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.
Saturday, April 27, 2013
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
Being Busy...
... Absolutely stinks. I have no time to write stories or blog posts or scripts or poems or letters or anything. School, gymnastics, homework. That is life right now. I caught fire to my hair yesterday, and a week earlier caused an explosion in my bathroom. Good stories, yes? No time to put them eloquently.
I've made a few Youtube videos in the last month or so (over a month since my last post) - Here they are, below (the last one is about setting my hair on fire).
I've made a few Youtube videos in the last month or so (over a month since my last post) - Here they are, below (the last one is about setting my hair on fire).
Monday, February 18, 2013
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
P.S. Still much thanks to Kenney's Gymnastics for being so kind as to letting us stick around for 7 months!
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!
Monday, January 28, 2013
A Rant About Alcohol
Remember when I said I wasn't going to post anything meaningful?
Yeah, I lied.
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Lately I've been trying to work my way around Blogger without crashing my computer every time I try to post, so please excuse my lack of activity. Additionally, I'm experiencing done sort of bloggers block. I can't seem to come up with topics that aren't overly controversial or insulting (my iPod auto corrected this to "ovulating"). But after reading the autobiography if British pop rock band McFly, I've decided to address a topic very much relevant to my age group. Alcohol.
Yeah, I lied.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Lately I've been trying to work my way around Blogger without crashing my computer every time I try to post, so please excuse my lack of activity. Additionally, I'm experiencing done sort of bloggers block. I can't seem to come up with topics that aren't overly controversial or insulting (my iPod auto corrected this to "ovulating"). But after reading the autobiography if British pop rock band McFly, I've decided to address a topic very much relevant to my age group. Alcohol.
Warning: I wrote quite a lot. I divided it into sections, so if you get bored, just skip to what you want to read about more.
Alcohol in Entertainment and Media
In America, the legal drinking age is 21. Each year, drunk driving accidents kill around 10,000 people, including 200 kids under the age of 14. Alcoholism contributes to liver failure and mental illness, really just creating a lot of problems for everyone. According to the CDC, roughly 1 in every 6 adults binge-drink four times a month. Enough with the stats. They blatantly tell us that alcohol is bad.
Why, then, is it that teenagers are so tempted to start drinking so early?
There is an age limit set on such consumption for a reason. Cranial and cognitive development is affected by alcohol. Also, younger, smaller bodies are far less tolerant of the toxic contents of alcohol. But I see my peers showing up to school under the influence, bring alcohol to parties (the main reason I don't party), and pressure one another to obtain alcoholic drinks from family members or older friends.
In the debate of whether video game violence should be restrained/whether it influences today's youth to be violent, I stand neutral. However, when those same sources, media and entertainment, I do strongly oppose the prominence of alcohol glorification. Think of popular comedies, whether they’re movie or long-running TV shows. Think of dramas and even occasionally science fiction. How often do you see characters being portrayed as bubbly, energetic, fun, humorous, and other positive traits… when drunk?
One of my favorite shows, How I Met Your Mother, is practically set in a bar. Another, Grey’s Anatomy, is probably set in their bar for at least a third of the series. When the camera then pans to Meredith dancing drunkenly on a table with a bottle of tequila then making out passionately with the man she desires (sure, it sounds bad when I put it like that), does that not add to the suggestion that alcohol is fun? Harmless? Beneficial to your social life and your ability to be entertaining?
Why, then, is it that teenagers are so tempted to start drinking so early?
There is an age limit set on such consumption for a reason. Cranial and cognitive development is affected by alcohol. Also, younger, smaller bodies are far less tolerant of the toxic contents of alcohol. But I see my peers showing up to school under the influence, bring alcohol to parties (the main reason I don't party), and pressure one another to obtain alcoholic drinks from family members or older friends.
In the debate of whether video game violence should be restrained/whether it influences today's youth to be violent, I stand neutral. However, when those same sources, media and entertainment, I do strongly oppose the prominence of alcohol glorification. Think of popular comedies, whether they’re movie or long-running TV shows. Think of dramas and even occasionally science fiction. How often do you see characters being portrayed as bubbly, energetic, fun, humorous, and other positive traits… when drunk?
One of my favorite shows, How I Met Your Mother, is practically set in a bar. Another, Grey’s Anatomy, is probably set in their bar for at least a third of the series. When the camera then pans to Meredith dancing drunkenly on a table with a bottle of tequila then making out passionately with the man she desires (sure, it sounds bad when I put it like that), does that not add to the suggestion that alcohol is fun? Harmless? Beneficial to your social life and your ability to be entertaining?
Hormone-fueled teenagers are also made especially vulnerable in a different way. We think we have the planet’s biggest problems, whether they’re our social lives or grades. Most of us don’t really know how to keep things in perspective. Twitter followers and Instagram likes are big deals for us. When we’re sad or angry, we vent.
The same television shows I’ve referred to earlier, along with others (Bones, New Girl, to name a couple), have characters that get sad. It’s part of the plot. But rather than sleep it off or talk it out like (debatably) reasonable people do, even teens, they drink.
