Losing My "Religion"

Gymnastics is a sport, but to my 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13 year old self, it was the only religion I had ever believed in. Olga Korbut and Nadia Comaneci and Yelena Shaposhnikova were the goddesses and the gym was the temple. The Code of Points was the holy book and saluting the judges the prayers.

I did gymnastics for greater than half of my life. I quit the sport for good a few weeks ago. I have been away from the gym long enough to have distanced myself from the physical challenges of the sport and have allowed myself to examine the process by which I came to the decision to leave the sport I'd been doing for more than 8 years.

I was never the best gymnast, but I never completely stunk, either. Except for a wobbly first meet or two each season, I was never out of my depth competing against other girls in my level. A rocky last compulsory season was probably the first major setback I'd ever had with the sport, and even then, I pulled my scores up to par with other seasons by the end. Most importantly, I looked forward to doing skills in the gym every day. I looked forward to nothing more than meets. I looked forward to spending time with my teammates and my great coach and the lovely community at my gym.

After the aforementioned rocky season, I moved two states north, here in North Carolina. Within two weeks, my mom was driving me around to gym after gym. We visited three or four, including the prestigious and lovely Sonshine Gymnastics in Holly Springs, but it was a lovely little team in a dingy old gym in Apex that caught my heart. The equipment was worn and familiar, the practices were a style more similar to what I was used to, and the coaches I met taught me so much in the first hours I was there. There I quickly became woven into a pattern of sticky summer practices with a team that would eventual become some of my best friends in the world, and eventually, the first optional team of the then nonexistent Peak Gymnastics Academy.

Back to the tragedy of how I fell out of love. The skills got hard really fast. I had a sort of buffer year in competing Prep Op Platinum, a watered down level 7. That year went fabulously. I got scores I not necessarily wanted but felt were justified. I medaled at meets I didn't expect to, and actually put up a fight against others at the big competitions. All was fine and well, and I finished the season well. I got my giants within days of finishing and worked hard on beam for my back walkover back handspring series. Then, the whole Apex Gymnastics logistics meltdown happened.

For months we were guests in a gym that wasn't our own, a facility that wasn't ours, equipment that was foreign and, with the clear knowledge that we were to be gone soon, remained feeling foreign. I lost skills as fast as I had gained them. My form suffered and as a result of gymnastics being such a mental sport, my ability to chuck things without hesitation also suffered. Skills I'd already competed at Apex, even back in Georgia, became a challenge because I didn't want to do them and I didn't think I could.

We got to Peak Gymnastics with only about two weeks of practice before the first meet of the season. Unprepared and unconfident, forced to compete skills I had rushed to gain back on the newer equipment, I stepped into the massive meet and performed poorly, to the say the least. One illegitimate place on the podium: a fourth place medal, when the previous year, I'd gotten two silvers, two bronzes, AND a fourth.

Measly scores all seasons were only partially a contributor to my lessening of passion to the sport. My teammates advanced faster than me, and some skills I just felt were way out of my ability as a gymnast. I became more fearful of the things I was training and less excited to try things. Apprehension increased faster than bravery could train to catch up. The coach who used to push me pushed me less because I pushed myself less. I lost the ability to block out heat and exhaustion to practice efficiently and was conscious of very hot springtime practices. Ultimately, it came down to the realization that I preferred to stay home and edit videos for a few more minuted than get to practice on time to realize at last that my days as a gymnast were numbered.

My teammates and I talked some, and some more. After our last meet of the season, the one closest to my age left. There, I decided that the result of my application to a school that would determine my fate. It'd either give me an easy out or give me incentive to keep working so my commitment to the sport would buff up my college application. I loved my team too much to flat out quit. Going from seeing a group of girls who were practically family 15 hours a week to once every month or two or more was a practically unfathomable thought (though you'd think 9 moved later I'd be used to it).

When I got accepted into the academically prestigious boarding school, I vowed to stay in as long as I could, until the beginning of the next school year, when I'd have to move away from home. Two days later, I went to practice in my street clothes and said my goodbyes.

The Rise to the Peak: Part 2

8 months, a bazillion people, lots of construction later, Peak Gymnastics Academy is a reality.

I missed the first day of practice - a shortened-by-an-hour practice announced just hours after the permit to have occupants in the facility was received. I didn't get the memo in time, but the second more than made up for it.

Peak Gymnastics Academy. The words have been dancing on our tongues, the idea floating in our heads for over half a year. It's been open for less than a week, but to the team that has stuck together in some strange places, strange circumstances, and intimidating situations, as long as we can call it our own, it's home sweet home without a second thought.

The facility is gorgeous. It isn't huge, but it is bigger than the no-longer-extant Apex Gymnastics ever was, and the equipment is lovely. Right now, the smell is amazing. It smells of clean foam, new mat, and chalk. There isn't that lingering stench of sweaty feet and salty tears yet, and with the huge overhead doors that we can open to let air in and out, it will hopefully remain this way.

The vault is easy to move up and down, the beams are tall but made of competition suede and are perfectly suited for our slippery feet. The floor is huge, with more than enough room for mistakes during training around the 40 foot by 40 foot limit set by USAG for competitions. The trampoline and rod tumbling floor are both insanely bouncy, and Mr. Robert, the super duper tumbling and soon-to-be tramp coach plans to get harnesses for cooler tricks. 

