If the Level 4's aren't enough indication that the times are a-changing at the gym, the new USAIGC girls are. Which means, once again: older girls, watch out.
The IGC B-squad has never competed before. They consist mostly of Bronze with a touch of Copper.
IGC A-team, on the other hand, is the former Level 5's and 6's. They know what competitions are like. They've been plugging away for several years now. The B-team, not as long. But there's talent in the B's. Especially Erin.
Erin has the right attitude: she enjoys gymnastics and wants to improve, she's willing to try new skills without being reckless, and she's upbeat with a sense of humor.
Two of the older girls refuse to do back walkovers on the high beam. Or on the medium beam. They are fully capable of doing both. Greg has to coax them. It's a long, frustrating process.
Once their rotation ends, the B-team comes to beam. "I really want to get my back walkover today," Erin says.
She does a few with Greg on the high beam. He steps away. She cranks them out by herself.
The next day, I fully expect her to say, "Can you spot me for a few?" That's what the other girls do. They acquire a new skill, but they don't believe in it.
Erin warms up on the low beam, then moves to the high beam without incident. "Let's put it in your routine," I say.
"Okay," she says, relaxed, unpanicked.
The older girls watch.
"Aren't they scary?" Kelsey says.
Erin shrugs. "Well, it's scary when you're going back. But not."
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Saturday, November 27, 2010
A touch of inspiration
Aimee Walker played a role in Little Girls in Pretty Boxes, a movie I watched primarily for the stunt doubles (which included Vanessa Atler). I thought of her today and decided to search to see what had happened to her. She's deaf as well as blind in one eye. But as you'll see, she turned out just fine.
Friday, November 26, 2010
Black Friday Deals, gymnastics edition
In honor of American stores and their post-Thanksgiving shopping deals, I'd like to reflect on pretty good deals I've received.
Gripes about judging will never end. Of that we can be sure of. But we'll all once in a while come across a gift. Sometimes, it's applied to us.
Honorable mentions:
-Young Mariah of the Level 4's competed a timid (to put it kindly) beam routine. She looked ready to fall off at a moment's notice, but managed to stay on. While the others received brutal scores, an 8.0 was raised for her. Was it an error? Nope, the score flasher didn't alter the score. In fact, Mariah pulled out third place in her age group. "Mariah? Really?" Coach P. said in disbelief as she scampered onto the podium.
-High school beam, senior year:
Flight series were driving me nuts. So I decided, screw them. How about competing without major anxiety? Instead, my beam routine consisted of a cartwheel, a lovely split handstand, and a variety of jumps. Under Level 9 rules, I consistently scored 8.6's and 8.7's. Good deal, I'd say.
The winner:
-At actual Level 9 meets, I had to attempt to fulfill the rules. In this particular competition, I fell on my back handspring and had no flight series. My jump connections were questionable. I landed one jump and my leg flew up for balance. I turned it into a pose. I did not stick my dismount.
The score: 8.6. Pretty sure I placed, too.
How'd that happen? No idea. The only explanation: sometimes the magic's on your side.
Gripes about judging will never end. Of that we can be sure of. But we'll all once in a while come across a gift. Sometimes, it's applied to us.
Honorable mentions:
-Young Mariah of the Level 4's competed a timid (to put it kindly) beam routine. She looked ready to fall off at a moment's notice, but managed to stay on. While the others received brutal scores, an 8.0 was raised for her. Was it an error? Nope, the score flasher didn't alter the score. In fact, Mariah pulled out third place in her age group. "Mariah? Really?" Coach P. said in disbelief as she scampered onto the podium.
-High school beam, senior year:
Flight series were driving me nuts. So I decided, screw them. How about competing without major anxiety? Instead, my beam routine consisted of a cartwheel, a lovely split handstand, and a variety of jumps. Under Level 9 rules, I consistently scored 8.6's and 8.7's. Good deal, I'd say.
The winner:
-At actual Level 9 meets, I had to attempt to fulfill the rules. In this particular competition, I fell on my back handspring and had no flight series. My jump connections were questionable. I landed one jump and my leg flew up for balance. I turned it into a pose. I did not stick my dismount.
