let me tell you about gymnastics

{I am writing this in honor of the women's Olympic team final, which took place today, of course, and which America won for the first time since 1996, which Alyssa not-so-kindly rubbed in my face. Funnily enough, I was very happy for them - I mean, they are "my" team, after all, right? And also, they kind of deserved it after coming up short in 2004 and 2008. I was sad for my lovely Russians, as you can expect, but surprisingly, not overly devastated. I figure this is because I already expected them to screw up, and then once I thought about it more, I realized that perhaps I subconsciously love Russian gymnastics because they are self-destructive, as am I. A match made in one effed up heaven! Freud would have such a ball with this.}

The first time I decided I would be a gymnast - an Olympic gymnast, at that - I was upside down. The 1996 Atlanta games were on television, 14-year-old Dominique Moceanu was performing one of the most charismatic floor exercise routines in history, and there I was, all five years of me, in a headstand, supporting my body against the foot of my parents' bed (or rather, "beds." At the time, my family was having a rough time making ends meet, and my parents had taken my mother's twin sisters' old beds and placed them next to each other to create a larger queen sized bed).

"I want to go to gymnastics classes!" I told my parents later.

"Me too!" my sister said.

"I want to go to ceramic classes too!" I added.

"Me too!" my sister said.

I won my first medal at seven or eight years old - a bronze for the floor exercise. I was particularly proud of myself, because not only was this my first competition ever, but I didn't even have my back handspring without a spot yet, even though I was a level four, and level fours were supposed to have their back handsprings without a spot, so if I won a bronze without it, I totally would've won the gold with it, I thought. The gold! Can you imagine? And better yet, I'd beat Becky, who could do a back tuck - a back tuck! In the air! - even though she was only a level four, and level fours weren't supposed to do back tucks yet.

One of my teammates, Rebecca - not Becky, but another Rebecca - cried because I'd won a medal, and even Michelle had won a ribbon, and she'd won nothing. I felt a little bad, but not really, because I was a child, and I just felt special, and duh, if Rebecca wanted a medal or even just a ribbon, she just had to quit complaining and get better.

After steadily building up my collection of silvers and bronzes, I won my first gold on the balance beam, at age 10, in Mexico. My sister, who also came to Mexico, had gotten sick from the water, and I was a little sad that she missed my routine. My dad videotaped it, of course, but he was so nervous the camera shook in every which way, so it was pointless. She would never see my gold medal-winning performance.

Also at age 10, my coach decided to teach me a full twist on floor. "Just turn your arms like this when your body has rotated enough that your eyes are facing the ground up in the air," he said, demonstrating a twisty motion with his body. "Then the rest of your body will follow."

"Okay," I said, because I was too scared to say, hey, I'm a little scared here.

I ran about five tentative steps. Round off, back handspring, back layout --- halfway up in the air, I imitated the twisting motion he'd shown me. Then things got a little too spinny, and then I couldn't see, and it was all a blur, and then there I was, on the floor. On my butt.

My coach laughed, arms up in the air, ecstatic. "Do you know what you just did?"

"Um. No."

"Two-and-a-half twists. Two-and-a-half! Not one! But two-and-a-half!"

"Really?"

"Ana!" he called to his wife. "We got ourselves a twister!"

From that day on, I hated twisting with a passion.

{to be continued? Yes, no, maybe? Thoughts?}