I have been practicing my dismount.
Actually, I’ve been trying to perfect it since I was in high school. We were forced recquired to participate in a quarter term of gymnastics. Nine or so weeks of agony. My ankles have never quite recovered.
Bear in mind that I tripped on the hem of pants and needed several stitches on my chin during my crawling stage of life. A year afterwards, on my first night in a big-girl bed. which rose a foot or so off of the ground, I tumbled out, and needed a few stitches more, this time on my big-girl noggin. My mother’s parting words as I went out the door were always “Penny, be careful, don’t fall”. This waas usually uttered as I tripped over the stoop. Athletics were never in the cards for me.
As an adult, I’ve watched in awe, every four years, as young men and women pummel and balance and travel high-flying rings with grace and incredible strength. Flips and pikes and pivots and landing on one’s own two feet after flying through space in positions that seem quite impossible simply amaze me. Their athleticism astounds me.
I fell, more than once, off of the balance beam, the pommel horse, and the trampoline, fortunately never on the same day. The pommel horse was the worst, with my hands gripping the handles and my feet firmly planted, on the side of the horse. I was suspended in space. It took three classmates to pry me loose.
Each tumble in class, wearing my blue, one piece gym suit with snaps that I regularly prayed would stay snapped, was an embarrassment. Forgetting to turn before dismounting the parallel bars, well, that was quite painful. I walked around with swollen armpits, each arm in an arch, resembling a sumo wrestler.
I had to stand on a folding chair to get up to the traveling rings. Another student would push me while the class would cheer me on “Let one hand go, Penny, and grab onto the second ring”. “Huh?” just as I my dierrier plumped into a wall. The last day of the quarter I did it. I let go, making it, finally, to the second ring. Swinging like a chimpanzee from two rings, not sure what to do next. I dangled there, like a shirt swinging in the breeze on a laundry line. It was the cheer of my classmate at my unlikely achievement that finally pulled me down. I’d like to say I scored a medal. I didn’t.The teacher, however, took pity on me and passed me with a C, simply because I tried so hard and never gave up.
These are often the bigger lessons in life, aren’t they? The trying hard and showing up. The perseverance and stick-to-itiveness. Trying to be brave and carrying on, no matter what.
So, I watch with appreciation as the best of the best convene every four years and they make a grab for the gold. I honor them all for showing up and giving it their best, for themselves and for their country.
Now, I need to go practice my dismount.
Image source can be found here.
I agree with the larger lesson here, but gotta tell you I laughed (with you, not at you) about the gymnastics class. I had enough trouble with badminton and field hockey, thank God nobody knew nothin’ about gymnastics back then. I’m sure I wouldn’t be here today if I’d had to do those things!
I’m happy to read that you laughed, Sallie. I hoped it would bring a smile. I went to a very large high school and we had a girls’ gym with such equipment. Lucky me! ha! We also had badminton, which, oddly enough, I did fairly well in. I won’t mention the day the racket accidentally flew out of my hands and just missed the teacher. Fortunately, she knew me from other classes and knew I wouldn’t do such a thing on purpose.
Ok, Penny, I loved…..absolutely loved PE. I loved running, jumping, swimming, hitting balls, throwing them through hoops, slapping them over nets and doing exercises in general. However, I dreaded gymnastics as much as I enjoyed watching others do them. By the time I was in Jr. High I discovered that apparently 90% of the girls in PE had been taking tumbling since they were three. I couldn’t do a decent cartwheel, or flip, or walk on the balance beam. I could do the rings but not well and the trampoline was fun because I could be funny, not graceful and make it look like I did those goofy jumps on purpose. The pommel horse was my Waterloo. I thought it would be easy because I loved running and jumping, but somehow I did some sort of a crazy flip, landed upside down and I caught myself with my hands…breaking my right ring finger. I finished the class before I told anyone, so I guess I learned to stick to it as well.
Oh, Janet, I can imagine you being funny on the trampoline and can feel how much that broken finger must have hurt. I’m sure your did your best and stuck it – especially with a broken finger. What I would have given to even do an indecent cartwheel and I never could do a somersault. I’d just become a human canon ball each time I tried.
