By Sara Micholas
The Rise:
Tumble around your house when you’re a toddler; throw your body into cartwheels, attempt backhand springs, and watch TV upside down. Anything to get your two-year-old energy out. Your parents will put you in dance for six years, but the studio will eventually shut down. The next option will be to put you in gymnastics classes. Agree, because you like the idea. It makes sense in your eight-year-old brain. Go to classes casually but understand they’ll ask you to join competitive gymnastics when they see you have potential. Join the competitive team but understand you won’t know anyone on it; your friends from the casual classes weren’t asked to join, nor did they want to. This is your journey and your journey alone.
Go to your first team practice; your coach is someone you know, Mike. He will call you twinkle-toes. His assistant coach, though, is named Lisa. You won’t know her, but she’ll be the one and only person who you’ll allow to call you shortie. You will meet the other girls on the team; most of them will be older than you. You won’t get close to them as they’ll quit before you come out of your shell. Become friends with the two girls close in age to you; they’ll become your best friends. Later, a new girl will join after one friend quits due to injury and another for a reason that will remain unknown to you. This new girl will become one of your best friends; you will call each other buddy and help each other throughout the rest of your gymnast careers.
Come more out of your shell; your team is a lot more accepting than you think. Have fun, these are your friends. Hang out outside of practice. There is no “I” in team. Master new skills that you never thought you would ever be able to do; you will feel unstoppable. Learn to preemptively put your hair in a gymnast bun; they call it the gymnast bun for a reason. It’ll make you feel solidarity among your team. Befriend some of the other teams’ coaches outside; one of them will end up being the gym co-owner, and he’ll call you cape because you once wore a Cape Cod sweatshirt around him. He’ll play “Sweet Caroline” so much that the gym will collectively groan when they hear it, probably will for the rest of their lives, but let him. It’s funny, and you’ll feel closer to everyone in the gym, even to those outside of your team.
This sport will cement itself as a key part of your life, which seems like a good thing at the time. This is the rise, the peak. Things will not go up from here, so enjoy it while it lasts. It will not last as long as you believe.
The Fall:
Go to that meet and have fun, but always bring a friend if you have to go to the bathroom; the photographer here likes little girls. Wear shorts over your leo, but not when you’re competing; you’ll get points docked. Wear a bra to support yourself, but don’t let the straps show, that’s a deduction. Hairspray your hair completely flat because if it’s not, deduction. Use the same hairspray from your hair to keep your leotard from riding up your butt, because that’s a deduction, too. Deduction, deduction, deduction. Get used to them, deductions, that is. They will be a constant in your life from now on, though you might never know why they’re there. Try your best but get ready to be disappointed because three adults sitting at a table watching you prance around in your leotard have decided that your best wasn’t good enough. Cry in the locker room, cry in bathrooms at meets, cry during the car ride back to your house after practice, cry about all of your so-called shortcomings, but don’t let anyone see your tears. Put chalk on your hands, on your grips, but no amount of chalk will be enough to save your hands from ripping. It’s not a rip till it bleeds anyway. Rip, blood, chalk; chalk, blood, rip; continue, continue, continue. Use the water from the spray bottle hanging from the chalk bucket on your grips, too, but don’t use too much. The effectiveness of the chalk will get ruined that way. Spend all your free time in the gym; say no to plans because a four-hour Saturday practice is more important. College gymnastics is the dream; the Olympics an unreachable reality. Master new skills but be ready to be stopped by your mind; mental blocks are the hardest part. Be just as strong or even stronger than all the boys in your grade but be prepared for them to still tell you your sport isn’t a real sport. The guy gymnasts won’t be any better, either. They’ll be just as harsh; they think their version is better than yours. They think they’re stronger. Don’t let them be stronger.
Dedicate your life to this sport but know your body will be ruined in return. Get injured but get back up; no injury is too serious unless your life is completely altered. Pour your blood, sweat, and tears into this just to quit eight years later. You’ll never be able to stand for too long without aches and pains, but you’ll always have a party trick up your sleeve when asked to entertain.