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

No other dancers can do what we’re about to do.” He had already told me that the judges would crush us. I mimicked him in a kind of joking pregame get-fired-up chant “Fuck ’em.” But the producers edited it to look as though we’d said “Fuck the judges” as soon as we finished dancing. We went out as the villains.

When we were eliminated, the show didn’t play a montage of my highlights, as they had for other contestants. I was told I wasn’t going to New York for The View—a trip the eliminated celebrity contestant normally makes—or to the Jimmy Kimmel show that night. I went through the press line alone—ABC told Maks he wasn’t allowed to do press this time. I did one interview with Tony Dovolani, who was one of the dancers on the show, working for Extra. He had become my friend, and he said some beautiful things to me when I came over for an interview: that I was his role model and he wanted his daughters to be like me. It hit me right then how far I had come—I had just wanted a challenge and to give women’s soccer some exposure, yet I had made it to the final four on Dancing with the Stars. I got very emotional when I answered his questions. Because of that, my PR person thought it was best if I didn’t do any more interviews.

The next day, all the gossip rags claimed that I was a sore loser who refused to talk to the press. DWTS never disputed those reports, which made me feel they were fine with having me portrayed as a bad sport.

My time as Cinderella was over. My trailer was turning into a pumpkin. We packed up, and the next day I flew home to Seattle, wearing my Nikes and my real eyelashes.

VIII.

Grandpa Pete passed away in December, and my family gathered in Richland to say good-bye. He was our patriarch, the one who had moved us to eastern Washington and set my family on its journey. He had been my staunchest supporter, traveling the world to see me play and always encouraging me to be the best I could be. He could always make me laugh; when things got too serious or scary in my life, Grandpa Pete would crack a joke.

After the funeral, we released doves into the cold wind blowing off the Columbia River. I looked around at my family: my grandma Alice, her faith calming her grief; my mother, who was dealing with her husband’s serious illness but remained strong; and my brother Marcus, the abandoned son who was now a loving father to Johnny.

I LOOKED AT Adrian. I had always thought my grandpa might walk me down the aisle. He wouldn’t be there to do that now, but I felt I had finally found the person I was going to make my life with; the person who had been right there for so many years.

Two weeks later, Glenn had to be admitted to the hospital on New Year’s Eve. It was my mother’s birthday; she was worried about her husband, exhausted from trying to care for him while he’d been at home. Adrian and I told her to go home; we’d sit by Glenn’s bedside. As we sat there, Glenn drifted off to sleep. At about eleven thirty, my phone rang. It was Grandma Alice. “This is the first time in my entire eighty-four years that I’ve rung in the New Year by myself,” she said.

When I told Adrian what she’d said, he jumped up. “Come on,” he said.

We rushed to the house on Hoxie and gathered up Marcus, Johnny, Mom, and the ice cream pie I had gotten for her birthday; then we hurried the four blocks to Grandma’s house. We stepped over the doormat that read GRANDCHILDREN WELCOME, and found Grandma in the bedroom she had shared for so many years with Grandpa Pete. There was only a minute to spare in the old year. We sang “Happy Birthday” to my mother, and then with Champagne, Clamato, and ice cream pie, we toasted another new year.

We stayed in Grandma’s warm home playing Cranium until two a.m., Adrian and Marcus against me and Grandma, who kept trying to cheat. My mother held Johnny, asleep in her arms, and laughed at our crazy antics. Outside the wind blew off the Columbia, the river that flowed through our lives, its waters rushing past us and out into the sea.

Grandma Alice looked out the window into the dark night.

“God’s second paradise,” she said with a smile.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Writing an honest book means that family secrets and private moments are exposed for the world to see. So first and foremost I want to thank my family, who have been unconditionally loving and supportive through both the good times and the rough spots. The process of bringing my story to print required unearthing some painful memories, but I share them here in the hope that something constructive might come from them. My family’s courage and faith know no bounds, and I thank them for providing the foundation for my own path to happiness. Reality has tested us, but love has saved us. Here’s to our beautiful struggle—Judy and Glenn Burnett; Marcus and Debbie Solo and their son, Johnny; David Solo; Terry and Christian Obert; Grandma Alice and my late Grandpa Pete.

And to my dad, who taught me to never give up.

Life has blessed me with many teachers and guiding influences who have, in their own ways, each contributed to the writing of this book.

To my family and friends, who have enriched my life in more ways than I can express: Mary and Dick Gies, Cheryl Hirss, Liz and Nan Duncan. Aunt Susie, Uncle Frank, and all of my cousins. Anita and Bob Galaviz, Uncle Raul, Jeff Obert, Carli Lloyd, Sofia Palmqvist, James Galanis, Tina, Mya, and MacKenzie Ellertson. My St. Louis family—the Owenses, Tim Owens, Tony Hubert and Jeff