The score: 8.6. Pretty sure I placed, too.
How'd that happen? No idea. The only explanation: sometimes the magic's on your side.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Happy Thanksgiving!
Though she placed second all-around by a hair, let's be glad that this happened:
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Volunteer Opportunities for American Cup & U.S. Championships
can be found at the bottom of this page: http://www.usagym.org/pages/events/pages/premier_events.html
Not sure that it'll be as exciting as Rotterdam, but it's worth a look!
Not sure that it'll be as exciting as Rotterdam, but it's worth a look!
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Bottoms Up
I write often about motivation--namely, how the girls vacillate between excitement and apathy.
There's one factor I haven't addressed yet. For good, bad, or worse, the oldest girls in the gym--the ones who have pushed through Level 5 season after season--are the best. We have no high-level athletes yet. They can watch gymnastics on TV or online, see the girls at other meets, but when it comes to day in and day out, their teammates are swimming along beside them. There is upward movement, but it's slow.
If they can't look up, they can certainly look down.
That's where the young Level 4's are, the ones who were originally cute and tripping over themselves and flailing on the beam. They're still cute and sometimes still flail. But each day that an older girl stays at the same skill level, a younger girl breaks through.
Is this the best motivation? Is it easier to idolize than to race to keep the lead? We'll have to find out.
All I know is that when seven-year-old Colleen, who last year at this time could barely do a good round-off, runs across the floor and lands her first round-off back handspring back tuck, the older girls are watching. Some of their mouths are open. Did she just--? Yes, she did. Now what about you?
There's one factor I haven't addressed yet. For good, bad, or worse, the oldest girls in the gym--the ones who have pushed through Level 5 season after season--are the best. We have no high-level athletes yet. They can watch gymnastics on TV or online, see the girls at other meets, but when it comes to day in and day out, their teammates are swimming along beside them. There is upward movement, but it's slow.
If they can't look up, they can certainly look down.
That's where the young Level 4's are, the ones who were originally cute and tripping over themselves and flailing on the beam. They're still cute and sometimes still flail. But each day that an older girl stays at the same skill level, a younger girl breaks through.
Is this the best motivation? Is it easier to idolize than to race to keep the lead? We'll have to find out.
All I know is that when seven-year-old Colleen, who last year at this time could barely do a good round-off, runs across the floor and lands her first round-off back handspring back tuck, the older girls are watching. Some of their mouths are open. Did she just--? Yes, she did. Now what about you?
Monday, November 22, 2010
To be a rock, and not to roll
My old teammate, who is also a coach these days, asked last night, "Which did you find more stressful: being a gymnast, or being a coach?"
Gymnast.
As a competitive athlete, I lived in constant fear of injury or failure. I had many wonderful, high-flying, glorious times. And many, many hours of anxiety. Most of it, I put on myself.
There are many days when I miss doing gymnastics and especially competing. But I don't miss the fear.
My gym's environment is probably the key element as to why I find coaching less stressful. We're still a new establishment. There's no long-held reputation to maintain.
Certainly, I'm nervous when it comes to parental encounters, safety, and poor performances at competitions. But I'm happy in the gym as a coach. Relaxed and alert, clapping my hands and announcing what's next.
Gymnast.
As a competitive athlete, I lived in constant fear of injury or failure. I had many wonderful, high-flying, glorious times. And many, many hours of anxiety. Most of it, I put on myself.
There are many days when I miss doing gymnastics and especially competing. But I don't miss the fear.
My gym's environment is probably the key element as to why I find coaching less stressful. We're still a new establishment. There's no long-held reputation to maintain.
Certainly, I'm nervous when it comes to parental encounters, safety, and poor performances at competitions. But I'm happy in the gym as a coach. Relaxed and alert, clapping my hands and announcing what's next.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
:55
"You're barely at fifty seconds," I say as Amy lands her dismount. "Let's try again."
She nods and climbs back onto the beam.
At the USAIGC bronze level, routines must fall between :50 and 1:30. The undertime penalty is a five-tenth deduction.
When my girls wobble or struggle to remember their routines, they easily make this range. When they hit and move confidently? That's when they're on the brink.
