Chapter 65 "Pen" Ice...
“pen”
Fans jokingly refer to the "pen-like" gesture as a foul penalty. Ren Xiyao has been penalized before. In short track speed skating, things change rapidly, especially in the short distances and the final sprint, where the competition is extremely fierce. Mistakes are inevitable. Not every foul is malicious; some are unintentional.
For Ren Xiyao, who was penalized at this moment, the surrounding noise seemed to fade away. She stared at the referee's gesture, her mind blank. A sense of powerlessness and frustration overwhelmed her like a tidal wave. The hesitation in the 1500m preliminaries! The penalty in the 1000m preliminaries! The poor results in both races told her that she thought she was cured, but everything was exposed again in the high-level competition.
She skated to the sidelines, where the coach looked worried. Ren Xiyao herself was also confused. She knew why she had done that; it was that terrible instinctive reaction, the fear hidden deep within her heart.
Over the next few days of competition, her performance fluctuated greatly. When there was no physical contact, she could skate well; but when she needed to overtake at close range or was pressed by her opponents, that hesitation and fear would reappear, causing her movements to become distorted, her speed to drop, and even risking being penalized again.
Ultimately, Ren Xiyao's performance at the World Cup in Canada fell far short of expectations. She failed to even reach the B final in the 1000m event, a stark contrast to her composure and decisiveness during the domestic qualifying trials.
After the match, Ren Xiyao sat in the locker room, feeling completely drained, not just physically, but also mentally. She thought she was ready, that she could start afresh, but she discovered a deep-seated obstacle within herself that seemed insurmountable. The coaching staff also noticed her problem, so they substituted her for the women's relay semi-final.
She had messages from Quan Zhilong on her phone. He wouldn't miss her competitions; in fact, he'd been spotted watching short track speed skating matches by fans during his commute to and from flights. She knew he understood a lot about the competitions now, and his messages were encouraging and comforting. But the kind of life-or-death judgment and fear during high-speed skating... she didn't know how to describe it to him. It wasn't distrust, but rather an indescribable predicament unique to her athletic career. She didn't want to lie to him or worry him, so her messages to him were somewhat evasive.
"I've been away from the competition for too long, my form has been fluctuating, and I'm still not quite used to some of the new rules. I need time. Don't worry." There was no immediate reply after sending the message. Ren Xiyao tidied herself up and went to the tactical debriefing meeting.
The coaching staff commented on the players' performance, offering both praise and criticism. When talking about Ren Xiyao, the head coach's tone became somewhat complex.
"Ren Xiyao, your physical fitness and basic skills have improved in this competition, and you also performed very well in the national selection trials." The head coach first affirmed her previous efforts, then changed the subject: "However, you made a few unnecessary hesitations and mistakes when competing and overtaking on curves, especially being penalized in the 1000-meter preliminaries, which was a very basic mistake."
Ren Xiyao lowered her head and did not argue. She knew that what the coach said was true.
After the meeting, the head coach called Ren Xiyao to his office. Only the two of them were in the office, and the atmosphere was somewhat heavy.
"Sit down." The head coach gestured to a chair. Ren Xiyao walked over and sat down properly.
"Xiyao, tell me, what exactly happened during the match?" His tone wasn't like an interrogation, but more like a prompting.
Ren Xiyao hesitated for a moment, but ultimately decided to be honest. She told her coach everything about the fear and hesitation she felt during the cornering and potential collisions, as well as the images of injury that flashed through her mind. She didn't exaggerate or hide anything; she simply described the uncontrollable instinctive reaction in a straightforward manner.
The head coach listened without showing any surprise, as if it were all within his expectations. He nodded and said, "I observed that. Your body wanted to rush out, but at that moment, your movement faltered, and your center of gravity became somewhat unstable. This is the mind fighting against the body's instinct."
He walked to the window, looked at the foreign street scene outside, and slowly said, "Many athletes, especially those who have experienced serious injuries, have this kind of psychological shadow. Ice sports are fast-paced and highly competitive, and falls and collisions are common. Physical injuries can heal, but the deep-seated fear can sometimes last longer than the scars."
He turned to Ren Xiyao and said, “This isn’t your fault, Xiyao. It’s a lingering effect of the injury. I heard about your PTSD last year. You did very well and adjusted in time. It just takes some time for you to return to a high-level competition and face high-level challenges. Your body no longer resists the game or high speed. This is all thanks to your hard work. You just need time to adapt and recover to a high-level competitive state, so there’s no need to rush. You must keep a stable mindset and not doubt yourself.”
The head coach proposed a temporary adjustment plan: "For the next few World Cup events, you will temporarily withdraw from the relay events. Relay races involve a lot of participants and physical contact, which is too much pressure for you in your current situation. Focus your energy on individual events, especially the 1500m and 1000m. In these events, you have more room to adjust your rhythm, find opportunities to overtake, and gradually adapt to the competition and overcome your fear."
