tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20875424546134656602024-03-13T08:55:10.028-07:00Level 4 and RisingTo share, commiserate, and celebrate the thrills and spills of coaching gymnastics, especially the compulsory and prep-optional levels. Upward we go!Emskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03554410163447780696noreply@blogger.comBlogger197125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2087542454613465660.post-56920707210333349632012-04-03T08:50:00.000-07:002012-04-03T08:50:17.555-07:00existential crisis, take 10<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">If one more mother makes a "helpful" suggestion on how she would like her child to be coached, I may punch someone.<br />
<br />
This general theme of annoyance (with the taut pull of arm muscles) made up most of March. Lately, it hasn't been the kids. It's the moms.<br />
<br />
Here are my suggestions:<br />
<br />
<ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Realize that sometimes, your kid has a bad meet and it's not the coach's fault;</li>
<li>Realize that sometimes, your kid will have a good meet and still not win an award, though she placed 3rd (or whatever) last meet;</li>
<li>Spend over a decade in the sport so that you can coach your own child, since obviously you already know so much.</li>
</ul><div>Instead, I take out my aggression by reading <i>Game of Thrones. </i></div></div>Emskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03554410163447780696noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2087542454613465660.post-18010163061683314732012-03-11T10:38:00.000-07:002012-03-11T10:38:32.570-07:00The gentler one<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">They like me because I'm the gentler one. Sometimes I can call it: the littlest girls leave the gym with tears in their eyes, and the next day, I know that I'll get a text from my boss: "Colleen wants a lesson with you."<br />
<br />
I can be mean (can't we all, under certain circumstances?), but when it comes to skills that they're afraid of, I am not. I know what that fear is like. They'll stand on the high beam and shake.<br />
<br />
I put them back on the low beam. I tell them to put every mat they want under the high beam. We'll take them away one at a time. It will be a slow deconstruction. But it will work.</div>Emskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03554410163447780696noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2087542454613465660.post-76131619718316643532012-02-22T21:21:00.000-08:002012-02-22T21:21:18.614-08:00Lest we forget our roots<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Thanks to <a href="http://adiewashere.blogspot.com/">Adie</a>, this is too good not to share.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-r8AUOX7Ij_I/T0XMsuYT-4I/AAAAAAAAAGI/ViEBv4tMoGQ/s1600/Gymnastics.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="184" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-r8AUOX7Ij_I/T0XMsuYT-4I/AAAAAAAAAGI/ViEBv4tMoGQ/s320/Gymnastics.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
</div>Emskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03554410163447780696noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2087542454613465660.post-19725053556745945452012-02-06T12:26:00.000-08:002012-02-06T12:26:23.274-08:00Things I don't miss about actively participating as a gymnast, part two:<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">The perma-knot in my left shoulder.<br />
<br />
In the last two years of college, that thing solidified and would not budge. I probed it as I sat in class or idled at red lights. I asked boyfriends and friends to massage it. Sometimes, it felt like it was loosening. But moments later, it hardened back into perma-knot form.<br />
<br />
It took a good while to ease after graduation, that ball of stress and clenched muscle. If I hit up open gym, it fired back with its old fury. But if I laid off on basically anything besides dancing, it slipped back into dormancy.<br />
<br />
As I dragged my bag through the airport this morning, I remembered that old chestnut. The steady, tight presence that never ached in the gym, just everywhere else.<br />
<br />
That was always the way of it, wasn't it? At the beginning of practice, you started warming up slowly, thinking of the pain, and then by the time you were standing under the bar ready to do pull-ups, you had forgotten everything. </div>Emskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03554410163447780696noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2087542454613465660.post-31499348020138473012012-02-03T10:39:00.000-08:002012-02-03T10:39:45.738-08:00Things I don't miss about actively participating as a gymnast:<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Waking up too early for school/class/life, sleepwalking through the day, and fearing that practice would kill me, just about literally. I could hurt myself in such a state.<br />
<br />
You would think that the fear would wake me up, but instead it was a mix of worry and lethargy. Like drinking black coffee and watching your fingers twitch, wondering if eventually your brain would catch on. <br />
<br />
I can live without that feeling. </div>Emskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03554410163447780696noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2087542454613465660.post-16185220514661401072012-01-29T09:48:00.000-08:002012-01-29T09:48:57.542-08:00What happens when you've been at a compulsory competition for too long<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Humming with the music turns to making up lyrics for the music turns to covering your ears/eyes, trying to make it go away.<br />
<div><br />
</div><div>Mentally judging the other routines turns to counting how many girls are left in the rotation. Is there really a whole team that still needs to compete floor while everyone else is done? Really?<br />
<div><br />
</div><div>The host gym has this weird thing where parents can make shout-outs to their kids, which are read out loud by the meet director during warm-ups. It's all pretty generic, like, "Dear Alex, We love you! Good luck from Mom, Dad, Timmy, and Skittles."</div><div><br />
</div><div>When you've been there for more than three hours, you start to hope that the shout-outs will sound like this:</div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div></div><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/IQD95EEJxg4" width="420"></iframe></div><br />
</div>Emskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03554410163447780696noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2087542454613465660.post-30745160996612767922012-01-27T09:42:00.000-08:002012-01-27T09:42:15.715-08:00Some [girls] have all the luck<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Yesterday, I had a lesson with one of the Level 5's. Cute child, well-behaved, did a nice job.<br />
