Photograph by ssj414 on iStock
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By Alana Smith
I was seven when I started gymnastics. Ballet just wasn’t for me. I had too much energy for slow and steady and graceful. I needed to run and bounce. And to flip and bend. So, gymnastics was perfect.
I remember the distinct smell of the gym. Chalk and sweat and equipment—specifically, the floor. We’d sit and stretch toward our bare toes, not being able to reach far at first, but the longer you held that painful position, the tiniest bit further you could reach. The splits were the ever-elusive goal.
As we stretched, I’d watch the girls who were older and much more advanced than I, one-on-one with their coach, as they would perform a “giant” on the bars. This move was perfectly named, because only a real giant would have the courage to attempt one. You’d start with your body mounted up on the top bar—almost eight feet from the very hard ground—and swing your legs down and then, with the building momentum, you’d launch yourself into a handstand. As if that weren’t enough, you’d then swing your body completely around the bars and land, miraculously, back in your same handstand. Like a human windmill.
I never tried one of these. I know you probably thought that was where I was headed, but it’s not. I never made it that far. But the bar exercise, or just “the bars,” were my jam. Out of the four events—bars, beam, floor, and vault—I excelled most at bars. Mostly because that was where I felt most confident and consistent. Bars were much less scary than the beam and required less flexibility than the floor exercise. And this is where I would score the highest, leading to blue ribbons or the occasional medal being sent my way. So, this event took a lot of my focus because, even if I fell off the beam or landed on my rear on the floor exercise, well, bars were my constant—and that’s pretty big when you are 11.
Well, until they weren’t. I can remember this moment like it was yesterday and not 27 years ago. It was the State Championships for youth gymnastics in Alabama. I had trained all year as a level 4 gymnast, which isn’t very high in the skill ranking overall but still took me a few years to get to. I had actually spent two long years training at this level because, when it was time to “move up,” my coaches decided I just wasn’t ready, so I had to stay behind as my peers and buddies moved up to level 5. Talk about embarrassing, but that story is for another day. So I was pretty good at this bar routine by the time the State Championship came around the second time. I knew I could win bars.
There’s a lot of pressure on you, at 11 or any age, when you are expected to do well at something. I was so nauseated as we moved to the bar exercise. It was the third event, with bars and beam left for me. I was doing well. My coach told me to eat some chalk to settle my stomach, but the thought of that was worse than my nausea. I saluted the judges and stepped up to the bars. I did the beginning of my routine—so ingrained in my muscles and brain from repetition—and as I was thinking of the landing and “sticking it” so as not to lose any points, I completely choked and fell backwards out of a routine move. I couldn’t believe it. I was so shocked because I had done that simple move so many times, and it wasn’t something I should have messed up. I regrouped, finished the routine, and did stick the landing. But I was devastated. That fall backwards was a half-point deduction. I was so incredibly angry at myself for choking when this was supposed to be my year. I got second place and missed the 1996 State Champion title by two-tenths of a point. Sheesh. By the time 1997 rolled around, I was doing regular 12-year-old things and not thinking about eating chalk and spending three hours in the gym. And, as an adult, watching the summer Olympics leaves me in awe of the tenacity of these athletes.
So, here’s to all the 2024 Olympic athletes—the ones returning with medals and the ones without. Your grit and focus are inspiring, and we’ve all enjoyed watching. Way to go, Team USA!
Alana Smith is a boy mom (ages 9 and 4), nurse anesthetist, and writer in Birmingham. She shares her writing at Holy Moly Motherhood (on Facebook and Instagram), where she tackles all things motherhood and marriage.