympic gold. 

It’s not like she’s still fifteen years old, full of youth and equipped with a body capable of bouncing back from any minor injury. She’s nearly twenty two now. That in skater years, is like granny age.

Jessica’s not just tired. She’s exhausted. It’s the type of weariness that sinks into your bones and just stays there, weighing you down. It’s the type of fatigue that clings to you and makes you feel completely drained even after having done absolutely nothing. It’s the type of weakness in your body that forces you to make mistakes and overcompensate for the sudden difficulty of normally simple movements. 

Jessica knows it’s mental as much as it’s physical. And she knows the best thing to do is to simply step away. 

Had she been a lesser skater, Brian’s words would have been disheartening. But she’s Jessica Jung and she’s long grown used to the cost of perfection, of what it takes to get there.

This is just another obstacle that every athlete faces. 

And Jessica knows what she needs to do to get out of this funk.  

So she gathers herself up and straightens against the wall. Brian watches her with anxious eyes. 

Jessica, to his surprise, lets out a laugh. “I don’t think I’ll be ready either,” she admits and is almost relieved when the words slip out of her lips easily, feeling as if a certain burden has been lifted from her shoulders. 

‘It’s the burden of time,’ Jessica realizes. ‘There’s no need to push my body so hard now that I know I can take my time. I have a whole year to prepare before the Olympics.’ 

Brian, simply put, is completely astonished by the display of maturity from whom he’d thought was just another skater with a big cocky ego. But Jessica has proven him completely wrong, surprising him in yet another account. There isn’t even a hint of contempt or frustration at the admission in her tone. 

If he’d suggested the same thing to any other skater, they most likely would’ve thrown a fit of some sort and tried to compete no matter what. He’d expected some protesting, maybe even some crying. 

(Brian knows, because he speaks from experience. Many of them.)

“You don’t?” he asks involuntarily, barely catching himself. 

Jessica shrugs. “It’s something that’s been on my mind too actually, but yeah, I don’t think I’ll be  ready,” she says again and Brian’s jaw drops a little more. 

“One month is barely enough time,” Jessica continues. “At best, I’ll be competing with a half-baked routine and I respect myself and my competitors way too much to do such a thing. At worst, I push my body too far too fast and I break before I even get onto the rink,” she says, giving Brian a dry look. She knows her words are grim, but she’s seen too many good athletes before her fall down the same hole.  

Brian can only stare. For the first time, he fully finds himself understanding what makes Jessica the monster skater that she is. It’s not just the unrivaled insane training discipline - that even his own body is sore from. No, it’s her mental strength and the clarity in which she is able to see the situation. 

Jessica is a good athlete because she is a smart athlete. One that knows when to push like there’s no tomorrow, and when to stop before they destroy their body in the process. 

Almost all professional athletes can do the first one; almost all professional athletes struggle with the second one. 

She knows how to listen to her body. To find the limit - that thin line between doing the most and doing too much. After all, the best athlete is the one that is the most attuned to their body. 

“Besides,” Jessica grins. “What’s a better comeback stage than the Olympics?” she says, as if giving up a chance to compete at Worlds is no biggie to her.

“You know you can always compete at Worlds with an easier routine,” Brian points out, realizing that sitting out this Worlds puts Jessica as inactive for more than a year which is highly unusual right before the Olympics and a bit disadvantageous as the Federation might not even give her a chance to compete despite her previous records. 

As he should’ve expected though, his suggestion is met with a fierce frown in response. He holds his hand up in surrender, laughing at the indignant look on Jessica’s face. “Right, no half-baked routines.”

“Too much self-respect,” Jessica repeats just for emphasis, and takes a deep breath, shoulders dropping. 

Brian watches as the weariness settles in on the girl. But Jessica seems much lighter now than she did when she first started the practice three hours ago. 

“It’s good that you’re giving your body more time to adjust. It’s not easy to suddenly throw in three quad jumps in five months you know? People have tried their whole lifetimes to no avail,” he says, wanting to encourage her. 

Jessica snorts. “I don’t need a lifetime. I’ll have these quads nailed in three months.”

“And what are you going to do for the remaining of the nine months before the Winter Olympics?” Brian asks with a grin, deciding to humor the girl. 

“What else?” Jessica grins back, her eyes twinkling. “Aim for perfection.”

Brian only chuckles. He knows that if anyone can do it, it’s the girl in front of him. She’s proven that much to him already. “Well, why don’t you take this chance to give yourself a break then? Take it easy for a week or two. Go home. Visit your family. I’m sure they missed you,” Brian tells her. “We’ll pick up on your hellish training when you get back.”

Jessica hums. She leans her head against the wall and considers the proposition. She does need a break and home does sound lovely. She misses Korean food and homemade kimchi. She misses her parents and even her little an