This week I asked you to write about something that took your breath away. Something that always managed to take my breath away growing up was gymnastics. Whether I ran into the vault, fell off the beam, or managed to do a trick just right, I was always breathless.
Sweat House
A large warehouse with a
delivery port in the back that was open
during good weather housed the
bouncing energy of fifty-three girls.
A bright blue floor mat, three balance beams,
vault, trampoline, foam pit, and uneven bars
and two knotted climbing ropes hanging
from the ceiling. The ropes weren’t for
competition. They were for races.
Races I always lost.
Balance beams I always fell off.
Uneven bars I couldn’t hold on to.
A vault I couldn’t get over.
Somewhere along the line, I learned
to do the splits. It wasn’t the first day
I could do them, just first day what was
once a frustrating struggle was
performed with ease.
Sit-ups, push-up, warm-up routines.
The royal purple leotard and white
side stripe – the uniform of the
competition team.
Somewhere along the line, I learned
to point my toes just right. My feet
learned to find the floor. My hands,
ripped from wrist to finger from days
of blisters, held on.
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{ 4 comments }
Really enjoyed reading this. There is triumph at the end…makes the struggle worthwhile. "held on"…a perfect description. vb
Practice makes perfect. Looks like you made it with your writing.
There's always a learning curve somewhere! I never did learn the splits.
what a profound learning experience.
well penned wisdom of words.
Cheers.
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