“Okay, no,” I say. “The start of your routine is where you draw people in. It’s an opportunity to showcase what you’ve got—not a time to rush through a few steps of choreography before getting to the big, flashy stuff. Instead of that, it could be this.”

I copy her movements, but amp them up. Each arm movement ends in a sharp flick of my fingers. Each step is taken with perfectly pointed toes. I pivot with a dramatic bump of my hip. As I spin, I catch my reflection in the mirror, and feel another crashing wave of nostalgia.

“See? Your turn.”

She resumes her position, then dives into the first step.

“No,” I say, cutting her off.

I squat down next to her and push her foot into the arched position it needs to be. Her ankle stiffens at first, then reluctantly turns to putty.

“Like that,” I say. “That’s your first step. It’s not just about moving your foot from point A to point B—it’s about creating an intentional shape. Dance can be powerful, too.”

“Like this?” she asks, rocking back and forth from her initial pose into the step.

She watches herself in the mirror and bends her knee experimentally.

“That’s better,” I say. “Again, from the top.”

We work like this for ten minutes, dissecting each step of choreography until she understands exactly when and how to move each muscle in her body. I bet she’d rather be practicing a new skill or drilling tumbling passes until she can stick one perfectly, but she lets me train her. When I demonstrate a move for her, she studies me carefully. And when she regurgitates the choreography back at me, she attacks it with new energy. As she hones in on the right motions, she looks closer and closer to the way I would’ve performed this choreography when I was her age. It breaks my heart. But it’s not my time anymore. The only way I can belong to elite gymnastics now is like this, as a mentor.

Ryan had been watching quietly from the sidelines, but now he steps in with a suggestion. “Try the whole routine again,” he says. “Throw all that in there.”

I’m skeptical—you don’t relearn how to move your entire body after just ten minutes of instruction. You can’t simply “throw all that in there” and expect real change. But Hallie takes her usual place on the floor and winds up for another routine.

When the opening notes of her music ring out, she flies into action. The first few steps of choreography are sharper now, but soon enough, her poise falters. Her shoulders slump forward, her chin drops, her toes go slack.

“Hip!” Ryan roars over the music, as she sinks down into a wolf turn.