Solo by Hope Solo (best free ereader .TXT) 📕

Later that day, we had our first rehearsal. I found Maks personable and refreshingly honest about the show—dishing dirt on everyone and filling me in on what to expect. I knew he was considered moody and high-maintenance, but he was going to be my coach and teammate for the next several weeks—however long we lasted in this crazy competition—so we were going to have to get along.

IV.

I was sitting in the makeup room with the other “stars.” The cast was going to be revealed on Bachelor Pad. It was the first time I had met most of them: Rob Kardashian, David Arquette, Kristin Cavallari. Everyone was feeling each other out; everyone seemed nervous.

When the makeup crew was finally done with me, I almost cried when I saw what was looking back at me in the mirror. I looked freakish. My long hair was huge, poofed up and hair-sprayed. “Oh my God,” I said.

“Get used to it, honey,” laughed one makeup artist. “This is just a fraction of what you’ll go through when the show starts.”

Maks and I went to work, with long hard rehearsals. I’m an athlete, I’m competitive, and I’m confident that I can excel at any physical activity, but dancing was harder than I expected. It felt unnatural—my body refused to contort into unfamiliar positions, my neck was always sore. I rarely wear high heels, but now I was being asked to dance—backwards—in them. My feet were covered with blisters after the first couple of rehearsals.

The first show was September 19. On September 17, I started for the national team in a “celebration tour” game in Kansas City. Maks came with me—we had to find a dance studio near the hotel so we could practice. Though the scheduling was insane, it was great to be back on the field with my teammates. The normal routine helped ease my nerves and distracted me from what was looming in just a matter of hours.

The night of the first DWTS show, I was so scared I thought I might be sick. My support crew was there: Adrian, Terry, and Tina had all flown in. Rich and Whitney drove over from their L.A. office. When I walked into the trailer that served as my home on the lot, after hair and makeup, they were shocked. “Hope, you’ve never looked so girly!” Tina said.

I was wearing a sparkling pink dress with flowing sleeves, long dangling earrings and a necklace that could have doubled as Liberace’s candelabra. I downed a glass of white wine to calm my nerves. “You’re beautiful, babe. You’re going to be incredible,” Adrian whispered in my ear as I left the trailer.

Maks and I waltzed to Dave Matthews’s “Satellite.” The good news: I didn’t fall down; I didn’t make any major mistakes. When the song ended, I was exhilarated. I looked over at my section—my support group was giving me a standing ovation. And then the judges spoke. Though they were complimentary, each one mentioned my “strength” or my “muscles.” I was told I needed to be more feminine, as though having muscles and being strong wasn’t feminine. I smiled. I was relieved it was over, but I wasn’t sure what they wanted from me.

The morning after the first results show—where I learned I would be back for another week—Maks and I flew to Portland. I had another soccer game to play. Two days later, I started in goal against Canada in a game that was a celebration of my hundredth cap, which had come in the semifinals against France. My family and friends were in the stands—my grandma was there in her Solo jersey. This was the kind of stage I understood. The next day we flew back to L.A., where Maks and I continued rehearsing the jive.

That second week, we had to dance first: our soccer-themed dance was a hit with the audience, but the judges scolded me for not putting in enough rehearsal time, even though I had spent many hours in rehearsal. The most difficult thing for me was memorizing the choreography; in each step my arms and body and posture were different. But the judges didn’t know how hard I’d been busting my ass, keeping up with my team on the road while the others rehearsed.

V.

We settled into a routine. Sundays were long days with camera blocking and rehearsal. By the time I dragged myself back to my apartment, Adrian was there waiting for me. On Mondays I had a 7 a.m. “call time” and was in dress rehearsal all day. In the afternoon my core support group would arrive. When I had a break we ate cheese and crackers and drank wine to relax. Then my other guests arrived. While everyone found their seats, Adrian and Whitney stayed behind. Whitney helped me with my costume. Adrian had strong words of encouragement. It was like preparing for competition.

It was starting to get strange to be in restaurants or other public places. The paparazzi started following me. People stood up and clapped when I walked into restaurants. Drinks were sent to the table. I appreciated the support, but it was unnerving.

There were many rules and traditions that we had to follow. The celebrities gave each other gifts: lotion, perfume, accessories. I wanted to get everyone in the cast a pair of cool Nikes, so I took everyone’s shoe size and went to Niketown in Beverly Hills to buy the shoes. When they were passed out—to both pro dancers and celebrities—one of the dancers told me that I was the first person to include the dancers in a cast gift. That seemed weird—weren’t we all working together?

The best part was all the support I got from my friends and family. Terry was so loving and involved—my sister, who used to love to dress me up and do my hair, was there for the ultimate game of dress-up.