Finding My Own Way Through Gymnastics

When I was a competitive gymnast, I faced a few challenges. I was too tall, not as strong as I wanted to be, and couldn’t afford much formal training time. I ended up practicing wherever I could, mostly at open gyms or through my high school’s recreation program, which I eventually ran. While others trained at private gyms with personal coaches, I trained by myself or occasionally with a friend. I often put in more hours and effort than my teammates. If my coach asked for 20 reps, I’d do 30. If practice started at 3:30, I’d arrive at 3:00, and when it ended at 7:00, I’d stay until 8:00, working on a few more skills. I was driven, thriving on the pressure of competitions. It was my own inner motivation that pushed me forward. I trained hard, believed I prepared smarter, and expected that commitment to pay off.

I had a friend, Daryl, who trained with me. We called ourselves “soul-gymnasts” because we didn’t just do gymnastics to compete; we did it to live. Winning wasn’t our main focus—it was something we saw as a natural result of our dedication.

Most of my friends thought I was a little strange. I was pretty solitary, spending most of my time in my own head, working through my mistakes and finding confidence in gymnastics. When other kids felt awkward or unsure, I found comfort and peace in the sport. Gymnastics kept me centered and gave me a purpose when I really needed one.

In college, I fractured my neck. I had to wear a brace for months and go through a long physical therapy regimen. The whole time, all I could think about was getting back in the gym. The gym and gymnastics were my foundation, the place that kept me grounded and my mind focused. But, again, my friends didn’t quite understand.

Now I’m no longer a competitive gymnast, and I don’t practice gymnastics anymore. But I still spend the majority of my week in the gym, coaching. It’s hard to believe I get to do what I love for a living. These days, I also run. I go out early in the morning, before the birds are awake, and run a few miles. Friends have invited me to run with them, but I usually say no. I like the solitude. Running helps me find that same peace that gymnastics once did, although my friends still find it odd that I choose to run alone at strange hours.

Sometimes, it’s hard to understand people’s unique interests or routines, especially when we don’t share them. It’s often easier to label someone as “weird” than it is to look deeper and understand why they do what they do. But when we take the time to understand someone’s unique motivations, we often see their real value. That doesn’t seem so crazy, does it?