gymnast. The sides between towns crossed, and the pasts we secretly swore to keep were told. The ridicule I heard made it excruciating to love what I did. The teasing got worse than it had been in middle and junior high school, and everyone at my new school seemed to believe gymnastics was not a real sport. I didn’t bother fighting that perception, and instead drew closer to the invisible world I had created for myself, a thin line between fantasy and reality.
Tara defended me like a Valkyrie against the tormenting monsters, but when teenagers believe something, they cling to it as if all of creation depends upon it. Faith and ignorance are the complete workings of a teenage mind. In addition to that, kids whispered “fag” as I walked past them in the hallways. Hearing that word set me on fire, and all the rage in the world burned through my body. It was the one word that immediately shattered all that I was into tiny, meaningless fragments. It was the one word that took my masculinity and vaporized it. I couldn’t understand their attacks, since I was physically stronger than most kids in my class. How could they call me that? To me, the word fag represented femininity, weakness, frailty, and I had none of those things. Yes, I was short, with a squeaky voice, but this was my first year of high school and most of the other guys my age hadn’t completely matured physically either.
How could they call me “fag” when I felt attracted to girls? I heard the voices in exactly the same pitch and volume in which they were spoken. I got nauseated every time “fag” wormed its way into my ear, and the person I thought I was began to evaporate. The thought of ending my life popped up again. I wanted to rid myself of the torment and teasing. That thought flickered, sharp and smooth, impossible to imagine for real, but still I found it wildly entertaining. Something stubborn inside me carried that idea away, something pure and sacred. If life got bad enough, death would still be an option, but movement owned me and it wouldn’t let me go until it had used my body as its vessel.
I began missing school, skipping Mondays or Fridays, because I needed an extra-long weekend. I increasingly felt sick, and my breathing began to worsen. I was often exhausted to the bone and had a constant runny nose. I was a freshman with three more years of torture ahead, unable to sleep at night because I was manic and desperate. My imagination kept me awake, believing there was something great out there, something magnificent that would change my life forever. I prayed to the moon for answers and waited for the howling winds to take my pain away. But they never did.
MUSCLE IS A BAND OF FIBROUS TISSUE THAT HAS THE ABILITY TO CONTRACT AND MOVE AN ORGANISM’S BODY. THERE ARE THREE TYPES OF MUSCLE TISSUE: SKELETAL, SMOOTH, AND CARDIAC. MUCH OF THE BODY’S ENERGY CONSUMPTION IS THROUGH MUSCULAR ACTIVITY. A DISPLAY OF STRENGTH IS A RESULT OF THREE OVERLAPPING FACTORS: PHYSIOLOGICAL, NEUROLOGICAL, AND MECHANICAL.
Gymnastics is dangerous and can easily lead to serious injury and even death if not carried out properly. We visualize the challenging and hazardous skills before performing them. As athletes, we need to internalize the movement, programming its code into our every muscle fiber. The complex challenge comes after the visualization when we let go of fear and trust our bodies to mimic exactly what we envisioned in our minds, relying on the deities of artistry to meet us halfway and to ensure that our bodies are placed in the correct positions. In order to succumb entirely to this physical confidence, we have to shut down the thinking part of our minds and allow the body to take control. Occasionally the mind awakens, instantly warning the muscles, “This is dangerous! Stop!” When that happens, the body seizes in midair, disengages from all movement, and crashes down to the ground. That was part of our training, and most gymnasts frequently fall. Our reliance on the unknown is critical, but there is a fine line to our physical limitations, and the importance is in knowing the boundaries. Too much faith can make gymnasts believe they can fly like Icarus. And when gymnasts do not heed the warnings of their coach, they plummet, like Icarus, to their demise.
There is a transition from confidence into what I call knowing. To know something is a total absorption of faith into the mind and its vehicle, the body. Once something is understood and conquered in this way, it creates a force we use to perform. This knowing is a perfect harmony between the mind and the body: We know we can’t fly, so we don’t attempt it. Those who attempted flight had disharmony between their body and mind. That power takes years of practice to summon, and isn’t always accessible. Sometimes I would call on the force and nothing would happen. Then there were times when I performed a baffling skill without harmony, but I landed perfectly on my feet and had no idea how it happened. I would launch myself into the air with intention and become entirely lost to centrifugal force and gravity, not knowing which direction was up or down, but somehow I would safely land on the mat.
Getting to the Olympics was all I could think about and all I wanted. I never saw anything beyond that goal. To say I was obsessed is an understatement. I continued to excel in the sport while tightly holding onto my Olympic dream as if my life depended on it—and to me it did. Everyone around me knew this—the neighbors, the kids at school, my teachers, and even my doctors. I knew that if I didn’t fulfill that dream I would be a failure, every day, for the rest of my life.
The old wallpaper in my bedroom had been torn down, and the walls were redecorated with my competition ribbons and medals. I had more first-place medals than any other ones, and they were strung all over the walls, telling the story of a determined boy who had endured the pain and agony of a sport he loved so much. My room was also covered in pictures of my heroes from gymnastics magazines, alongside a few posters of Freddy Krueger.
I returned to the Olympic Training Center for another training camp, and this trip was different from the first one. The young troops of warriors were more fervent and tenacious than before. Their skills were sharper, cutting with precision, and that worried me. It appeared they handled the stress of gymnastics better than I did. Again, I was amazed at how many other outstanding athletes there were throughout our country, other soldiers like myself who would undertake anything for an opportunity to live out their passion and obsession.
My coach, Dan, was my hero and began to take on the role of a father—a Daedalus to my Icarus—as many coaches do with young athletes. I was becoming the warrior he had trained me to be. He taught me about aspects of myself that I never knew existed. He taught me to surrender to this unique power and helped me uncover a profound resilience and to have complete trust in my abilities. I knew he was responsible for my success in the sport, and I looked up to him. Dan taught me the value of being a good person. He showed me how to win and how to be respectful when I did. He was the greatest adult I knew, and together we would succeed in achieving my goals.
The relationship between coach and athlete is immensely important. The coach must unearth the strongest part of the individual without crushing it and convince the human body that it can achieve anything the mind asks of it. The coach must persuade the athlete that he or she is invincible in the face of obstacles and to be pure of heart while conquering them. Finding these skills in a coach was difficult, because even though there are great ones, there are also many bad ones.
I was not prepared for what was about to happen. On a random winter day in the gym, Dan sat us all down by the pommel horse for a discussion. I sat on top of the apparatus, in my need for the most attention, and he told us he had some bad news. My body stopped moving and I listened closely to his words. He said apologetically, “I have been coaching you guys for a long time now, and it is very hard for me to tell you this, but I got offered a new job coaching out West.” He paused for a moment, and I waited for him to say he was joking, but then he continued. “So I’ll be leaving here in a few weeks.”
After realizing that Dan was serious, I suddenly felt self-conscious about my choice of seating. I wished I hadn’t sat on the horse, higher than everyone else, because my eyes filled with tears,