"In individual events, you control the pace yourself. You can choose to attempt to overtake in a relatively safe situation, or you can observe your opponents first and gradually regain that decisiveness. It also helps your body recall its high-level competitive state. One skate at a time, one stroke at a time, fight hard." The head coach's tone was full of encouragement, but also carried a hint of seriousness: "This is not retreating, this is a tactical adjustment. It's to help you better face the challenges of the future, especially the Olympics two years from now."
"Thank you, Coach," she said earnestly. "I will try my best to adjust."
"Go ahead." The head coach patted her on the shoulder: "Remember to contact a psychologist, don't try to bear it all on your own."
There were no new messages on her phone, and Ren Xiyao didn't really want to go back to her dorm. She'd heard that the hotel's rooftop was unlocked, so she wanted to go up and take a look.
When Ren Xiyao pushed open the iron gate to the rooftop, a cold wind rushed in her face. The night in Salt Lake City was dry and cold, and the city lights in the distance looked like scattered stars.
Xu Qinghe leaned against the railing, a can of cola in his hand. He didn't turn around when he heard footsteps: "You're here?"
“Mm.” Ren Xiyao walked over and stood next to her.
The two were silent for a moment. Xu Qinghe handed her another unopened can of Coke. She took it, pulled the tab, and the soft popping of the carbonated bubbles was particularly clear in the quiet night.
"How did it go today?" Xu Qinghe asked.
"We lost," Ren Xiyao said. "The semi-finals."
"Hiding again?"
"Um."
Xu Qinghe took a sip of cola and didn't say anything.
Ren Xiyao stared at the flickering lights in the distance and suddenly asked, "Did you... used to do this too?"
"What?"
"I know exactly what I should do, but my body just won't listen to me."
Xu Qinghe smiled and said, "I can do it now too."
Ren Xiyao turned to look at him.
Xu Qinghe's expression was calm, even somewhat tired, but her eyes remained clear. Five years older than Ren Xiyao, she was already a veteran on the team, having experienced both peaks and troughs. Injuries, training, results, and the captain's retirement due to injury all brought her immense pressure. After the Suocheng Winter Olympics, she was even diagnosed with depression. She disappeared from the public eye for a time, and when she returned, she had lost weight, but her eyes were more somber than before.
She turned around, leaned against the railing, unwrapped a lollipop and put it in her mouth: "Do you know what I did in my first game after my first serious injury and comeback?"
Ren Xiyao shook her head.
"I fell right at the start," Xu Qinghe said. "I tripped myself, the dumbest kind of fall in the whole event."
Ren Xiyao was stunned for a moment: "...Why?"
"Because I'm afraid." Xu Qinghe chewed on a candy, his tone as relaxed as if he were talking about the weather: "I'm afraid someone will bump into me, so I simply fall first, at least I can control my posture."
The night wind swirled up fragments of broken plants and lashed against her face, causing Ren Xiyao to suddenly feel a tightness in her throat.
"And then what?"
"Later, the captain scolded me and woke me up." Xu Qinghe smiled: "She said, 'Xu Qinghe, if you keep being such a coward, you can go and become a commentator.'"
When the captain was mentioned, her voice was soft, but Ren Xiyao noticed her fingers gripping the railing tightly. The outside world seemed to have many definitions for their relationship: "A battle for the top spot," "Who is the true leader of the women's team?", "The captain suppresses Xu Qinghe." But in reality, Xu Qinghe is gentle and introverted; off the ice, she's practically invisible, a stark contrast to the captain. They might not get along, but they truly respect each other. From obscurity to Olympic champions, their relationship is beyond anyone's definition. The era they shared was undoubtedly the golden age of the women's team. They understood each other's hardships and perseverance best; their friendship was truly gentlemanly.
"Are you still afraid now..." Ren Xiyao hesitated for a moment.
"I was afraid, but later I discovered that some things, the more you fear them, the more they haunt you."
Ren Xiyao gripped the Coke can tightly, her heart filled with indescribable emotions.
"What are you afraid of now?" Xu Qinghe asked.
"I'm afraid of getting hurt again."
"Then what?"
"I'm afraid I won't be able to skate."
"And then?"
“I’m afraid…” Ren Xiyao paused for a moment, “I’m afraid we can never go back to the way things were before.”
Xu Qinghe nodded: "Just like I was back then."
Ren Xiyao looked at her: "How did you get out?"
"We haven't escaped it yet," Xu Qinghe smiled. "We've just learned to move forward with it in mind."
She pointed to a scar on her neck from where an ice skate had cut her: "This scar will always be there. But you can't stop breathing just because it hurts."
Ren Xiyao looked down at her knee. Beneath the knee brace, the surgical scar resembled a twisted centipede, and it would ache faintly after each training session.
"Do you know what I admire most about you?" Xu Qinghe suddenly asked.
