Monday, August 16, 2004
Flip On
Were y'all watching the Olympics last night or what?! We had guests over for dinner tonight, but once we all finished eating, we happened to notice that the men's gymnastics team competition was airing, and soon enough we were all gazing in astonishment at the T.V. screen. I think there's extra shock value because gymnastics (much less men's) doesn't garner half the attention of any other major sport like basketball, baseball, football, tennis, or even hockey. But once every four years buff, hunky men, who can flip in ways you could never even imagine, burst into you living room wearing tighter outfits than football players.
Watching those guys on the high bar, the parallel bars, the rings, the horse, the vault and doing their ground routine brought back old memories. I used to do gymnastics. I practiced for six years, actually. I started way young, when I was in 1st grade. Starting that young put me on the track to major competitions and maybe even the Olympics. I remember getting into really advanced stuff in my last year. We used to do all sorts of crazy things like back handsprings, crazy flips on the vault, and twists and turns on the rings, parallel, and high bar.
Gymnastics was a love-hate thing for me. I loved to flip around (though I was never too good at it) and do all sorts of funky gymnastics moves. At the same time, I hated the risk it posed. I remember going to practices in my last year. Before I quit, it seemed like someone was getting injured every week. One girl broke her arm right in front of my eyes at a vault jump gone awry. Someone else broke a leg. I felt lucky, but I knew that an injury was just a matter of time for me.
I was practicing on the high bar that day. I hadn't done much on the high bar, so my trainers were pushing me a little to really get stuff down. They had me do all sorts of moves on the high bar where I'd let go, flip or twist and then grab onto the bar again. There were so many places to fly once I let go, but only one small, narrow bar to grab onto. At one point I swayed back and let go to do my little stunt. I was flying in the air like Superman. My hands were stretched out past my head, and my body was totally horizontal. I felt the bar brush past my fingertips, and before I could react, I took a 7-foot dive, landing flat on my stomach.
Ouch. Actually, I was too shocked for an ouch. I tried to move and I couldn't. I felt totally paralyzed, and I thought I was done, a goner. My mouth was wide open, I was trying to breathe, but I couldn't. It was as if the impact completely deflated my lungs. Two of the trainers ran over to me and lifted me up from the shoulders. They asked me if I was okay, but not only was I in pain, I couldn't talk. They had me do this exercise to stretch out and relieve the impact. I rolled onto the mat and did the exercise. It helped, but once they told me to stop I felt like I should keep doing it for a couple hours before I do anything else.
So that's my gymnastics horror story. Not too horrific, but it's not something I'd want to repeat. At the time I also had this nasty case of Achille's heel from all the impacts from the floor exercises After that fall, I did some thinking. I had seen enough broken bones, I had learned many cool things, and maybe it was time to gracefully bow out while my body was still fully functional.
Ever the over-analyzer, watching those guys competing ignites a little sense of remorse in me. If I had stayed, I could have had a shot at being on that Olympic team. I could be the guy representing a nation. I could be the guy with the incredibly buff, toned body wearing a tight suit, being drooled over by millions of people. I could be wooing the world with my roundoffs and back flips. But I'm not. I'm still the guy with the twinky body. I'm still going to college like millions of others my age. I'm still trying to figure out what the hell I want to get out of this life.
Watching those guys on the high bar, the parallel bars, the rings, the horse, the vault and doing their ground routine brought back old memories. I used to do gymnastics. I practiced for six years, actually. I started way young, when I was in 1st grade. Starting that young put me on the track to major competitions and maybe even the Olympics. I remember getting into really advanced stuff in my last year. We used to do all sorts of crazy things like back handsprings, crazy flips on the vault, and twists and turns on the rings, parallel, and high bar.
Gymnastics was a love-hate thing for me. I loved to flip around (though I was never too good at it) and do all sorts of funky gymnastics moves. At the same time, I hated the risk it posed. I remember going to practices in my last year. Before I quit, it seemed like someone was getting injured every week. One girl broke her arm right in front of my eyes at a vault jump gone awry. Someone else broke a leg. I felt lucky, but I knew that an injury was just a matter of time for me.
I was practicing on the high bar that day. I hadn't done much on the high bar, so my trainers were pushing me a little to really get stuff down. They had me do all sorts of moves on the high bar where I'd let go, flip or twist and then grab onto the bar again. There were so many places to fly once I let go, but only one small, narrow bar to grab onto. At one point I swayed back and let go to do my little stunt. I was flying in the air like Superman. My hands were stretched out past my head, and my body was totally horizontal. I felt the bar brush past my fingertips, and before I could react, I took a 7-foot dive, landing flat on my stomach.
Ouch. Actually, I was too shocked for an ouch. I tried to move and I couldn't. I felt totally paralyzed, and I thought I was done, a goner. My mouth was wide open, I was trying to breathe, but I couldn't. It was as if the impact completely deflated my lungs. Two of the trainers ran over to me and lifted me up from the shoulders. They asked me if I was okay, but not only was I in pain, I couldn't talk. They had me do this exercise to stretch out and relieve the impact. I rolled onto the mat and did the exercise. It helped, but once they told me to stop I felt like I should keep doing it for a couple hours before I do anything else.
So that's my gymnastics horror story. Not too horrific, but it's not something I'd want to repeat. At the time I also had this nasty case of Achille's heel from all the impacts from the floor exercises After that fall, I did some thinking. I had seen enough broken bones, I had learned many cool things, and maybe it was time to gracefully bow out while my body was still fully functional.
Ever the over-analyzer, watching those guys competing ignites a little sense of remorse in me. If I had stayed, I could have had a shot at being on that Olympic team. I could be the guy representing a nation. I could be the guy with the incredibly buff, toned body wearing a tight suit, being drooled over by millions of people. I could be wooing the world with my roundoffs and back flips. But I'm not. I'm still the guy with the twinky body. I'm still going to college like millions of others my age. I'm still trying to figure out what the hell I want to get out of this life.