I like insurance. "Let's add a few poses. And how about a handstand?"
I'm afraid that the "few poses" are beginning to look the same across the board for the girls. A flexed knee, a hand on the hip. I try to be exotic. Add some interesting arm and hand shapes.
Amy looks at me blankly.
Back to the hand on the hip.
Brittany, on the other beam, asks about poses we made up a month ago. "What do I do here?"
I've made up seven more routines since Brittany's for the new batch of USAIGC girls. "I have no idea," I say honestly. "When in doubt, make something up."
"I like that," she says. "That's going to be my motto."
It's true. Some of the girls become lost if they're off with their floor music -- either before or ahead. Others keep moving, making up poses, maintaining a serene face that pretends, I'm supposed to be doing this until they're back on beat.
Amy tries her routine again with the new poses and the handstand. It's all a bit awkward, but she stays on. "1:05," I say. "You pass."
She nods and climbs back onto the beam.
At the USAIGC bronze level, routines must fall between :50 and 1:30. The undertime penalty is a five-tenth deduction.
When my girls wobble or struggle to remember their routines, they easily make this range. When they hit and move confidently? That's when they're on the brink.
I like insurance. "Let's add a few poses. And how about a handstand?"
I'm afraid that the "few poses" are beginning to look the same across the board for the girls. A flexed knee, a hand on the hip. I try to be exotic. Add some interesting arm and hand shapes.
Amy looks at me blankly.
Back to the hand on the hip.
Brittany, on the other beam, asks about poses we made up a month ago. "What do I do here?"
I've made up seven more routines since Brittany's for the new batch of USAIGC girls. "I have no idea," I say honestly. "When in doubt, make something up."
"I like that," she says. "That's going to be my motto."
It's true. Some of the girls become lost if they're off with their floor music -- either before or ahead. Others keep moving, making up poses, maintaining a serene face that pretends, I'm supposed to be doing this until they're back on beat.
Amy tries her routine again with the new poses and the handstand. It's all a bit awkward, but she stays on. "1:05," I say. "You pass."
Friday, November 19, 2010
Gym Fiction
At present I'm Googling for gymnastics books, the fictional kind that I gobbled up as a pre-teen in the sport. The series all had a knack for referencing weird, obscure skills that nobody would compete, gym inaccuracies, and high drama. Think "Make It Or Break It" without the sexual tension. They often cropped up around an Olympic year.
I remember this series, "The Gymnasts," at my local library. It culminated in one of the athletes winning the 1992 Olympics (sorry for the spoiler), and I recall that the girls spent more time making snarky comments to their coach than actually practicing. Which, to be honest, reminds me of my girls sometimes. The author also had an obsession with Pearl Jam's "Jeremy," as every gymnast competed a floor routine to a piano rendition of this song.
In the post-1996 world, Kerri Strug's ankle still healing, I read this four-book series, "American Gold Gymnasts." I must say that while the gymnastics bits lacked in accuracy, there was some genuinely good material about the token Russian girl adjusting to American life, and some funny moments when an evil new coach comes to town.
Then my girls the Sweet Valley High Twins turned to gymnastics, or at least Jessica did. Funny, she was suddenly doing giants to a double back when we never saw her step foot in the gym in previous books.
Also, as a huge Boxcar Children fan in my pre-gymnastics days, I somehow missed this gem. Russian gymnast with a secret? What's not to love?
I remember this series, "The Gymnasts," at my local library. It culminated in one of the athletes winning the 1992 Olympics (sorry for the spoiler), and I recall that the girls spent more time making snarky comments to their coach than actually practicing. Which, to be honest, reminds me of my girls sometimes. The author also had an obsession with Pearl Jam's "Jeremy," as every gymnast competed a floor routine to a piano rendition of this song.
In the post-1996 world, Kerri Strug's ankle still healing, I read this four-book series, "American Gold Gymnasts." I must say that while the gymnastics bits lacked in accuracy, there was some genuinely good material about the token Russian girl adjusting to American life, and some funny moments when an evil new coach comes to town.