And what is ironic in a subtly sick way is that these shows play the recovering alcoholic story quite a lot. On one hand we have characters drinking to party, drinking to drink, drinking to feel fewer emotions, then across from them we have their coworkers struggling to not drink, showing sappy flashbacks to angrily swung chairs and barfights and other things done in their drunken stupor.
So what’s the big deal?
An Example of Alcohol’s Horrors
This brings us back to the McFly autobiography. McFly is a band largely unknown in America, so let me introduce you. They’ve been a band since 2003, been pretty big in Europe since 2004. Tom Fletcher and Danny Jones sing and play lead/rhythm guitar. Dougie Poynter is the bassist and Harry Judd plays drums. These four make a “proper guitar band,” as opposed to a “boyband that sits on stools and sings.” Their style is slightly like a more rock version of One Direction to be put in simplest terms, but with more substance behind their sound.
 |
| McFly |
I consider them to be quite inspirational people, not because of their success but what they had to overcome to get there. To each there are multiple stories, but whilst reading their tell-all autobiography released recently, one chapter struck me, and most McFly fans, the most. Titled Dougie’s Secret, it was told almost entirely from the point of view of the bassist, and was probably one of the saddest things I’ve ever read.
Long story short, this:
“When I was seventeen, I started getting into alcohol in quite a big way. Red wine was my thing – it felt a bit more sophisticated, somehow.”
Progressed to this:
“I’d tried and failed so many times to kick my various habits. I didn’t understand why I couldn’t go to the pub and just have one drink…”
“My life had turned into a relentless hell, so the only solution was to end it.”
So what’s your point, Chichi? Pop stars surely don’t become alcoholics from watching television. Who’s fault was it getting into alcohol a year underage anyways? (In England, the drinking age is 18). Dougie Poynter was a victim of his own creation, right? What are you going on about, anyways?
My point is exactly that! This guy is a musician. A very popular one, constantly in the public eye, in the behind the scenes of show business. The same people creating and portraying the characters influencing us as teenagers are influencing their own. Sure, with his bandmates it didn’t lead to anything serious, but with him, it lead to a drink and drug problem bad enough to drive the man to suicide. He survived and sobered up, and thankfully continues to rock out for us fans today, but his case is an example.
Show business, the media, those teens look up to as influences glorify alcohol. They encourage it, consciously or not. Teens drink, their buddies drink, the virus spreads. And among all that do indulge in the activity early on, a few unlucky ones develop dependency to it.
Oh, it’s not going to be you, is it?
Alcoholism Facts
Teens who start drinking before the age of 15 have a 50% more chance of developing dependency to alcohol.
Those with mental illnesses, depression, or traumatic pasts increase chances of alcoholism.
Having one alcoholic parent triples the likelihood for an alcoholic son, and significantly increases the likelihood for having an alcoholic daughter.
Lacking a father figure increases one’s chance of alcoholism.
Alcoholism takes around 15 years to fully develop in adults, but just years in teens and young adults.
30% of adults in America have had alcohol abuse or dependence problems.
Alcohol Facts
Saturday, January 26, 2013
YouTube
I have resorted to blogging from my iPod because this stupid host named blogger is so finicky. Oh well :)
I'm not going to write anything meaningful because everything I've written and erased has been controversial/insulting. Oops.
Go here for actual stuff rather than ramblings, though they actually do run along the lines of rambling (I hope the HTML worked).
I'm not going to write anything meaningful because everything I've written and erased has been controversial/insulting. Oops.
Go here for actual stuff rather than ramblings, though they actually do run along the lines of rambling (I hope the HTML worked).
Saturday, December 29, 2012
I Take Pictures
Went to Florida on vacation.
Took lots of photos.
Blogger hates me, so see them here.
Enjoy your lives.
-Chichi
Took lots of photos.
Blogger hates me, so see them here.
Enjoy your lives.
-Chichi
Saturday, December 15, 2012
Today I Honor the Kids
I started writing a post about violence and shootings after the Oregon mall shooting a few days ago.
"All These People Shooting Each Other," I called it.
What kind of sick bastard goes into an elementary school with a gun? What kind of twisted person would do something like that?
In today's world political correctness is emphasized. There is importance put under not passing judgment. We preach tolerance like it is its own religion and we try to be accepting. Anti-bullying, anti-discrimination, pro-equality. Any other day, any other circumstances, I would strive to meet every one of those conditions. I would strive to follow every one of those pocket rules to being a better person. But not today.
Today, I am judgmental.
Today, I am judging the shooter. Media has reported that he was not diagnosed as mentally ill, but displayed characteristics and was a recluse with a troubled mind. His killing spree was not cold nor calculated. It was full out angst triggered massacre. Adam Lanza would have known he had a problem. He should have.
Today, I am judging the mother. No one needs two assault weapons but the police. One, I'm okay with if you're using it for hunting or for some twisted method of self protection. Or even if you're collecting them but not buying rounds of ammunition for them or firing them. But loaded firearms? In a tiny little place like Newtown, Connecticut? Nancy Lanza did not need to semiautomatic rifles. No one does.