And then we have the bars.

The regular bars, though there is only one set, is much easier to tighten and adjust than any other set any of us had worked out regularly on at least for the past few years. Nice bars at big competitions and nice bars at camp were a rare luxury, and now we had our very own "nice bar." And the pit bar is simple phenomenal.

Click, click, click. Every time a giant goes over the pit bar, a light metallic ping can be heard from around. Before I got on the bar, I watched one of my most petite teammates swing gracefully around the bar, body extended, handstand to handstand, completing repetitions of a skill called the giant. She dismounted and climbed out of the deep sea of blue foam cubes.

"The bars make a clicky sound..." I began.

"Yeah, but they're bouncy and really good! And they don't move when they click." She nodded and me to get on and have a go.

I spit on my chalky grips and rubbed them together to enhance my ability to stay on the bar and jumped. The bar curved down under my weight just as a good bar should, and in just a dead hang, I bounced up and down a little. I grinned, satisfied. The click, click, clicking didn't stop and two bar practices later hasn't changed in the slightest, but it's no longer unsettling.

Peak Gymnastics Academy.

I'm insanely excited to see what kind of future this gym will have, what kind of gymnasts past the time of myself and my current team the amazing coaches will inspire, teach, and mold.

At the risk of sounding sappy, I have to end with this: It's good to be home.

*** Peak Gymnastics: website and Facebook

Peak Gymnastics Level 7s with a nice medal haul

P.S. Still much thanks to Kenney's Gymnastics for being so kind as to letting us stick around for 7 months!

The Rise to the Peak: Part 1

See part 2 here!

Two months ago, in June of this summer, a complicated, melodramatic, coaching controversy arose at local Apex Gymnastics. One thing led to another, and the girl’s head coach, former elite gymnast Brittany Morgan, was fired. Suddenly, the Apex girls team was left sans their head coach. The other coaches stepped up and kept the girls motivated, but they weren’t Ms. Brittany. 

To gymnasts, the summertime is crucial in preparation for the competition season to come. The beginning is arguably the most important of all. It’s when the hardest new skills are introduced and drilled for the first time. But for one tear-filled week no short of gossip and blame, the girls were lost. Without Ms. Brittany, they asked themselves, what were we supposed to do?

One by one, all of the older optional level girls temporarily quit gymnastics. None knew how long it’d be before they could tumble on a balance beam again. No longer welcome in their home gym, they were prepared for the worst. Running, jump-roping, team workouts at the local YMCA, these were all part of their worst-case scenario. To do it all in the intense heat would be absolutely grueling. They were absolutely dreading the next step.

In their eyes, what happened next was nothing short of a miracle. The owner of Kenney’s Gymnastics, to whom everyone refers casually to as Mike, agreed to Ms. Brittany’s request to use his facility. Because of the Kenney’s Gym’s generosity, the girls were back in action faster than they’d ever imagined.

One of the reasons the team was so comfortable in following their coach was that there was a plan. Brittany and her close friend, undisputed Team Mom Angie Meshaw, had been planning on opening a gym of their own for a long time. Peak Gymnastics Academy, they’d call it. Like Apex, but not. Now shut out of Apex, what was once a dream really needed to be a reality. And because they couldn’t stay at Kenney’s forever, it needed to happen fast.

After working through their two-week notice back at Apex, the two other coaches, Robert Johnson and Judy Jackson, came to join their team. What began as just the five oldest girls plus Angie Meshaw’s younger daughter soon extended additional advanced girls, multiple rising prep op girls, and most of the littlest pre-team princesses from Apex. The rest of the old teams dissipated into the labyrinth of triangle area gyms. 

“Come on Liann, 110%. Just go for it!” cheers gymnast and pre-team coach Lily, of Apex. Here’s the catch: there’s no Apex girl named Liann. Liann is the only level 7 gymnast on the Kenney’s team, and here, she is learning a front walkover on the beam. The staff and team at Kenney’s welcomed their guests with open arms. The home team even invited the visitors to come along on their annual trip to Wet’n’Wild. In a sport as tough as gymnastics, even in the lower levels camaraderie is needed to mentally survive. 

While there is strong contrast between the coaching styles of the two teams, ideas were shared and techniques passed along. Apex learned leg conditioning while getting prepared for an event was no fun. Kenney’s learned warming up and working out with ankle weights was no fun. Apex learned how to use the most interesting vault training contraption. Kenney’s learned the technique of “T-hands” on the balance beam. Apex’s Mr. Robert is an excellent spotter and helps out recreational classes with too many kids and too few coaches when he has a spare moment. On the days Mr. Robert doesn’t work, the Apex girls ask Dre or Mike or another of the Kenney’s coaches to help out. 

Over the few months at Kenney’s the girls progressed like they would have back at “home.” But as August arrived and September lurks just around the corner, the buzz is increasing about the new gym. If asked, any of the girls would respond along the lines of, “I’m so excited!” and “I just can’t wait.” 

“What colors are our [leotards] going to be?” repeatedly asks team member Caitlin.

“Can we have a trench bar?” pesters Danielle.

“Wouldn’t this be good as our demo leo?” “Are we getting t-shirts? And tank tops too?” “Are you making our team headbands yet?” And the questions just keep pouring out.

Angie Meshaw and Brittany Morgan are much of the way into the process of the “adult, official business.” So patience, girls. The time will come.