Then my girls the Sweet Valley High Twins turned to gymnastics, or at least Jessica did. Funny, she was suddenly doing giants to a double back when we never saw her step foot in the gym in previous books.
Also, as a huge Boxcar Children fan in my pre-gymnastics days, I somehow missed this gem. Russian gymnast with a secret? What's not to love?
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Face plants, or rather, Facebook
The text from John: "Sooo Jamie just messaged me on Facebook. Awkward? And no, I'm not friends with 11-year-old girls."
In late September, a debate on whether or not to friend one's athletes cropped up on Gymnastics Coaching. Originally, my stance was NO WAY.
But to my surprise, about half of the commenters wrote detailed justifications for friending the gymnasts, most mentioning how privacy settings can be adjusted so that the gymnast sees little to nothing of the coach's profile.
I still maintain a laissez-faire approach -- that is, hands off my profile, and my hands off yours.
And John decided it was best not to message Jamie back, nor friend her. He's an upstanding citizen, and he'd prefer not to end up in jail.
An acceptable midway? A communal fan page or group, where everyone can interact with the awareness that they're monitored. We have such a page for the gym and the girls post on occasion. I'm all for team pride -- and privacy outside of the gym.
In late September, a debate on whether or not to friend one's athletes cropped up on Gymnastics Coaching. Originally, my stance was NO WAY.
But to my surprise, about half of the commenters wrote detailed justifications for friending the gymnasts, most mentioning how privacy settings can be adjusted so that the gymnast sees little to nothing of the coach's profile.
I still maintain a laissez-faire approach -- that is, hands off my profile, and my hands off yours.
And John decided it was best not to message Jamie back, nor friend her. He's an upstanding citizen, and he'd prefer not to end up in jail.
An acceptable midway? A communal fan page or group, where everyone can interact with the awareness that they're monitored. We have such a page for the gym and the girls post on occasion. I'm all for team pride -- and privacy outside of the gym.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
We're in a Zen State of Mind
Back in action after a mini hiatus. Let's doooo this.
"It's always a good practice when my blood pressure doesn't rise," I say to Greg. He laughs but he knows it's true.
Some practices, like tonight, are marvelous: a slew of kids achieve new skills (we had six tonight -- definitely a record), and on the whole, everyone's plugging away at their routines, paying attention, invested in the moment.
Other nights, I want to yell at everyone, get my car, and drive into the night.
Sometimes the girls are 'tudey. Or they're all "injured" (i.e. icing themselves for approximately ten minutes, then returning to full mobility) and one poor soul is left tumbling by herself. Not so motivating.
Other times it has nothing to do with the girls but everything with the surrounding environment: lots and lots of class kids, lots and lots of Parkour boys climbing and flipping anywhere. The radio playing. Small children who don't pay attention and run across the beam mats as a girl prepares to dismount. I raise my voice so the girls can hear me. They're not the loud ones. It's all the background noise that rises to a clamor.
But some nights, I pause before I snap. I tell myself to keep calm. Stay cool, let this battle pass. Let it all roll off.
"It's always a good practice when my blood pressure doesn't rise," I say to Greg. He laughs but he knows it's true.
Some practices, like tonight, are marvelous: a slew of kids achieve new skills (we had six tonight -- definitely a record), and on the whole, everyone's plugging away at their routines, paying attention, invested in the moment.
Other nights, I want to yell at everyone, get my car, and drive into the night.
Sometimes the girls are 'tudey. Or they're all "injured" (i.e. icing themselves for approximately ten minutes, then returning to full mobility) and one poor soul is left tumbling by herself. Not so motivating.
Other times it has nothing to do with the girls but everything with the surrounding environment: lots and lots of class kids, lots and lots of Parkour boys climbing and flipping anywhere. The radio playing. Small children who don't pay attention and run across the beam mats as a girl prepares to dismount. I raise my voice so the girls can hear me. They're not the loud ones. It's all the background noise that rises to a clamor.
But some nights, I pause before I snap. I tell myself to keep calm. Stay cool, let this battle pass. Let it all roll off.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Gymnastics in Namibia
Random, but happened upon this article. Not many details and the gymnasts in that photo look pretty unhappy despite their trophies--you can imagine their parents with cameras saying, "Just one more! Wait, another one!" But it's cool to see gymnastics afoot in unexpected places.
