My Coach, My Stalker

It’s surreal. Like a dream.

I never imagined that I would be the flag bearer for the United States at the opening ceremony of the Olympic Games, but here I am. Four years ago, I had no clue that as my love story with Everett was unfolding, people were glued to their televisions at home, watching every heavy interaction between me and my coach, convinced they were witnessing a budding romance. They don’t know the half of it, really. Or what we did behind closed doors.

But they were still invested.

Because of the public interest in me and Everett, we’ve become minor celebrities back home—much to my husband’s irritation. When the media got wind that we’d married on a hillside in Austin on a sunny fall morning, there was a frenzy to capture our picture and we were constantly asked questions by reporters like, “Are your parents supportive of this relationship?” Or “Is the age difference an issue?”

We tried to avoid doing an interview as long as possible, until we realized they would continue hounding us until we laid all our cards on the table. It took a lot of convincing for Everett to go on Good Morning America to tell the public, yes, my parents approve and no, our age difference isn’t a problem. Everett didn’t like cameras on me for a non-sports related event—at all. So many people looking at what’s mine, he’d growled while making love to me in the green room afterwards. But thankfully, after the interview, the paparazzi died down and we’re able to train quietly and enjoy married life.

As unconventional as our married life is.

It’s simply ours.

We moved into Everett’s house for a few weeks after the Olympics, which is a nice way of saying he wouldn’t even let me leave to collect the mail. After I finally convinced him that I wasn’t going to run away, he grew more comfortable with me going out alone. Although, I’m never really alone. His headlights are always in my rearview, that intense expression visible through the windshield. Where I go, he goes, and since I crave the sight and sound and scent of him every second of the day, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Now, a cameraman walks backward in front of me, capturing me waving the flag to the roar of the crowd. Bright lights are flashing everywhere and I can barely see where I’m walking. I start to get a little overwhelmed and that’s when a big hand settles on the small of my back. Everett. As if he knows exactly what I’m thinking and feeling at any given moment. Maybe he does. We’ve been training together for six years, plus we’re married. There really are no secrets between us. Usually there is very little clothing between us, too.

Remembering what happened during the flight, I turn and smile at my husband over my shoulder, letting him see that I remember. How I straddled his lap and rode him slowly under the cover of a blanket. When a flight attendant approached us, I pretended to just be resting against his chest, half asleep and it was easy to tell why she looked so alarmed to find my thighs hugging his hips intimately. A lot of people mistake us for father and daughter—and the pigtails style I wear these days doesn’t help matters.

There are no coaches allowed during the walk around the track at opening ceremonies, but Everett wasn’t about to follow that rule. If they wanted me to carry the flag, as one of the more popular athletes, then he would be with me. End of story. And I’m so glad he’s here, his steady, watchful presence at my back. Over the last four years, his appearance has changed slightly. He’s grown a beard that is a distinguished mixture of brown and gray. He’s put on just enough weight to give him a thicker stomach and it drives me wild. He’s not just a Daddy now—he actually looks the part.

And beneath my official USA track suit, I look the part of his little girl in frilly white panties and knee-high stockings. Based on his tight jaw and dilated pupils, it’s obvious he can’t wait for this ceremony to be over so we can play. We never stop playing anymore, really. Four years ago, we would go back and forth between real and make believe, but now? Now it’s all make believe all the time. Our game doesn’t end anymore, even when we’re at a restaurant or at the pool. I’m always his sweetheart and he’s always the man in charge.

And I love it to my very bones.

An Olympic attendant runs up to me and takes the flag, signaling the end of our turn around the track. I hold out my hand and Everett’s fingers thread through mine. He comes up beside me and I’m immediately being led into the stadium, down the busy tunnel of athletes hyped up by the opening ceremony. The games to come.