I often wonder just what it is about the sport of gymnastics. I quit at the age of 13 or 14, but still feel like it was "my sport," the one that had the most impact on me during my formative years. And in the same token, I often think gymnastics is what fucked me up (among other things, I'm sure). Chicken or the egg, maybe, but it seemed to bring out my perfectionistic, neurotic, competitive inclinations. Think about it: isn't there something sort of backward about telling an 8-year-old girl that she starts with a perfect score, a 10, and that every time she makes a mistake - be it a flexed foot or an unsteady landing - she gets points deducted? In a nutshell, she starts out with a clean slate, but if she does anything wrong, she is no longer perfect.
I remember laying in bed as a little kid, my dad tucking me in nightly. It was one of our most special times together, him pulling my pastel-colored zebra sheets up to my chin and wrapping the blankets around my shoulders.
"Daddy, am I any good at gymnastics?"
"Daddy, why aren't I at a higher level?"
"Daddy, my arm really hurts."
"Daddy, I want to go to the Olympics."
"Daddy, why am I scared to do my back flips? I didn't used to be."
"Daddy, I don't want to be on the crutches any more."
"Daddy, I wish I was better."
"Daddy, I wish I was the best."
I remember him trying to reassure me. I was good at gymnastics, or else I wouldn't have been able to compete. No, I wasn't the best at the gym, or even at my level, but I was good enough. And didn't I enjoy it anyway? Yes, I had aches and pains, but that was one of the unfortunate side effects of participating in a sport that pushes a little body to its limits. Didn't I have fun with all my friends? If I didn't like it anymore, I didn't have to keep doing it. Yes, I was good as soccer, too. No, still not the best on the team. But didn't I like kicking the ball around with my friends? Yes I was good at school. Maybe the best in my class, he wasn't sure. I was great at being a daughter and a sister and a friend. And as long as I had a good time and worked my hardest, that's what mattered.
I came across some old home movies recently, and no, I really wasn't very good at gymnastics. I've never truly excelled at any one thing. And I always wished I did. I still suffer from those same feelings of inferiority now as I did then. I've made a life out of being decently skilled at most things, but not great at any of them. But in hindsight, I did look awfully cute jumping around in a little leotard with my hair pulled back in a french braid. And it looks like I was having fun. Even if I do run off crying after the vault every now and again. I'm sure in 20 years from now I'll say the same thing about myself - that I might not have been perfect, I cried about it sometimes, but more or less I looked like I was having a good time.
And now for your viewing pleasure, my Level 6 (or 5 or 7?) gymnastics routine. It's 1992, that's why my hair looks like that.
No comments:
Post a Comment