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.

5 responses total.

Some of the language sounds a little advanced for an eight-year-old and I'm
not sure how much the protagonist would be thinking about the team, but the
focus on fear of not being able to do part of the routine is very real. 
Excellent story; strong plot and good character developments and motivation.

        Everyone can understand the emotions involved, since there have been
few people who have not been in a similar situation....

Thank you for your generous comments

                        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.

Strong characterization of a young girl with a big heart.
Her reaction from being embarassed from bring a small tree to being happy
was a little too quick though.
However, I enjoyed reading this piece.

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