A Winning State

I was in preschool when my mom took me to my first gymnastics class; the decision was made after I tripped over my bathroom stool one night, which instigated an unstoppable yank from gravity and the raised tile floor, causing my freshly brushed pearly whites to meet my upper lip in violence and shock. I didn't cry until I looked in the mirror and saw the blood all over my cheeks and my Light Bright, yellow like a daisy night gown. That's when my mom and dad looked at each other exasperated, determined to find their daughter some balance.

First came the rec classes at the town's middle school where the instructors laid out wrestling mats that smelled like prepubescent male angst. The tumbling and twirling came natural and untamed - I was a rare spark plug who could perform the stunts with equal precariousness on either foot or hand - a young ambidextrous who leveled things out with long, blond pig tales that spout out the sides of my head from behind my ears. I was everyone's favorite, and fed off their gleaming hopefulness and wild woman confidence...

Then things progressed to Gym America, where I earned a full wardrobe of colorful spandex leotards and my first pair of grips. I skipped Levels 2, 3 and 4, the skills were trivial and as my tight young body developed - teeth falling out and being replaced with a fatter, bucked variety, and my hair chopped to a short, flippant style - I jumped at the chance to show off my abilities in Level Pre-5. Through 5th grade I competed and performed, conditioning my muscles with dubious routine and challenging my bones to brace impact from frightening new jumps and flips. At least 20 hours a week after school and on weekends, I leaped uninhibited.

But when the gym owners requested I start owning my assets by working out 25 hours a week, I hopped to a new facility with more reasonable ideals - Michigan Academy of Gymnastics. There I was able to reel in my frantic energy and perfect each lift, turn, and pointed toe. Leotards switched to technicolor and velvet, and the grips took on new form with dowels and durability. I excelled through Levels 5, 6, 7... I won medal after medal, one handstand contest after another, and eventually took the cake at the Early State Meet with the All-Around gold.

The summer that followed took me to the chalky gym 30 hours a week, with 5 hour days starting early Saturday mornings that removed any chance for a pre-teen social life. Regardless, my priorities were to my sport, and I effervescently took charge of my apparatuses - the floor, the beam, the vault and bars - like a young love without boundaries. Way under my expected weight and height for my age, I had the ability to soar and still land gracefully, so anyone who dared tease my child-size clothing, I dared to a back-flip show down followed by a limbo contest.

Ambitious, boundless, and reckless, I built up everything I had. My muscles and mind were lean, focused; my palms were rough with abrasive calluses I wore like armor and pride. When the thick skin pealed off in chunks to unearth the more fragile me, which would happen from time to time, I'd simply purse my lips, grunt inward, wrap my hand in athletic tape and hop back up to complete my workout as if nothing happened. My teammates and I called them "rips," and we'd use them as boasting rights to our non-gymnast friends who knew nothing of our painful lives.

Gymnastics taught me a lot, if not everything, considering I practiced it more than I did homework or spent time with family. I learned endurance and courageousness and eloquence and determination and flexibility and self control and tolerance...

But most of all I learned how to pick myself up from a fall or a rip. *Dust it off, wrap it up, layer it with more chalk.* In this way, I learned to layer myself internally as well. Calluses were great things to have, they helped me keep a grasp on things, and when they tore it was merely a reminder to get a little tougher... mend it the best I could and quickly grow some thicker skin.

It's been 11 years since I practiced the sport. I've had a long time to learn new lessons and use my body/mind combo in different, always profound ways. Still, I will never let go of that high bar. In downfalls, which will indeed happen from time to time, you can guarantee I am only taking a pause to adjust my armor and pride.