Then there were those dance classes in college . . .
Forgive me for laughing at your expense, Penny! I cannot imagine what I would have done in your place! It almost seems cruel–I’d have been frightened! The fact that you did it at all, though, probably does give you a real appreciation for what these gymnasts go through to achieve Olympic status. I just five minutes ago watched the women’s team get the Gold! I cried with them, especially with young Jordyn’s earlier disappointment.
I never did get stitches, so that’s the good part of the story, but my mother always told me that I could trip over the linoleum pattern!
D
No forgiveness needed. I wrote it in the spirit of fun, Debra. I was frightened, every day of that class. At least it was in days before coed gym classes. Weren’t the women great? It was with tearful admiration that I watched as well.
Ha! Tripping over the linoleum pattern. Now, that didn’t plague me as a child, but, now, as a rapidly aging adult. That can be a problem.
Oh, Penny, I can so relate to this. I couldn’t even do a somersault in gymnastics class, let alone anything else. It was so embarrassing. And, I still trip over everything.
You know, Andra, we grow up, have jobs, careers, real lives, and not once does doing a somersault come into play. Thank goodness. I could never do one either. My cartwheels were pretty comical. Sigh.
Oh Penny, that was a Gold Medal story! I laughed out loud and could only picture you trying so hard. Now, your story is funny, then, I know it wasn’t. But how it all relates to life and the jouney we are all on. Never give up, keep on trying and above all keep the faith. I agree that watching those incredable women is amazing to me and impossible as they do what they do. In fact, every one of those kids has given up so much to be where they are. Such a wondeful lesson to be learned at such a young age. Thanks again Penny for such a great story. . . . . . bless you!
I’m so glad to have given you a laugh out loud moment, Mary Anne. I’m thankful that a good sense of humor is in my DNA. It was the only way I got through most of my gym classes. Did you see the women win the gold last night? All these athletes are amazing. Hope you are continuing to feel better.
I too laughed out loud at this, Penny, but with you and at the memory of my teenage self who was as awkwardly unco-ordinated and unathletic as it is possible to be.
Yet I too love to watch high-level gymnastics and am sorry to be missing the Olympic coverage because we don’ have TV here in France
I think that there more of us that share these awkward gym memories, Perpetua, and it is fine to laugh together. Perhaps you can see some of your favorite events online when you get back. The athletes stories will always be there. The opening ceremony was wonderfull. One of my most favorite parts was the children singing in England, Wales, Scotland, and Ireland. A touching moment.
I love the way you can tell funny stories about yourself and your imperfections. Ah, those foolish moments of going off balance. They can happen so quickly. Last week I dropped a big wheelie bin (used for the rubbish) on my foot and had to hobble around with a walking stick. I decided I was being gifted a bit of practice at being an old woman. (All better now, luckily,)
Thank you, Juliet. I’ve been blessed with a sense of humor.
Oh my! That must have hurt something awful, but, a humorous was to look at walking around with a walking stick. I hope you are back to walking now on your own.
You are so right about the larger lesson Penny.
Our one-piece gym suit was red. Tell a young girl about those suits and they can’t wrap their minds around the concept! I don’t know if I was exactly clumsy, but I was afraid and only did the bare minimum requirements in gymnastics, while some girls just threw themselves into it with what appeared to be very little fear of pain! I think the fear of pain is the difference between those who excel at gymnastics, and most other sports, and the rest of us!
Did you have the same suit all four years, Janet? Mine had to last me the entire time. Those suits were horrible. I think that you are spot on with the fear factor; fear of being hurt and fear of failing, perhaps. Being an overprotected child played a part in my reluctance as well. Take care.
Dear Penny, yes, it’s that showing up that makes all the difference.
I so enjoyed this posting. It reminded me of the way Kate Shrewsday writes–by starting with a simple happening and then moving into the larger picture. Using the one as a springboard to the other. Fine writing.
Peace.
Well, Dee, I thank you twice. I’m pleased to know you enjoyed the posting and flattered beyond measure that it would remind you of Kate Shrewsday, whose writing is phenomenal. You have made my day! I’m grinning from ear-to-ear.