gregory
|
|
The Gymnast
| 
May 31 14:26 UTC 1997 |
On Monday I woke up early. I guess that is one advantage of fear.
I felt so alive. It was a bolt of electricity surging through my
body. I have been waiting for this day. I made a deal with my coach,
Marty to try the Yurshanko without a spot today.
After months of trying and practicing, this was the day when I
could finally do it. The feeling lasted, that is, until I started
tying my long blond hair into a ponytail.
Once my ponytail was in place I looked into the mirror and saw a
very scared eight-year-old. I was furious at myself because being
afraid is wimpy. I didn't want Marty to see me as a wimp.
But I am scared and I can't do it.
I got to the gym, there was Marty. "Oh, no", she was smiling
proudly as she looked at me. "Chrissy, can I talk to you...alone?"
"Sure," she said as we went into a tiny room with barely enough
space for a wooden desk and two small folding chairs. She went behind
the desk and sat down. I sat down too, only nervously on the edge of
the cold, hard chair.
I took a deep breath. "It's my routine on the uneven bars. I can't
do the Yurshanko. I know if we don't take it out of my routine, I'll
lose at the meet and the whole team will lose."
Marty leaned back in her chair. "Afraid, uh?" She didn't seemed
surprised. "What scares you?", she asked.
"I didn't say I was afraid," I defended. "I just said I can't do
it, and I don't want the team to..."
"Think about why you are scared," she interrupted.
"I didn't say I was scared," I protested vehemently. I was not
going to admit that, even though I knew if I didn't have a spot I
would fall.
Marty sighed, "Okay, let's talk about what conditioning you have
been working the last six weeks.
Looking down at my feet, my hands sweating, "Stomach crunches," I
replied quietly.
"Good. You're flexible, you're strong now," she said. "Your ab
muscles are much stronger than six weeks ago."
"I guess so," I admitted.
"Now, when you do the Yurshanko, what do you depend on when you
let go of the bar?"
"Nothing," I said. Marty was coming really close to the question I
was most afraid of.
"Nothing, you depend on nothing? So what holds you there?"
"Nothing because I can't use my hands," I answered quietly.
Marty looked down, shaking her head. "Your stomach muscles are
what whip you around the bar, and they are stronger now. This is why
I know you can do it. You have style and strength, and that is a
winning combination."
"But I...I...".
I couldn't even hear the things that Marty was saying. All I could
think of was that I was afraid to do the Yurshanko.
"Be honest, admit it. You didn't want to talk about the good of
the team. We had a deal that you would do the move today without a
spot. Do you want to go back on our agreement?"
I had to admit to her the thing I was trying to hide, "I am
afraid. The move really scares me."
"Good, you admitted the problem," she said. "Now, exactly what
scares you?"
After thinking a moment, I answered, "When I let go, I'm just
hanging there."
"But your stomach muscles control your move," said Marty.
Marty stood. "Let's go try it."
No, not yet," I said.
Marty comforted, "I'm not going to force you to do anything you're
not comfortable with."
I agreed to think about it. I hesitated before leaving her office.
When we got to the bars, my stomach was in knots. I looked up at the
bars. They never seemed so high before.
"If you don't try the move now, we're going to forget it until
after the meet. I'm not going to spend any more time on it now."
Marty sounded impatient.
"On it or me," I asked.
"I'm not giving up on you. You are a good gymnast and I believe
you can do the Yurshanko. You just have to believe it too. You agreed
to try today. Now let's get to it."
"Okay," I tremored as I took a deep breath.
Marty put her hand on my shoulder as if to reassure me. It worked
because I felt a little more confident, at least for a moment.
"Why don't you warm up and I'll be back," she suggested.
I did my stretches and sit ups. All the other girls were on the
mats working on splits and backbends. I spent more time doing push
ups and crunches. They did seem easier than usual.
Finally, Marty was ready for me, stood next to me. "I'll be right
here if you need me."
I licked my dry lips, chalked my hands and grasped the bar. I
swung out from the high bar. I felt my hips hit the low bar. I
released the high bar and let the momentum carry me around, keeping
my stomach as tight as I could.
"Pop!", yelled Marty. I dove my hips against the bar to make use
of its bounce. My arms flew out. I reached behind me for the high
bar. It was there. I grabbed it. Then I swung out for my dismount and
I fell. But I did it!
Marty was grinning proudly. "Now do it again."
"You're joking," I said.
