I have been doing gymnastics for 15 years. Since I was 3, I was working out almost every day, perfecting my skills. I identified as an athlete my whole life. My blistered and callused hands were my identity. My huge arm and leg muscles and tiny waist (pants never fit me, my 6-pack, the constant cracking of my joints were normal for me. I had practice after school, and my Saturday mornings were spent in my pajamas at the gym. Chalk was a separate food group, and the leotard lines on my shoulders would never fade. I could chuck a backtuck with my eyes closed - easily, and I would sleep in the splits - comfortably. I was known as the daring one on my team. I had the hardest skills of the group, and I would not be scared of anything. What went wrong? Sometime in my freshman year of high school, I started hating my gymnastics life. Practices became too long, the skills too hard, the competitions too scary, the coaches too mean. I stopped going for things. I didn't want to come to practice anymore.
For 3 more years, I resented everything about gymnastics, and I couldn't wait to get out of there. I hated how my muscles would never stop hurting. I hated how cold the gym was in the mornings, and how hot it was in the afternoon. I hated how tight my leotards were, how restrictive the coaches were. I hated how my teammates weren't as close anymore. I hated how disappointing every competition was. I hated how many injuries I got, and I hated how my coaches cast me aside to work with Erin, Vic, and Lacy from Elite. Most of my original group disbanded, and I felt so alone. And the summer before my senior year of high school, I stopped.
I didn't come to practice for a week, and on Friday, showed up to warm up, and told everyone the news. Nobody said anything, and nobody was surprised. They wanted to see me go. They knew it was a long time coming. The people I considered family for 15 years did not want me anymore. But I didn't care. I felt so happy for the first few months. After school, I'd go home. I did not have to worry about anything. I could eat whatever I wanted without worrying about gaining weight before practice. I thought I was happy.
But the for the next 12 months, my problems did not disappear. Quitting gym only gave room for more issues, including those caused by quitting. I gained four pounds every month, and none of my clothes would fit me. Problems came up at school and at home that I could not escape from. I still felt alone and disconnected from everybody else. And most of all - I started missing gymnastics.
It tortures me when I see my old teammates. It tortures me when I see girls younger than me going to Level 10. It tortures me to watch gymnastics videos. My heart breaks as I am writing this. A year ago, I hated when the coaches yelled at me, and wanted nothing more than to get out of the sport. Now, I'd give anything to have them yell at me just one more time.
When I talk to my friends about it, (friends who never did gymnastics), they never understand. They tell me to find another sport. They tell me to go sign up again. I forget sometimes how even the smartest people can be naive about these things. They don't know how our world works. They think it will be fine. But even if I wanted to go back, it wouldn't be the same. My body would be different. My muscles have turned to fat, and my hands have gone soft. The coaches would act differently, and my teammates would not be the same teammates I was friends with. I only have the other girls who quit - but without gymnastics, nothing holds us together anymore. These kinds of bonds, these kinds of skills that the sport gives you cannot be recreated on whim. If you lose it, you lose it forever.
I wish I held on tighter. I wish I could to go back to 3 years ago, when I forgot about the girl who fell in love with the sport. I would remember her, honor her, and tumble once again. I miss gymnastics.
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