Monday, November 8, 2010
A Case of the Mondays
Today's the kind of day when I leave the gym feeling frustrated. Not enough accomplished at practice. Not much will and motivation coming from the girls. Persuading them to try new skills could be compared to pulling teeth, except in that situation, the patient can't talk. That would make my work easier.
Here's to a better rest of the week!
Here's to a better rest of the week!
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Take a bow
Two of the girls have moved on.
Jamie fizzled over the summer. Her mom said it had to do with all her injuries, but I think it had more to do with Coach P. Jamie liked him. But I don't think her mom did.
For a while I was sure she'd come back. I still hope she does. But it's November and there's been no peep. Possibly she's at another gym. She should be doing gymnastics, even if it's not with us. She's too talented not to.
Maya went AWOL after May. She went off to camp, then was occupied with her 8687686 extracurricular activities. And now she's switched gyms. I have to confess: I'm not sure that I'm sorry to see her go. She has talent. But her attitude exceeds her talent, and it's exhausting to wrestle with.
Besides these two, our gym maintains a stable retention rate. The team's a touch smaller now. But we regroup. We go on.
Jamie fizzled over the summer. Her mom said it had to do with all her injuries, but I think it had more to do with Coach P. Jamie liked him. But I don't think her mom did.
For a while I was sure she'd come back. I still hope she does. But it's November and there's been no peep. Possibly she's at another gym. She should be doing gymnastics, even if it's not with us. She's too talented not to.
Maya went AWOL after May. She went off to camp, then was occupied with her 8687686 extracurricular activities. And now she's switched gyms. I have to confess: I'm not sure that I'm sorry to see her go. She has talent. But her attitude exceeds her talent, and it's exhausting to wrestle with.
Besides these two, our gym maintains a stable retention rate. The team's a touch smaller now. But we regroup. We go on.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Compulsories and Me
Dear USAG,
Shall I compare thee to the previous cycle? It may happen. A little bit. But you'll handle it.
In non-iambic pentameter, I bear unto you my grievances with Level 4 and Level 5. (Level 6, I'm pretty okay with. I support the motion to exchange the aerial for the front tuck on floor. We see eye-to-eye on that.)
Vault:
Grievance: Level 4 - handstand to flat back position on the mats
I am not convinced that a solid Level 4 vault means success in training a front handspring over the table. They are two different animals.
Proposal: Push the mat behind the table. Drop the table to its lowest setting. Perform handstand to flat back in this manner -- handstand on the table, pop to flat back on mat.
Achieving a handstand on the mats and doing the same on the table are visually, physically, and mentally different experiences. Expose the athletes to the feeling of blocking off the table, as well as overcoming anxiety about reaching out.
Uneven Bars:
Grievance: the front hip circle and the mill circle
I'm still new-ish to this game. Maybe there is inherent value in the front hip circle.
But the mill circle? Teaching undergrip when an athlete might return to it at Level 7 at the earliest, if at all? So many hours of my life spent teaching that skill only for it to vanish as soon as Level 5 arrives.
Just make it go away.
Proposal: An isolated, large cast.
I'm not opposed to the shoot-through. It's a good lead-in to the squat-on. It also helps the athlete learn how to lean their shoulders over the bar to counterbalance their body weight as they cast.
More casts early on!
Second proposal: Replace underswing dismount with a squat-on, jump down to the floor and stick.
I know. I know. The underswing plays a role in Level 5 and 6. It's just a modest proposal.
Balance Beam:
Grievance: the fish pose, and similar choreography
Okay, the fish pose is simple for Level 4. But by Level 5, I think we're ready to step up our game. We bemoan the lack of artistry in elite gymnastics these days, but look at what's mass produced at the lower levels.
Proposal: Bring back the kick turn of the old Level 5 routine (and the two split jumps in Level 6)
Sure, the kick turn wasn't essential. But it was pretty, and dance-like, and required control and flexibility while turning on the non-dominant foot.
I'm okay with the squat-turn's elimination, however. Some things don't wear well.
