things i've learned in the past year

...things that I should've learned a long time ago.

I'm doing 12 things. For 2012. '12, get it?

You must be really dumb if you don't.

{1} I am a terribly flawed human being (aren't we all?), which I already knew, of course, but what I did not know was that my flaws are not that I am unlovable or fat or a failure. My flaws are that I am insecure, that I take things out on people that do not deserve it, that I am overly sensitive (which is sometimes good, sometimes bad), and that I have no patience to speak of. Which are all problems I should work on, and, you know, try to fix. At least a little bit. Especially the part about taking things out on others, because that's just not very nice. Also, I should watch my language. You know, in front of the child (i.e. Simba).

{2} A year and a half ago I did not think I could say this, but I am okay without my mother. Better off, in fact. Infinitely happier and more confident.

{3} there is no way that I do not have trichotillomania. No way. At least, like, mildly. And it needs to stop. Tips?

{4} the world is beautiful, but it can also be a very, very ugly place. Therefore, it is our responsibility to support and promote things like peace, human rights, clean energy, etc. I feel strongly about this. If we don't do it, who will? (That said, if the Mayans were correct and the world is indeed coming to an end, well, then, who cares.)

{5} feeling "fine" does not mean I can get off my medication without a doctor's supervision. DO NOT DO IT. STOP DOING IT. WHEN WILL I LEARN MY LESSON? Good God.

{6} and on that note, do not ever ever take medication that was not prescribed to you, especially if you have never taken it before and have no idea how you will react to it (not the sharpest tool in the shed, am I? Is that how that saying goes?)

{7} I've always had an irrational fear of being a terrible mom like mine was. Of being incapable of loving my children. But now I know that would never happen, because judging by how much I love Simba, I cannot even imagine how obsessed I would be with an actual future child.

{8} running is the best, and I have no idea why I ever hated it.

{9} it's about high time I come to terms with the fact that I missed the boat when it comes to gymnastics. My body is not healthy. I cannot do it anymore. Too bad.

{10} all I've ever wanted to do was write -- why deny myself this love for writing for fear of failing? Ridiculous.

{11} do not ever plan out your life in a neatly curated timeline. It won't happen that way. Things will change. I guarantee you that it is written in the stars that they will. And at first you might agonize over it, cry over it, struggle over it, but here's the exciting truth: it always, always is all for the best. Bigger and better things, kids. Bigger and better things.

{12} people change. For better and for worse. And that's okay. Life is not stagnant. It just is.*

*how Zen is that!?

little me

Mike just found some videos I sent him years ago from when I was little.
things were seriously so much simpler when I was, like, what, 9 years old?

on facing fears

I think it is safe to say that the past couple of weeks, I've been the happiest that I've been in a long, long time. For many years, I've felt stuck, in a rut, bored, discontent, what have you -- for no particular reason at all. Sure, bad things happened, and like any other person, I had every right to be upset. But often, nothing was exactly wrong, per se; yet, I didn't feel like myself -- like the carefree, funny, passionate, loving girl that I know myself to be.

I began to wonder whether my depression was not only situational or environmental, but perhaps also chemical. Knowing my family history, that would not be a stretch by any means.

and who knows? Maybe there's some truth in that; maybe I am genetically predisposed to depression.

but I think that there is something to be said about pursuing your dreams, living your passions, and surrounding yourself with the right people.

because I've got to say, I couldn't feel better right now, more content, if I tried. 

obviously, there's gymnastics. And obviously, I am nowhere near as good as I was as an internationally competitive 14-year-old. I can't do standing back tucks on beam anymore (in fact, I am only just working on getting them back on the floor), I can't do handstand pirouettes on the bars, and I haven't even tried vaulting yet, let alone attempting skills like Yurchenkos and Tsukaharas. My center of gravity is off, I am not strong anymore, and I am hardly used to my (naturally) bigger 21-year-old body. 

in the past seven years, I've given up a lot. I think, well, I will never be good enough, or I will never be as good as I was, so I up and quit. I think, man, it's just not worth it if I can't be the best.

but this time (cross your fingers, knock on wood, etc. etc.), I am working my butt off, facing fears daily, and persevering. I'm conditioning like I haven't in seven years. I'm overcoming mental blocks, throwing elements that I've long been afraid of. I get up there on the floor or the beam or whatever, say a quick prayer, like I did when I was 14 and scared, suck it up, and do it. And more often than not, I surprise myself -- in a good way. In a fabulous way. 

I get home exhausted and hungry and sore every night. I eat dinner, ice my wrists and knees, shower, go to bed, wake up, and do it all over again. And I love it. 

and when I don't do that (or go to class or play with Simba, etc.), I write. I've written more in these past two weeks than I have in years, even though you probably wouldn't know that, considering my blogging has been lackluster at best. But I write and I write and I write, and the words come pouring out of my fingers and into the screen, and it makes me so happy I could cry. How many people are so lucky to love something that they are also good at (feel free to disagree)? It's encouraging, you know? Because yes, maybe pursuing a writing career will not be the easiest route for me. In fact, I am sure of it. But I am now convinced that with lots of determination and perseverance, I will make it some day. So each day, I face my fears of rejection and inquire about freelancing opportunities, and you know, sometimes? The answer is positive, and I am happily surprised.

it's the best feeling.

I go to bed happy. I wake up happy. I train and I write. I face fears. I trained and I wrote and faced fears when I was 14, too. Before everything happened. Before I knew and understood the ugly truth about emotional pain.

and for the first time since then, I have a feeling that if I keep trudging along, if I keep myself out of my comfort zone and give the things that I love my all...perhaps things will get even better, yet.

that thought just makes me giddy. 

my goals; september

I am a planner. I love jotting things down, creating schedules, picturing my future to the very last meticulous detail. Often this is a good thing; most of the time, it is not (it is called "spontaneity," my friends).

so when I saw that Caroline makes monthly goals for herself, I was ready to jump on the bandwagon. Sometimes, planning might not be the best thing for me. But when it comes to goal-setting, I find that planning makes me more motivated than ever.

enough blabbering, though. The following are my goals for the month of September, which I will revisit at the beginning of October to see how I fared.

{1} write at least five freelance pieces (two down already!), paid or not. It's always good for my portfolio.

{2} get a job.

{3} work on my strength and flexibility at gymnastics practice. I'm in terrible shape, gymnastics-wise at least, and I don't want to hurt myself again.

{4} learn to sleep past 8 a.m. (I used to be such a pro. What happened?)

{5} come up with a really good birthday gift to send to my sister because she deserves it (her birthday's in three days! Eek)

{6} go out and party at least once a week. Sometimes it's such a drag getting myself out the door, but I never regret it.

{7} find the time to finish a book -- one that I read for pleasure, not a school textbook.

{8} start taking photos again! And I don't mean instagram (@debbiele03, by the way)

{9} wrap up Vitality's next issue!

{10} find the courage to give someone that used to mean a lot to me a long overdue apology. I already did this to someone else earlier this year, and it is perhaps the best thing I have ever done.

lessons from a 21-year-old "gymnast"

first, I must ask you to please forgive me for the plethora of gymnastics-related posts. I know no one cares, and I truly am sorry, really, I am, but I am so excited to actively pursue what has always been my first passion in life (first only to writing...I discovered gymnastics when I was five, so before I knew how to write, you know).

well...that was a ramble-y paragraph, was it not? My mind is absolute mush at the moment. Three hours of working out + training, plus communications law readings and papers...yep (I consider this class a sign from the gods above that I should never ever ever go to law school). Oh and also, I am running on like two hours of sleep. Basically, right now is not my finest hour, but the words are just pouring out of me, so there -- I shall write this post.

so on to the actual post, right?

lessons from a 21-year-old "gymnast"

{I went on such a long tangent over there that I figured I might as well write the title down again, lest you all forget what I was talking about in the first place}

muscle memory is a powerful, powerful thing. Seriously. It's like I never left gymnastics. My body and my mind just know what to do -- it's just that I'm not quite in the right shape to execute things safely. Like at all. But that's okay. It comes with time and lots of hard work, I think.

your center of gravity shifts when you are no longer an 80 lb. 4'9" 14-year-old and you've gone through puberty/have boobs (sort of). At which point, muscle memory can go screw itself, because everything you remember is not quite as you remembered it...

4 inches? The beam's got nothing on me. Okay, not quite, but I'm surprised with how comfortable I feel doing some pretty basic stuff (jumps, turns) and not-so-basic (double stag ring jump, back foot touching my head and nearly knocking me out on several occasions) stuff on beam. I always loved beam best. Love it, love it, love it. Can't get enough of it.

...now tumbling on the beam? That's probably going to be a different story. I am praying to the gym gods that I get my tumbling back easily.

bars suck. Which is no new discovery. I also hated them as a 14-year-old, and as a 13-year-old, and as a 12-year-old, etc etc.

but bars suck even more when you have soft non-gymnast hands. Which is going to be a problem. Reason no. 349344594 why I should have never quit.

my biggest fear in life is still splitting the beam. I have no idea who that child is in that video but I just want to tell her that it gets better.

just kidding, my biggest fear in life is bailing on a back twist and landing on my head. And here's this video for comic relief/the drama factor (because my blog is very dramatic and all).

I'm happier than I've been in a long time.

hello, lover

guess what? I'm back on the Syracuse gymnastics team, and I seriously couldn't be more excited. Not doing much at the moment -- trying to let my foot fully heal, yadda yadda -- but ooooh, how I missed the smell of chalk. Truly. Gyms just have such a distinct smell...I suppose you would know if you've ever been a gymnast, too.

today I got to meet some of the new girls on the team and they all seem very sweet.

I think it's going to be an amazing semester.

in other news, Simba got a haircut; unfortunately, his groomer went a little too snip-happy, and now he looks like a baby rat. Ew. But you know, hair grows.

I really want to get back into the swing of regular blogging...I guess that means I actually have to make an effort and all.

lessons from new york

initially I debated titling this post "lessons from the dirty, smelly, rat-infested, humid shoebox that they call New York City," but, you know. Political correctness and all (more like, I don't want to come under the wrath of any angry New Yorkers, and I also would hate to be the one to shatter the millions of dreams of those that still believe New York is like, the best place ever, ever). But I digress.

this summer was not an easy one. In no particular order: my Crohn's required serious medical attention, I was driven out of my first apartment by swarms of angry rats, I broke my foot, I ended up living alone and was very lonely, I practically had no friends, my anxiety and depression took a turn for the worse, and, most importantly, I finally came to terms with the fact that what I thought I wanted my entire life is not really what I want anymore. And that this does not make me a failure, and if anyone is disappointed in me because of it, well, then, that's their problem (although no one is disappointed in me; I just tend to make up worst-case-scenarious in my head). Also, there were other things that happened that I do not wish to discuss on such a public forum.

but anyway, even though I've been having this seemingly never-ending streak of, I don't know, bad luck? a friend reminded me yesterday that no, life is not out to get me. And even better, I have always been a firm believer that everything, absolutely everything, happens for a reason, even if sometimes we can't see what it is right away. Luckily for me, I think I see it.

this summer truly taught me to rid myself of others' expectations and do what I'm truly passionate about.

and so here is where I talk about what I am passionate about:

writing, of course. I dream of being a successful writer. Freelancing, publishing a couple of novels. And I know it won't be easy, but it's really comforting to know that I am already trying to make it happen (I made 40 bucks this week. Baller).

I want to teach creative writing lessons or workshops on the side. Maybe for a nonprofit, even. Dream.

I would love to move to the West Coast and live by the ocean.

I want to dedicate some time to taking photos only in film (good thing I bought instax film the other day).

anddddd, finally. This one I am a little hesitant to admit to (especially because you must all -- I mean, all two of you or whatever -- be sick and tired of hearing me rant and rave about gymnastics, especially since the Olympics are now over and no one cares), but here goes: For the longest time, I've been dreaming of getting back into the sport that I so abruptly left when I was 14. Sure, I tried a couple of times, but I gave up too quickly, insisting that I would never be as good as I once was, or that everything hurt and there is just no point in going through so much physical pain when you will never make it (make what, exactly?). Which I know is a terrible attitude to have. But, the other day, as I wasted invaluable hours of my day on Facebook, I came across an old teammate's page. She is a few years older than me and only quit gymnastics a couple of years after I did. Well, to my surprise, it seems that she's been back at it for a year now! And what's even better, she looks incredible -- in my opinion, much better than she ever did when you were younger.

so if she can do it, I can too. And I will do it. Because I love it, and I deserve to do the things that I love.

I mean, once my foot isn't broken anymore, obviously.

this is all to say, I suppose you weren't so bad to me after all, New York.

olympic thoughts

this post was inevitable, of course. As much as I love the Olympics, I have always hated that post-Olympics lull when everything, sports-wise (okay, gymnastics-wise) is just kind of blah. Having to wait four years seems like an eternity, and it is frustrating to know that the build up since the last Olympic Games only resulted in two weeks of competition (I am indeed one of those gymnastics freaks that watches every single elite competition in every single country every single year...the more obscure -- say, a random competition in Lithuania -- the better). So much hype (four years of hype!) for two weeks!

