Things happen too fast. I can already feel I've made a mistake. Try to recover. Move faster. I see the bar flying towards me. I latch on to it a split second too late. The loop is badly timed. Off rhythm, wrong momentum. The dismount is doomed, however there is nothing to do but follow through. Try to save it. Throw more power to my toes. I can't save it. THUD, slap! My entire body meets the floor in one solid contact. I can always hear the sound of my disastrous landing just slightly before the vibrations rattle through my teeth. In that split second, I wait as all of the air retreats from me.
Time always slows down and speeds up at the same time right after a mistake. The shouts of my coach start catching up from my ears to my brain, as if to make up for lost time, they swirl repeatedly, overlapping her current shouts, as I wait for my chest cavity to expand again. To allow air to return.
"....More power... ....faster.... ankles together... snap feet... ... straight legs!" She glances me over for obvious injury and then barks: "Again!"
For most of my childhood, I was in gymnastics. Looking back, I gained a great amount of life training through the years of gymnastics training.
Recently, what remains loudest in my mind is the constant memory of failing as I crashed against the mat, having to get up and do some sort of penitence in the form of conditioning, and then attempting the same task again. It may sound awful for this to be a vivid childhood memory, but it really isn't. It is actually an empowering memory.
Time always slows down and speeds up at the same time right after a mistake. The shouts of my coach start catching up from my ears to my brain, as if to make up for lost time, they swirl repeatedly, overlapping her current shouts, as I wait for my chest cavity to expand again. To allow air to return.
"....More power... ....faster.... ankles together... snap feet... ... straight legs!" She glances me over for obvious injury and then barks: "Again!"
For most of my childhood, I was in gymnastics. Looking back, I gained a great amount of life training through the years of gymnastics training.
Recently, what remains loudest in my mind is the constant memory of failing as I crashed against the mat, having to get up and do some sort of penitence in the form of conditioning, and then attempting the same task again. It may sound awful for this to be a vivid childhood memory, but it really isn't. It is actually an empowering memory.
The uneven bars terrified me. And thrilled me. I was afraid of heights even at the beginning. I remember crying in terror the first time my coach told me to jump from one bar to the other. I remember crying the second time, too. And then, I remember overcoming that insurmountable objective. Breaking past a mental barrier with physical achievement. Shortly after the first terrifying success, the uneven bars became my favorite event, even though it still often terrified me. The more terrifying the risk, the more satisfying the success. With the right skills, I could fly. The flying is not what resonates most with me right now, though.
This month, what resonates loudest with me is smacking down against that thick, blue gym mat. The endless hours of blistered hands, and exhausted breathing, tingling fingers, flying, flailing, falling, waiting for the air to enter the lungs again, and the shout, "Again!" Ripped blisters, limbs scuffed red, chalked hands, deep breaths, pensive stares at the blasted uneven bars, recitation of errors and corrections, repeat task, crash! Again!...and Again! And again.
True, in gymnastics, I learned how to fly, but what turned out to be more useful than learning a "long hang kip" was learning how to fail. What I learned was that I could withstand pain I had never previously imagined, I could overcome exhaustion that seemed overwhelming, I could eventually rise up from every painful landing.The best lesson I carried away with me was: Again. Even after I so badly wanted to quit and go home, I could not accept defeat.
There, as a 9 year old, I developed an intuitive understanding about grown-up life. Sometimes when you miss your grasp, move too slowly, lack the strength, sometimes even though you tremble with exhaustion, your blisters have ripped out, when things are continually crashing to the ground, and when feel you can no longer breathe, you have to listen to the insistent shout, "Again!" You have to get up. You have to do it again and do it better. The only other alternative is to quit, exhausted, injured, frustrated, and sore with nothing to show for it all.
And so, during those times in adult life, while I sit with my head in my hands, sore, exhausted, feeling as if the air is being knocked out of me, my mind drifts back to sinking into that blue gym mat again and again, ripped up, waiting for the air to come back, because it will come back, mustering strength to get up and hearing the distant shout, "Again!" Except, now I'm the only one in the room.
The shout comes from within, "Again!"And so up I get, to try it again, and try it better, because defeat is not an option in life.
And once I've learned these acrobatics, I'll move onto harder ones, because, like gymnastics, that's kind of the point of life. It wouldn't be any fun without something challenging you to expand the brink of your ability.
And so with a huff and a limp, I draw a slow breath, pull myself up, eye the task that keeps knocking me down and mutter: Again.
This month, what resonates loudest with me is smacking down against that thick, blue gym mat. The endless hours of blistered hands, and exhausted breathing, tingling fingers, flying, flailing, falling, waiting for the air to enter the lungs again, and the shout, "Again!" Ripped blisters, limbs scuffed red, chalked hands, deep breaths, pensive stares at the blasted uneven bars, recitation of errors and corrections, repeat task, crash! Again!...and Again! And again.
True, in gymnastics, I learned how to fly, but what turned out to be more useful than learning a "long hang kip" was learning how to fail. What I learned was that I could withstand pain I had never previously imagined, I could overcome exhaustion that seemed overwhelming, I could eventually rise up from every painful landing.The best lesson I carried away with me was: Again. Even after I so badly wanted to quit and go home, I could not accept defeat.
There, as a 9 year old, I developed an intuitive understanding about grown-up life. Sometimes when you miss your grasp, move too slowly, lack the strength, sometimes even though you tremble with exhaustion, your blisters have ripped out, when things are continually crashing to the ground, and when feel you can no longer breathe, you have to listen to the insistent shout, "Again!" You have to get up. You have to do it again and do it better. The only other alternative is to quit, exhausted, injured, frustrated, and sore with nothing to show for it all.
The shout comes from within, "Again!"And so up I get, to try it again, and try it better, because defeat is not an option in life.
And once I've learned these acrobatics, I'll move onto harder ones, because, like gymnastics, that's kind of the point of life. It wouldn't be any fun without something challenging you to expand the brink of your ability.
And so with a huff and a limp, I draw a slow breath, pull myself up, eye the task that keeps knocking me down and mutter: Again.