Marty shook her head and held her hand out to me. "You did it
once. Three good ones and then you can feel proud. Only this time do
it with style."
I looked at her and wrinkled up my nose to make a face as I walked
back to the bars.
"Not that kind of style," Marty laughed.
This is a work in progress
by my wife, Susan Taylor,
submitted here seeking helpful
criticism. Her goal: get published.
|
gregory
|
|
response 4 of 5:
|
Jul 26 13:43 UTC 1997 |
The Most Beautiful Gift
Chrissy was walking in the first snow of the season when she saw
Mr. Foreman shoveling his front steps. An elderly man, greatly
weakened by cancer, greeted Chrissy with a cheerful, "Merry
Christmas, little one."
"Hi, Mr. Foreman," she called back to the then fraile man.
"How are you this grand, snowy day?" he asked.
"Fine," she answered. "Tonight we're getting our Christmas tree."
"How nice. I remember the beautiful trees we had years ago when I
was about your age," Mr. Foreman said. He continued shoveling, and
Chrissy picked up a broom that was propped against the garage. The
two of them worked until the steps were cleared.
That evening, Chrissy and her parents went to the market to buy
their tree.
"We want a big tree," Chrissy said.
"I have a bargain for you," offered the salesman. "I'm giving a
small tree to everyone who buys a large one."
Chrissy picked out the most beautiful little tree, only about two
feet tall. "Do you think I could have this one for Mr. Foreman?"
asked Chrissy. "I'll trim it myself."
"Sure. I'll even make a stand for it," said Chrissy's father.
"Won't Mr. Foreman's family get a tree for him?" Mother asked.
"Maybe you should just give him some of the bread I'll be making."
There was a moment of silence, then Chrissy said, "You're right,
but I still like my idea of giving him a tree I decorated."
Later, Chrissy worked on decorations for the tiny tree. She made a
paper chain out of red and green construction paper, she strung
popcorn and cranberries, and cut some red birds out of felt and
velvet scraps. She made an angel out of white tissue paper with gold
foil wings. She even used part of an old gold bracelet for the halo.
Two days before Christmas, Chrissy started out with a loaf of her
mother's freshly baked bread for Mr. Foreman. Suddenly she remembered
the tree. She turned back and ran into the kitchen to get the little
tree. She just had to take it with her.
A few blocks away she reached Mr. Foreman's house and rang the
bell. When he opened the door, she heard laughter, then stepped
inside. The living room was filled with people.
"Come in for some pie, my little one. There's still some left,"
said Mr. Foreman. "You can meet some of my family."
All of the guests were sitting around the room. In the center of
the huge room children were playing with new toys.
Suddenly, Chrissy saw a large beautiful Christmas tree at one end
of the room. Frosted white, it shone with strings of colored
twinkling lights and bright ornaments. Her heart sank.
Chrissy looked at the little tree she was carrying in her bag. It
was very small compared with the magnificent tree. Her ornaments were
hand made, not expensive and shiny like the ones hanging on the white
tree. Wny would Mr. Foreman want her tree with only hand made
ornaments, when he had such a beautiful tree?
When the relatives finished eating and talking, they got ready to
leave.
"Thank you! Goodbye! Merry Christmas!" everyone called.
After the guests had gone, Mr. Foreman and Chrissy sat down to talk.
"I think you have the prettiest tree in town," said Chrissy. "I
brought you something. It's bread my mother made," she said, handing
him the loaf wrapped in pretty paper.
"Why thank you, Chrissy. My, it sure smells good. It's so nice of
you to come to visit me and to bring me a present." Then Mr. Foreman
said, "What's in your bag? It has a delightful piney scent."
"Oh, it's a little tree," Chrissy was embarassed. "You see," she
explained, "I brought a tree for you because I wanted you to have a
tree on Christmas. It's very small. But I thought you might like to
have it. That's before I saw your wonderful tree."
"A tree for me? What a nice gift!" exclaimed Mr. Foreman. When he
took the little tree out of the bag his face glowed. "Why, it has
paper chains, just like the ones I made when I was a boy! And,
cranberry and popcorn strings, too! Even an elegant angel on top!"
Chrissy looked at him and suddenly felt very happy.
"I can hardly believe it," said Mr. Foreman. "This is such a
special gift, becuase it is one you made especially for me. I think
it is the most beautiful tree in the whole world."
And, as Chrissy looked at it, she, too, thought it was beautiful.
|