{also, I have a broken foot and can hardly move anywhere, so writing is my only escape. Expect many posts from me soon...and yes, I realize nobody cares, but this is my blog, so nananana whatever}

my commentary, of course, will be centered around gymnastics. I understand that you may not all agree with my opinions, which might make me a little sad in the moment, but it is okay, because what would this world be without differing opinions? How boring.

+ the sportsmanship among gymnasts, especially among those competing for different teams. This being my first truly social media engaged Olympic experience, I was incredibly disappointed by the way that fans spoke of athletes from different countries. Sure, root for your team with all you've got, but nasty tweets and status updates only make you look like a xenophobe, which is...gross. If you only want to see Americans compete, watch a national championship. After all, isn't it the goal of the Olympic Games for athletes from different nations to put their differences aside and come together for the sake of sport?

the gymnasts, on the other hand, were spectacular. NBC may not have shown this, but they constantly hugged, supported, and comforted each other on the sidelines. After their losses, they all graciously congratulated the victors and blamed their loss only on their mistakes at press conferences -- yes, even "ice queen" Mustafina and "sore loser" Komova! (i.e. both had nothing but nice things to say about Gabby Douglas, thank you very much)

{source?}

{I really do hope that every-four-years fans realize NBC creates unnecessary drama for the ratings...exclusive, reliable gymnastics sources paint a completely different picture. Also, for the love of God, the Cold War is over.}

+ I do not follow men's gymnastics usually, but I caught Danell Leyva's coach and stepfather, Yin Alvarez on television (well, the NBC feed, really...) and immediately recognized him. He coached me for a few summers when I was younger! I even called my dad to tell him because I thought the whole situation was hilarious -- he's definitely quite a character and always has been. "Yin from Universal [Gymnastics]?" my dad said. "In Miami?"

we were both dying, laughing. It's so nice to see people from your past succeed!

+ Aly Raisman's appreciation for her coach, Mihai Brestyan, is so heartwarming. Her putting her team gold medal around his neck? Sweetest moment of the entire Games.

+ Gabby Douglas's mother bawling in the stands when her daughter won the all around title.

+ and speaking of Aly and Gabby, the "You ready?" "Ready!" they exchanged before the all around competition.

+ as sad as I was to see McKayla Maroney falter on vault, where she is undoubtedly the best in the world, it was nice to see Sandra Izbasa of Romania doing what the Romanians have done so well for decades: capitalize on others' mistakes and seize the opportunity. She couldn't believe she won. It's nice to see the Romanian program return to its former glory.

+ Aliya Mustafina's gold on the uneven bars. I don't care if you love her or hate her; seeing an athlete return from what should've been a career-ending injury to Olympic glory in the span of just a few months should serve as inspiration for all.

+ I love emotional victories. The American gymnasts winning the team final? So sweet. Holding hands? Even sweeter. 

+ I have to mention Beth Tweddle, finally winning an Olympic medal in her home country. I hope she is proud. That said, the entire uneven bars final was spectacular -- no major mistakes! I love it when stuff like a tiny step on the dismount makes all the difference between gold and silver -- just like the old days.

+ I am sad about all the injuries. These Olympics had so much potential, but they certainly didn't live up to the expectations, which is disappointing.

+ Jordyn Wieber is one classy lady. Her coach? Not so much. Like many, I feel embarrassed and uncomfortable by the way that he is representing the United States in the media. I also do not like that he seems to be belittling Jordyn's accomplishments.

+ I hate the way that Viktoria Komova is beating herself up when talking to the media ("I was not very lucky at these Olympics. I failed them 100 percent. I don't know if I will continue sports. I will go back home, take some time off and think through the situation. My parents say everything is okay, but I don't feel that" -- here). In a sense, it reminds me of myself. I hope someday she understands that two Olympic silvers are a huge accomplishment, and that she did not let anybody down. It is hard to live up to so much expectation. 

+ Tie breakers are stupid. So many gymnasts got screwed.

let me tell you about gymnastics, p. ii

{in honor of the women's all around final, taking place later today}

It didn’t all come so easily to me.


