When I was little, I wanted to be a gymnast. My cousin was in gymnastics and I remember going to her practices and sitting on the edge of the mat with all the other parents, watching as she did her flips and twists and turns. For an active child, this was right on the cusp of torture. I wanted to be out there too. I wanted to run wildly down the ramp and jump on the trampoline and have the wherewithal to just launch myself off the vaulting table. I wanted to know the feeling of the freedom of the air, the stomach dropping turns and twists, and the firm foundation under my feet, because I would stick the landing. every. time. Then I wanted to put my hands in the air in the victorious “V” and hear the people cheering. I wanted it all.
The funny thing is, that’s what I saw on the Olympics, not what I saw in those classes. In the classes, I saw girls trying to run down the aisle and get scared before the trampoline. I saw people falling off of balance beams. I saw scabs, and blisters. I saw missing bars and silent prayers that the soft mats would break the fall. I saw endless sets of pushups. and sit ups. and stretches. I just assumed that everything was alll Kerri Strug all the time…and yes, I realize I am totally dating myself, but I much prefer the 90’s gymnastics dream team over the girls we have now (can I get an amen?).
As I child, I didn’t realize that the glory of performances came from the pressure of practice. The sheer determination of what probably seemed for my cousin endless practice. I’m sure it was fun at times. I know it was hard at times. I just wanted to be in the glory circle without having the pressure of practice.
I still want that. I want to be recognized for a good performance without the struggle of making it to the performance. I want people to see what a great mom I am, without having to be thrown-up on at 3am. I want people to see what a great worker I am, without having to put in 60 hour weeks. I want people to see what a good wife I am, without having to constantly be the one doing the dishes. I want to be recognized. I want to be seen. I want to be known.
I guess when I really think about it though, those 3am throw-ups are what make me a good mom. Granted, I certainly hope much more goes into being a good mom besides that otherwise I have a long road ahead of me. I suppose I’ve come to realize that the practice and the performance can’t be separated. You can’t have one without the other. So as I’m tested at work, it’s a chance for me to perform my best. When I’m frustrated with my husband, it’s a chance for me to offer to him my best. If I am needed by my son, it’s a chance for me to give him my best. Essentially, if I stretch during the practice, my body knows what to do during the performance. I think that’s what made Kerri Strug so good. She could hurt her ankle and in the clutch come through and nail the dismount because she had done it so many times. She practiced. Endless hours of launching her body of the vaulting table and knowing that her feet would find the ground. Endless sit ups. Endless push-ups. Endless falls with and without the safety of the mats. Endless bars, and vaults, and floor exercises, and rings, and, and, and…
Right now, I’m practicing. Im diligently practicing. I’m in what feels like never-ending practicing and it kinda feels like the soft mats aren’t there. But the stomach dropping twists and turns are happening. The wind is flying through my hair. I’ve got the wherewithal and I’ve thrown myself in it all. And eventually my feet will find the floor. And I’ll raise my arms in a V and hear the crowd cheering around me. And I’ll know I’ve stuck the landing.