Summer training

Our summer schedule was rather erratic, mainly due to my graduate course schedule. Some mornings I'd come in at 8 and have to leave at 9. "But you just got here!" Amy and Laurel would exclaim as I ducked out.

Regardless of schedule, one question pervaded. Asked daily by Tia, it was always enough to send the other girls into a frenzy: "When are we having a gym sleepover?"

I tried to pass the buck. Told them to talk to my boss. But she sent the buck right back.

I don't know about you, but the prospect of spending a night with a clan of eight-to-twelve-year-old girls who tend to be hyper on the best of days was frightening. Exhausting just to imagine. And I could already see the fights in the foam pit, the masses bouncing on trampoline and tumble track, the hours creak by...

"When are we having a sleepover?" Tia asked, as usual.

"When one of you gets a kip," I said.

The acquisition of kips in the gym happened as frequently as new moons. There was a good chance that 1. it wouldn't happen, but 2. if it did, the event would be worth celebrating.

When I think of that summer, especially those one-hour segments I attended, I can only remember the kips. Sometimes John, Greg, and I took the girls to bars en masse and spotted them on every available bar. Kips for everyone. Millions of glides. More kips. Some close calls. Some almost-there's. But it wasn't until one day in August when Amy approached the bar before the other girls arrived at the apparatus. She jumped, swung her feet forward, shot them up to the bar, and arrived at the top. Then she did it again, and again.

"WE'RE HAVING A SLEEPOVER!" the girls cheered.

So we were.