Ren Xiyao shook her head.
“You and the captain are the same kind of people. You’re both more ruthless than me,” Xu Qinghe said. “When I was your age, I wasn’t even half as decisive as you.”
Ren Xiyao twitched the corner of her mouth: "Now you're not decisive."
"That's because you've experienced pain." Xu Qinghe looked into the distance: "Anyone who has experienced pain knows fear, that's normal."
"But the competition waits for no one."
“Yes,” Xu Qinghe said softly, “You have to choose: whether to be afraid of losing, or to admit defeat outright because you are afraid.”
Xu Qinghe bit the candy into pieces and casually tossed the plastic stick into the trash can: "You're luckier than me."
"What?"
“When you fell, nobody compared you to the Solo Winter Olympics.” Xu Qinghe said calmly, “When I fell, everyone was asking, ‘Is Xu Qinghe no longer capable?’”
That kind of pressure is sharper than an ice skate.
“Salt Lake City,” Xu Qinghe straightened up, “If you keep hiding, I’ll suggest to the coach that you be sent back to the club.”
Ren Xiyao frowned: "I didn't say I wanted a refund."
"Then don't back down." Xu Qinghe patted her shoulder with such force that it felt like he wanted to nail her into the ground: "Short track speed skating blades always point forward."
She finished speaking and left, slamming the rooftop door shut.
Ren Xiyao stood alone in the wind, looking down at her knee; the scar was still there.
But tomorrow, she has to forget about it.
She finished the last sip of her cola, crushed the can, threw it in the trash can, and turned to go downstairs.
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Author's Note: Thank you all for your support recently. I've saved the story for later stages. Writing it made me a little sad, so I went back and looked at the beginning and the comments. So I decided to be honest and talk about my journey, and also give you a heads-up.
First of all, this is a happy ending story, but it's not a wish-fulfillment story. I didn't change any major real-life events; in fact, I actually went through all the schedules I could find for Brother Long during those years (his schedule was indeed very packed). The two of them were just having a romance squeezed into a tight timeframe.
As for the female protagonist of this story, her initial concept almost encapsulated all my feelings about following competitive sports. Top athletes are strong, determined, intelligent, excellent, and love their country and their passion. However, almost everyone who achieves good results endures immense criticism, especially since I started following sports quite early, when the environment was even harsher. Furthermore, it wasn't just public opinion; the experiences of some athletes made me feel disconnected from their strength and their invincible performances on the field, creating a stark contrast that left me feeling powerless. I've been following competitive sports for many years, following several disciplines, and not all of my favorite athletes are from China. The powerlessness I described isn't an isolated case; it exists to varying degrees in every sport and every country. This makes it even more painful, and even the few moments of joy are tinged with tears.
What I remember most vividly is one year when I went to watch a competition, full of excitement and having prepared for it for a long time. Beijing had its first snowfall of the year, and everyone who went with me said it would bring good luck. But on the day the competition ended, I came out of the venue, squatted on the overpass, and cried my heart out, overwhelmed with unspeakable sorrow. After that, I stubbornly kept watching every competition that came up, and each time I felt even worse. It was only last year, after Long Ge (my idol) returned to the scene, that I refocused my attention on following him, and also, as a form of revenge, rewatched many of his old works, like falling in love with him all over again. It was during this process that I conceived this story. This is my first novel; I conceived it in January, started writing in March, and only uploaded it in June. I'm still refining the later plot. One character reflects my love for Long Ge, and the other reflects my love for competitive sports. Therefore, I always felt they were a perfect match. Their souls resonated; they were the same kind of people.
The female protagonist's experiences encapsulate a wealth of information, serving as a microcosm without exaggeration or fabrication. Therefore, while the ending is acceptable, looking back at her journey from the end is truly unsatisfying. She practically walked a tightrope to win gold medal after gold medal; every step she took afterward was fraught with peril.
When I was conceiving the female lead's career path, I considered whether to make her journey smoother and her achievements more dazzling. Considering the popularity of sports-themed stories in recent years and within this genre itself, a "feel-good" narrative would certainly be better. I even thought that if reality is so difficult, shouldn't the story make her life easier? But I'm a very empathetic person. So I quickly found myself unable to continue writing. Every time I started, two voices in my head were fighting: one saying, "You've clearly seen the helplessness in those athletes' interviews, the grievances hidden behind their tears, how can you only portray the passionate side? Isn't that a kind of neglect? Isn't that a betrayal of every tear you shed and every pain you felt for sports?" So in the end, all I could say was that her achievements were dazzling, but the road was anything but easy.
It might not be the same kind of intense, competitive sports story everyone's expecting. So, I want to say in advance that if you find it too difficult to read, please don't force yourself. Thank you all for your support. Also, I will definitely finish updating the story. Thank you everyone, enjoy reading! [heart][heart][heart]
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