The floor exercise and the balance beam did, of course. Eventually, my vault came around too. I loved to dance. I loved to flip on the beam, to hold on to the event with my toes. And even though I wasn’t a big fan of tumbling backward, especially where twisting was involved, I did it well.

The floor, the beam, the vault: I was a top-level gymnast in those three apparatuses. I could compete among the elite.

It was the uneven bars that were the problem.

By then, I had this one teammate. Let’s call her M. I looked up to her tremendously; her flexibility was astonishing, and, to this day, something that I’ve never even seen on an Olympic gymnast. She was two years older than me, cooler than me, and for some reason or another, she’d taken a liking to me. We were cliquey – but so what, we thought? After all, we were just too cool for school.

M’s mother, C, was, without a doubt, Kris Jenner’s long lost twin – the gymnastics version, at least. A momager. C lived and breathed for her daughter’s gymnastics, attended every practice, and always made it a point to observe everyone carefully, whether a teammate or a rival.

“The thing with Debbie,” she told my father one time, “Is that she has very strong legs. Very, very strong legs. She doesn’t even need to run to build up momentum. Her legs are that strong.”

Ironically, I would later learn to despise those very same legs with a passion, as a teenager plagued with anorexia.

Perhaps it was my legs that made the vault, beam, and floor exercise a total breeze for me. But my legs wouldn’t be of much help on the uneven bars, now, would they? 

{to be continued}

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?}

my very serious olympic wishes

Today I considered writing a post titled “a comprehensive list of everything that’s gone wrong in my life this summer,” mainly because last night a pot of boiling oatmeal exploded ALL OVER my hands (what happened was that Simba was being SUCH A PUPPY – not in a good way, either – so I was distracted and then boom). Now I am covered in sweet second degree burns that hurt SO bad.

So the point is that I was going to write that post, but then I thought, girlfriend, get a grip, and then I remembered the Olympics start TONIGHT, which is not only a really exciting turn of events, but also a lot more fun to write about.

Growing up, I was dead set on being the best gymnast that ever was and winning the Olympics. I was well on my way (just kidding; probably not), until I was molested at age 14 and decided to take my anger out on gymnastics, which is something that I totally still regret.

That’s okay, though, because I can live vicariously through NBC’s Olympic coverage, which, biased as it may be (ugh. AMURRRRRRRICA), is still kind of cool.

Anyway, it wouldn’t feel right to not write a post about my wishes for the 2012 Olympic Games. Because I’m a creep that has serious Olympic wishes.

Correction: serious gymnastics Olympic wishes. Who cares about everything else? Not this girl.

{via}

{1} If Mother Russia does not win the gymnastics team competition (tacky Eurotrash bangs and all), I will cry bitter tears. I know I am totally being a traitor, especially because EW THE COMMUNISTS, but Russia and I have engaged in an illicit flirtation for several years now (full disclosure: I own a vintage CCCP sports jacket that I purchased on eBay. SO THERE). If Russia wins (which won’t happen, because those starved Commie gymnasts just love to self-destruct on the beam), this flirtation might just turn into a full-fledged passionate love affair. I JUST LOVE RUSSIA THAT MUCH.*

*I am no Communist. I traveled to Cuba once and returned home with amoeba in my appendix, so that kind of officially turned me off the system forever. Also I care about human rights and stuff.

**For the record, I am fully aware that the Soviet Union no longer exists. I am not stupid; I think I may just act it.

{2} I hope Gabby Douglas does well, just because she’s cute and sweet and cute and sweet people deserve to do well, I think.

This cute and sweet people deserve to do well rule should apply in all aspects of life. Not only the Olympics. Do you hear that, God? Good.

{3} However, I have to grant an exception to Viktoria Komova, because I don’t care if she is a bitch – she better win her fair share of gold medals. Which also applies to Aliya Mustafina. MOTHER RUSSIA FOR LIFE.

{4} I am absolutely indifferent toward the Chinese, although I do hope they are not all like five years old, mostly because it really irritates me when Olympic standings are changed like ten years after the fact. Like “oh you cheated ten years ago? Haha, well joke’s on you because the gold is no longer yours! It’s now x country’s! Haha!”

That is totally inauthentic and really annoying.

{5} Finally, I want some good old fashioned NBC fluff pieces. Like this or this or this. It’s like the excitement of gymnastics and the drama of Dr. Phil, all wrapped up into one. TOTALLY better than The Bachelor.