Floor Exercise:
Alas, we arrive at the biggest grievance of all:
GOD-AWFUL MUSIC.
Even for the most hardcore of us, compulsory gymnastics meets wear on the soul. They are repetitive. They are not exactly inspiring.
And music like this (the random rattlesnake noise is the highlight) and this don't help. At all.
Proposal: Around the world for centuries, and probably going back to when the cavemen drummed on their rocks, musical prodigies have composed lyrical, stunning pieces. Bach's not around to demand that we pay him royalties.
Let's tap in. Let's--dare I say it--teach the lowest levels to tell a story through a routine.
Sincerely,
La Em
Shall I compare thee to the previous cycle? It may happen. A little bit. But you'll handle it.
In non-iambic pentameter, I bear unto you my grievances with Level 4 and Level 5. (Level 6, I'm pretty okay with. I support the motion to exchange the aerial for the front tuck on floor. We see eye-to-eye on that.)
Vault:
Grievance: Level 4 - handstand to flat back position on the mats
I am not convinced that a solid Level 4 vault means success in training a front handspring over the table. They are two different animals.
Proposal: Push the mat behind the table. Drop the table to its lowest setting. Perform handstand to flat back in this manner -- handstand on the table, pop to flat back on mat.
Achieving a handstand on the mats and doing the same on the table are visually, physically, and mentally different experiences. Expose the athletes to the feeling of blocking off the table, as well as overcoming anxiety about reaching out.
Uneven Bars:
Grievance: the front hip circle and the mill circle
I'm still new-ish to this game. Maybe there is inherent value in the front hip circle.
But the mill circle? Teaching undergrip when an athlete might return to it at Level 7 at the earliest, if at all? So many hours of my life spent teaching that skill only for it to vanish as soon as Level 5 arrives.
Just make it go away.
Proposal: An isolated, large cast.
I'm not opposed to the shoot-through. It's a good lead-in to the squat-on. It also helps the athlete learn how to lean their shoulders over the bar to counterbalance their body weight as they cast.
More casts early on!
Second proposal: Replace underswing dismount with a squat-on, jump down to the floor and stick.
I know. I know. The underswing plays a role in Level 5 and 6. It's just a modest proposal.
Balance Beam:
Grievance: the fish pose, and similar choreography
Okay, the fish pose is simple for Level 4. But by Level 5, I think we're ready to step up our game. We bemoan the lack of artistry in elite gymnastics these days, but look at what's mass produced at the lower levels.
Proposal: Bring back the kick turn of the old Level 5 routine (and the two split jumps in Level 6)
Sure, the kick turn wasn't essential. But it was pretty, and dance-like, and required control and flexibility while turning on the non-dominant foot.
I'm okay with the squat-turn's elimination, however. Some things don't wear well.
Floor Exercise:
Alas, we arrive at the biggest grievance of all:
GOD-AWFUL MUSIC.
Even for the most hardcore of us, compulsory gymnastics meets wear on the soul. They are repetitive. They are not exactly inspiring.
And music like this (the random rattlesnake noise is the highlight) and this don't help. At all.
Proposal: Around the world for centuries, and probably going back to when the cavemen drummed on their rocks, musical prodigies have composed lyrical, stunning pieces. Bach's not around to demand that we pay him royalties.
Let's tap in. Let's--dare I say it--teach the lowest levels to tell a story through a routine.
Sincerely,
La Em
Thursday, November 4, 2010
This one's for the boys
Although I follow women's gymnastics more closely, I'm decently well-versed on the men's side. If it's on TV, I will watch. I know the major players and can identify some skills without the help of the commentators.
The latter stems from a well-worn tape of the 1997 World Championships, specifically the event finals. Sandwiched between the women's events were the men, and I didn't discriminate; I watched Jury Chechi rock rings countless times. Jesus Carballo and Jani Tanskanen swung high bar over and over again.
Then there was Ivan Ivankov's disaster. Ivankov was my favorite. Mild-mannered and awesome. His piked Kovacs too close to the bar, he clipped his chin on the bar -- ouch! But he remounted and finished. It only solidified my admiration.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Resurgence
There's good news in these parts. As the season approaches, our little Level 4's are looking good. Really good. They're sanctioned, and have all their skills, and the tears have subsided. For now.
But the polish is lacking. I have them practice the arm positions of their floor routine in front of the mirror. "Look at your arms. Look at your hands. Where's your neck?" I say dozens of times, the latter in reference to the popular habit of dropping one's chin. Nobody seems to have caught on to the fact that if they're looking in the mirror, they can watch what their body parts are doing and notice the things I'm repeating.
"You need to express yourselves," Coach P. says, but at ages six through eight, those words mean nothing to the girls (nor does the Madonna reference).
I'm thinking the next step may be good old-fashioned new media. Show them solid, high-scoring routines from the Internet. Film their routines so they can get a sense of what they look like. And push for that epiphany.
But the polish is lacking. I have them practice the arm positions of their floor routine in front of the mirror. "Look at your arms. Look at your hands. Where's your neck?" I say dozens of times, the latter in reference to the popular habit of dropping one's chin. Nobody seems to have caught on to the fact that if they're looking in the mirror, they can watch what their body parts are doing and notice the things I'm repeating.
"You need to express yourselves," Coach P. says, but at ages six through eight, those words mean nothing to the girls (nor does the Madonna reference).
I'm thinking the next step may be good old-fashioned new media. Show them solid, high-scoring routines from the Internet. Film their routines so they can get a sense of what they look like. And push for that epiphany.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Fear factor
I knew this would happen.
Natalie's worked back handsprings on beam since the summer. Her attempts have been successful. Until today, when her hands scatter in all directions, her arms buckle, and she falls on her face. She's on the low beam and therefore doesn't suffer the extra blow of straddling the beam. But she does manage to fall in the exact same way on the next attempt, which is kind of impressive. Lightning striking twice and all that.
There's a rise of "Ooh's" and Natalie already has the "Oh em gee I'm never doing that again" eyes. "Can I--?" she begins.
My hand on her back. "I'm spotting you. Go."
I was an expert at avoiding skills that frightened me. Because I worked hard and never annoyed my coaches, I could enjoy a certain leniency if I needed it. They'd roll their eyes when my teammates complained of soreness or pain. But if I asked to ice a body part, I could. No questions to test the validity of my pain.
I could also use "I'd really like to work on my routines for States" as an excuse to not practice new skills. And it worked. Every time. Which is strange because I can see through my girls every time they try a similar excuse, the way that I can see Natalie's working up a way to get out of back handsprings forever. It will be a battle, I already know. She'll make scared faces and complain and constantly offer to work on other skills. "You can practice those," I'll say, "but you also need to do back handsprings."
Maybe I needed more of that as an athlete.
I spot her now. She lives. She's still scared. But if I can find a way to help her push through, I will.
Natalie's worked back handsprings on beam since the summer. Her attempts have been successful. Until today, when her hands scatter in all directions, her arms buckle, and she falls on her face. She's on the low beam and therefore doesn't suffer the extra blow of straddling the beam. But she does manage to fall in the exact same way on the next attempt, which is kind of impressive. Lightning striking twice and all that.
There's a rise of "Ooh's" and Natalie already has the "Oh em gee I'm never doing that again" eyes. "Can I--?" she begins.
My hand on her back. "I'm spotting you. Go."
I was an expert at avoiding skills that frightened me. Because I worked hard and never annoyed my coaches, I could enjoy a certain leniency if I needed it. They'd roll their eyes when my teammates complained of soreness or pain. But if I asked to ice a body part, I could. No questions to test the validity of my pain.
I could also use "I'd really like to work on my routines for States" as an excuse to not practice new skills. And it worked. Every time. Which is strange because I can see through my girls every time they try a similar excuse, the way that I can see Natalie's working up a way to get out of back handsprings forever. It will be a battle, I already know. She'll make scared faces and complain and constantly offer to work on other skills. "You can practice those," I'll say, "but you also need to do back handsprings."
Maybe I needed more of that as an athlete.
I spot her now. She lives. She's still scared. But if I can find a way to help her push through, I will.
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