Stratego

1. More time in the gym.

At this point, the ladies practiced two days a week, three hours a pop. We added two extra days, in which the girls/parents could choose a third day to come.

2. Changing of the guard...again.

On Mondays and Wednesdays, the ship was full: John, Greg, and me. On Tuesdays and Fridays, the extra days, the two guys were already coaching classes. So it was me, flying solo, with whatever girls showed up. Somedays, just one. Amy, a Level 4, and I spent at least two practices together where no one else showed up. Other days, eleven would appear. And always, on the busiest days, Maya showed up.

Maya's small but powerful at age 11. As a Level 6, she already has a full--a back flip with a full twist--on floor and back handspring on high beam (when she's not *too scared,* that is). She's also got an attitude that matches her potential: big and unavoidable.

You never know what kind of day it will be when she enters the gym. Some days, she's focused. She wants to do gymnastics. She listens. But for the most part, she walks in late. Her hair is down, she still needs to change into her leotard, she's already complaining. She does cheerleading, softball, lacrosse, basketball, theater, trumpet, and she excels at them all. At the gym, she lies on the floor. She whines. She talks when you're talking. She has an energy, regardless of her mood, that makes the other girls restless, too. They talk more, they do less when she's there. Neither threats nor compliments nor ignoring prompt any reaction. Except for one: "Maya, you want me to tell your mom?"

She stands up and gets moving. For the moment.

One Friday, so many arrived that I had them on bars, beam, and vault at once. The energy/goofiness level was high. So I made an executive decision: "If you girls do a good job, we'll run in the sandpit."

The sandpit is a small, minorly grassy patch of sand on the side of the parking lot. It is neither elaborate nor exciting. Unless you're ten. Then it is awesome.

"YEAHHHHHH!!!!" they cheered.

And thus they did a good job. And thus we ran in the sandpit together as the sun went down.

3. YouTube, YouTube, and more YouTube.

Even when the girls weren't falling, they did not look, well, good. They slouched. Their knees bent. They appeared indifferent to exhausted on floor.

When in doubt, I turned to YouTube.

It was there I realized that the girls were in fact all doing incorrect variations on the Level 5 routine. It was likely that Meredith had taught them the proper routines and, in the changing of the guard, they'd forgotten. At subsequent meets, I looked at the good teams. The girls with arms tight, razor-sharp toe points, perfectly measured movements. Sure, all gyms had girls who, when nervous, left out key parts of the routine. There were minor differences across the teams in small poses and arm positions. But the good girls scored so high that surely they were correct. So I retaught, taught myself to confirm, retaught, retaught again.

4. Strength and flexibility, in moderation.

The girls needed muscles, and they needed them badly. And splits, and leaps that achieved a full split, and split jumps that also achieved a split...

Except we already had the next meet impending, and a gym full of five-and-six-year-old rec class kids, and team gymnasts coming late or leaving early.

So all of us coaches did whatever we could. Perhaps it was conditioning (a.k.a. strength, not what one does with one's hair) at the beginning or end of bars. Always, at the end of practice. Sometimes we'd join in as extra motivation. We did everyone's favorite stretching exercise: a split with one foot elevated on a mat (an oversplit). Greg and I led the stretches instead of letting the girls lead. We corrected their stretches, their toe point, their push-ups.

It wasn't enough. But it was a start.