In my day we'd start practice at 7 pm in hopes of outlasting the summer heat. The gym always felt ten degrees hotter than outside and though the tremendous industrial fans made much banging and booming, they were only effective when you stood in front of them, calling words into the metal and letting the air distort them.
We sweated. Everything sweated. The plastic beam covers dripped. Better put on all the chalk you can before bars. Floor, that was okay, but we were so overheated that it was difficult to find the will to live, let alone tumble. But if there was one thought that kept everyone trucking, it was the possibility of a post-practice water fight in the parking lot. The owner kept a bucket load of water pistols for this purpose.
More often than not, my teammates scampered outside and I stayed in for a few extra minutes. One more back handspring on beam. Okay, two more. And then I stepped outside and went from ninety-nine degrees to frigid in an instant. Yes, that was something to keep pushing for.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment