Personal Narrative: My Gymnastics

One moment I’m hugging him goodbye, next moment we get the call he died.

I began to have a passion for gymnastics before I could remember. I used to prance around my house in a pink tutu and leotard from dance class, throwing myself into cartwheels and handstands. I never had any fear of anything. My mommom and I loved playing with Barbies and making them do the acrobatic tricks I dreamed of. I became mesmerized. When I got to be about five years old, I started gymnastics at the little gym. The little gym is a small gymnastics gym for toddlers who want to recreationally do gymnastics. I don’t remember much about the experience, but I do recall loving it. My mom would come sit to watch me and an hour later it was already time to leave, but I never wanted to. When it came time for the end of year “meet” I was the only one who had gotten their one armed cartwheel and bridge. I was so proud of myself and knew I loved the sport. A grin from ear to ear stayed on my small face for the following week.

The next year I started at a real gym. It was so huge. Every day that I had practice was

The levels in gymnastics go from one up to ten and then elite. I was level five. And in the grand scheme of things, I was bad for my age. I should have been a level seven to be considered good at gymnastics in that world. Level ten was mesmerizing and elite was even better, olympic. But it didn’t really matter to me what level I was, as long as I was doing gymnastics. Around December, on the competitive team’s side of the gym, a coach began to recognize me. He told my coach, a short strong former gymnast, that he wanted to talk to my mom about possibly moving on to the real team. I was overjoyed, but scared. I had a feeling that it wasn’t the best for me and it left a bad taste in my mouth. So I turned the offer down. It was too much of a commitment and I thought wouldn’t be good enough. My nerves got the best of