Though I haven’t been following the Olympics closely, I figured I should read something that aligns with current events. Besides, I really loved the cover of Blind Landing, and a romance between gymnasts opens up all sorts of possibilities for creative sexytimes.

Natalia and Spencer both reside at the same training facility. Nat is hoping to qualify at the Olympic trials and go on to fulfill her dream of earning a medal. Spencer used to compete, but an injury has left him in the role as teacher, though he’s usually coaching men’s gymnastics. So the romance has a lot of close contact between the hero and heroine and a lot of forced proximity, which I tend to like since a character can’t seem to escape the hero or heroine they’re crushing on or flirting with.

Olympic athletes, in my opinion, are a lot different from the athletes who make up major league sports. Often, they’re younger and have been training all their lives. They’re so incredibly disciplined; I’d make a poor Olympic athlete. Not to say that NFL or NHL players aren’t dedicated to their sport, but Olympians seem to have a different career trajectory than professional athletes.

But Natalia’s journey didn’t feel real to me, partially because of the portrayal of the character’s passion or lack thereof and the lack of discipline needed to succeed. There was underage drinking and quite a bit of sex (YOU CAN DO THAT ONCE YOU GET TO THE VILLAGE). At times, I wondered if Natalia really even wanted to be training. If you look at the “Fierce Five” this year in Rio, you can definitely sense that they all want to be competing, that this is what they want to do. And I just didn’t buy Natalia’s Olympic dreams.

Within the first few pages, they gymnasts training for trials go out to drink. Booze has so much sugar, people! Natalia is also below drinking age. I feel like people who are training for the chance to make history, who train 10+ hours a day, and who probably follow a carefully regimented diet (despite one of the fellow gymnasts as being described as “malnourished”) probably wouldn’t been too keen on going out drinking. Yeah, all athletes have a cheat day or two, but I expected more from the heroine – especially because she hasn’t seen her family in a year due to her training. A YEAR. From that alone, I expected more focus to not screw up on the trials.

Back to that “malnourished” comment. It really bothered me. The heroine is out with a fellow gymnast and describes how her friend’s crop top is riding “farther up her malnourished ribs” while they are out at a bar. It was such a throwaway description, as if it wasn’t a big deal, plus there was a hint of sexualization as the woman inadvertently revealed more of her torso by moving around. Earlier, that same gymnast joked to Nat that if she didn’t land the trick their coach as asking her to during practice, that their coach would deprive her of dinner. These comments regarding weight and being starved aren’t funny, and the seriousness of these issues in actual gymnastics negates the levity of these “jokes.”

According to a NCAA survey in the earlier nineties, over half of gymnastics programs reported dealing with eating disorders from team members. An American gymnast died of anorexia in 1994. The normalization of being underweight or being kept from food in just those two above instances alone really bothered me, and I’m speaking from someone who has no experience with eating disorders. I cannot imagine being a reader who has or has had such a tense, complicated, and dangerous relationship with food and then reading those things.

Also, neither the hero nor the heroine are described as having the body types gymnasts have. They’re both described as being taller and lacking the shorter, stockier builds belonging to gymnasts. At one point, Natalia’s frame is described more as belonging to a ballet dancer. The whole physical descriptions felt more like a “not like other gymnasts” statement, as if somehow by not fitting that particular body type that they were better. However, there is a coded language to gymnastics in regards to an athlete’s body, which is something I learned while writing this review. During international competitions, shorter and stockier physiques were underscored and judges, whether intentionally or not, showed preference to leaner, balletic builds.

Now since each chapter is written in alternating, first-person POV, I don’t know if this is just merely a statement that the hero and heroine are attracted to certain body types that aren’t reflected on typical American gymnasts. Natalia comments how rare Spencer’s height is for a male gymnast. Or if maybe this is some internalized preference borne from years of competition and judgement (from judges, colleagues, opponents, etc).

Lastly, the dialogue didn’t seem realistic to me, at least not for the characters. The hero is twenty-two and the heroine is nineteen, and it felt more like their conversations belonged in a YA novel. Now, there’s nothing wrong with that–if what I had been reading was classified as YA. Or they were just plain corny and inappropriate, especially from the hero.

Take these examples:

“Well, you can call me coach; it’s authoritative, domineering. I also like Mr. Incredible or Sexiest Man Alive. But for regular everyday, you can just call me Spence.”

This man is a coach. Granted at that point, he’s just meeting Nat, but who the hell says this? It’s not endearing to me at all.

I’m only about ten feet from their table when a chair shoots out, nearly tripping me. I stumble and try to hold my tray steady as I wobble for my balance.

“Good thing gymnasts have some of the best balance in the world. Otherwise, I’d be splat on the floor next to my eggs. As for grace, well, I guess not all female gymnasts have that.” Righting myself, I turn to stare at the back of a sleek blond ponytail.

“And if males in general had any awareness at all, you would have seen me pushing out my chair before you nearly tripped over it.”

Blond ponytail whips around, and her smirk wipes clear off her face when she realizes who I am. “Shit. Mr. Russell, I’m sorry…”

“Nah, don’t worry about it, babydoll. I won’t tell Novak you’re mouthing off to coaches. That is, only if you never call me Mr. Russell again.”

I flash my mega-watt smile at her, because I’m trying to make her feel better. But also because she is a very pretty girl. Or, woman, technically. Don’t girls refuse to be called girls after the age of eighteen? Something about respecting their feminine age or something like that? I’d have to ask my mom about this.

DUDE, YOU ARE NOT CHARMING. And this borders on sexual harassment to me. If he were my coach, I know I’d feel extremely uncomfortable. Even if it wasn’t directed toward me. If a man was calling my fellow gymnasts “babydoll,” that’s a huge cause for concern about boundaries.

It was a struggle to finish the book and I was honestly more interested in Nat’s journey to the Olympics than anything having to do with Spencer. I honestly preferred it better when he wasn’t on the page, but those moments tended to be few and far between. Add in the subtle normalization of eating disorders and the fact that I didn’t believe the gymnasts aiming to qualify at trials were really that dedicated, and any excitement I had at the romance’s premise went right out the window. What a bummer because while I love traditional sports romance, I’d love to see other sports of athletes (swimmers, gymnasts, archers, etc) get their own HEAs.