Today, I am judging America's lax gun policies. I personally think self-defense is important, and we do bear a right to carry firearms. But we have absolutely no need to carry assault rifles. We really don't. We're not shooting a bunch of resilient things at once when we exercise our right to bear arms. We're exercising self defense. I'm all for hand guns. But I can't help but think that those other countries with so few deaths caused by gun violence, many of them amounting to a total less than a single recent US massacre, I can't help but think that they're doing something right. America, we're missing something.
Today, I am not a person with a concrete moral compass. I am a sad person. This could have been in my town, in my school. It could have been my friends dead, my teachers smushing us into cupboards to stay alive, or in a nightmare of all nightmares, it could have been my little sister's daycare.
Today, I am a scared person. Newtown is just like Cary, but smaller. We think Cary is safe. We rarely have major crime. Cary in the top cities to live in the country and we have incredible cops. But we're not safe, not really. No one is.
Today, I am reading the news. I am keeping up with each development they have. I want to know why this happened. Who this shrouded in a cloud of mystery killer is. Why things like Aurora and Sandy Hook and Virginia Tech and Columbine and Clackamas Town Center happen. Why the United States averages twenty mass shootings a year, yet other countries sometimes don't even reach twenty gun violence deaths a year.
Today, and tomorrow, and the next, I want answers.
But first. Today we honor the victims. We honor the heroes, we honor the innocent lives lost. We think of angelic little ones, with bouncing ponytails and curious, bright, shining eyes. We remember that they were people, they were children. They are not just corpses, not just target practice for a sick man. Today we remember they were people, and today we wish all the best in recovery for the town.
"All These People Shooting Each Other," I called it.
The first thing that's on my homepage is Google. Okay. Normal. But I also make it a habit to open Yahoo after Google. I don't use yahoo to search, just the front news page.
And every day, swimming out from the little icons in bright purple lettering prancing across the website home page: death. shooting. killed. fatality.
Recently there have been several high profile cases, like the Aurora one, the Walmart one just a few days ago, and the one in the Oregon mall just several hours ago.
What kind of sick bastard goes into an elementary school with a gun? What kind of twisted person would do something like that?
In today's world political correctness is emphasized. There is importance put under not passing judgment. We preach tolerance like it is its own religion and we try to be accepting. Anti-bullying, anti-discrimination, pro-equality. Any other day, any other circumstances, I would strive to meet every one of those conditions. I would strive to follow every one of those pocket rules to being a better person. But not today.
Today, I am judgmental.
Today, I am judging the shooter. Media has reported that he was not diagnosed as mentally ill, but displayed characteristics and was a recluse with a troubled mind. His killing spree was not cold nor calculated. It was full out angst triggered massacre. Adam Lanza would have known he had a problem. He should have.
Today, I am judging the mother. No one needs two assault weapons but the police. One, I'm okay with if you're using it for hunting or for some twisted method of self protection. Or even if you're collecting them but not buying rounds of ammunition for them or firing them. But loaded firearms? In a tiny little place like Newtown, Connecticut? Nancy Lanza did not need to semiautomatic rifles. No one does.
Today, I am judging America's lax gun policies. I personally think self-defense is important, and we do bear a right to carry firearms. But we have absolutely no need to carry assault rifles. We really don't. We're not shooting a bunch of resilient things at once when we exercise our right to bear arms. We're exercising self defense. I'm all for hand guns. But I can't help but think that those other countries with so few deaths caused by gun violence, many of them amounting to a total less than a single recent US massacre, I can't help but think that they're doing something right. America, we're missing something.
Today, I am not a person with a concrete moral compass. I am a sad person. This could have been in my town, in my school. It could have been my friends dead, my teachers smushing us into cupboards to stay alive, or in a nightmare of all nightmares, it could have been my little sister's daycare.
Today, I am a scared person. Newtown is just like Cary, but smaller. We think Cary is safe. We rarely have major crime. Cary in the top cities to live in the country and we have incredible cops. But we're not safe, not really. No one is.
Today, I am reading the news. I am keeping up with each development they have. I want to know why this happened. Who this shrouded in a cloud of mystery killer is. Why things like Aurora and Sandy Hook and Virginia Tech and Columbine and Clackamas Town Center happen. Why the United States averages twenty mass shootings a year, yet other countries sometimes don't even reach twenty gun violence deaths a year.
Today, and tomorrow, and the next, I want answers.
But first. Today we honor the victims. We honor the heroes, we honor the innocent lives lost. We think of angelic little ones, with bouncing ponytails and curious, bright, shining eyes. We remember that they were people, they were children. They are not just corpses, not just target practice for a sick man. Today we remember they were people, and today we wish all the best in recovery for the town.
 |
| The names were released by the Connecticut State Police today. All the kids were either six or seven years old. Such beautiful lives, filled with promises of longevity and love and happiness, just ended. |
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