<br />
Today, my boss texts me to say that the child has lice.<br />
<br />
...<br />
<br />
<br />
</div>Emskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03554410163447780696noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2087542454613465660.post-76394368303259284092012-01-18T11:14:00.000-08:002012-01-18T11:14:37.948-08:00Floor music fun for your Wednesday<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I really like this instrumental. I'm sure that somewhere in the NCAA, someone is doing a techno remix of it.<br />
<br />
Plus, there are pretty colors!<br />
<br />
<br />
</div><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/AYQwZO74EXg" width="560"></iframe></div>Emskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03554410163447780696noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2087542454613465660.post-25036812650152089142012-01-16T07:48:00.000-08:002012-01-16T07:51:14.006-08:00You, me, and an 8.3So.<br />
<br />
The IGC team placed second yesterday against some heavy-hitters. They won medals and so on and so forth.<br />
<br />
Except their scores barely made it to the 8's, and occasionally, the 9's.<br />
<br />
I judge now and I've been around gymnastics long enough to know an 8.5 routine from a 9.0. I watched a girl from another team do a spectacular vault and stick the landing. Height, amplitude, form -- it's all there. 9.3, 9.4, I thought. The score went up. 8.65.<br />
<br />
Kathryn did a floor routine without a fall or a missed requirement. Not a 9.0 performance, but anywhere between an 8.6 to an 8.8, I thought, because that's what she normally scored.<br />
<br />
8.0. Boom. Roasted.<br />
<br />
She asked me what she'd done to lose 2.0, and I had to think about it through the meet. Finally I said, "I think the judge took off points for literally every step you took."<br />
<br />
It's things like this that make kids lose interest in gymnastics. Inexplicably low scores when they do solid routines. A two-tenth difference in scores between an okay routine and a girl who was clearly much better. And as I looked around the gym, I could see that it wasn't just us. It was every team. One coach said that the floor judge did not give anyone on his team credit for a certain requirement. A dozen kids. Not one?<br />
<br />
I don't understand judging so close to the chest. If you give someone a 9.0, and the next girl is better, you have plenty of room to go up. Hence the 9.025, the 9.050, the 9.075... Give the best their due, but don't kill the entire field in the interim. <br />
<br />
But in the meantime, as coaches, we have a few choices. We can get pissed at the scores. (Check.) We can get pissed at the kids. And/or we can try to keep them afloat.<br />
<br />
"I'm not even going to get an 8," Amy says worriedly before her floor routine.<br />
<br />
At this rate, no, she won't. "Look, I don't care what you get," I tell her. "Do a nice routine and don't worry about it, okay?"<br />
<br />
The words were by no means a magical inspirational salve, but I wanted to make it clear: sometimes, there's only so much a gymnast can do, and you have to let the rest go.Emskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03554410163447780696noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2087542454613465660.post-11639750187830618852012-01-12T18:48:00.000-08:002012-01-12T18:48:56.355-08:00Conversations with a gymnast that I have coached for ~3 years<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">"Do you have a job?" nine-year-old Colleen asks.<br />
<br />
"Yes, I have several," I say, and list them for her.<br />
<br />
"Oh," she says. "I didn't know that you worked here."<br />
<br />
"What did you think I do, hang out?"<br />
<br />
The tell-tale smile proves that I'm right.</div>Emskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03554410163447780696noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2087542454613465660.post-13587974842563071072012-01-11T20:47:00.000-08:002012-01-11T20:47:38.630-08:00Internet memes, or how to be a terrible role model<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">There's many a practice where the older girls are giggly to the point where they can't get a thing done. They crack each other up. The tiniest phrase or word or stumble sends them off. Then they have to repeat/reenact it countless times.<br />
<br />
Coach P. ignores them and works with the younger girls. Greg shakes his head. Sometimes I yell and the entire gym goes silent. Then they continue, but in whispers.<br />
<br />
Other times, well...<br />
<br />
They're practicing their beam routines, fairly productively, and it slips out of me: "Imagine <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OLPkzvEtTts">Tebowing</a> in a routine?"<br />
<br />
Boom. Done. All of them more focused on their routines than they've ever been besides maybe at States. "I got it, I got it!" Natalie, the oldest, yells.<br />
<br />
"Me, too, right here!" Kathryn says.<br />
<br />
Kasey milks the pose for an extra moment.<br />
<br />
Yep. Coach Instigator.<br />
<br />
</div>Emskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03554410163447780696noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2087542454613465660.post-85958426791128037152011-12-25T20:15:00.000-08:002011-12-25T20:15:57.618-08:00Ho, ho, ho!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Two months and two days later, a blog post!<br />
<br />
I've spent the end of this summer and the fall trying to mentally distance myself from gymnastics when I am outside of the gym. I'm still coaching. The kids are still cracking me up. I'm also now in the judging arena, which is a weird little universe with rules spoken and not.<br />
<br />
So why the mental distance?<br />
<br />
1.) I'm trying to imagine myself as a real person. When people ask what I do for a living, I intentionally place coaching as the second or third job on the list, not the first.<br />
<br />
2.) I fear that by being too into the sport, I will both not be a real person, and will be disappointed.<br />
<br />
Said disappointment would stem from the girls' competitive success (or lack thereof). You see, our kids are no longer the afterthoughts. I'm not saying they walk into the gym and the competition falls to their knees and begs for mercy, but they're good for several medals, some first places, and a team award.<br />
<br />
Do I enjoy the success? Heck, yeah. Not in a creepy stage mom way (or so I hope). I'm proud of the kids. But I was proud of them even when they were little disasters forgetting the Level 5 floor routine.<br />
<br />
A shift, however, at the beginning of this season. I felt myself less understanding of the cute blunders and the bent knees and the inevitable 7's on bars. One of the Silvers was at the end of a fantastic beam routine when she fell doing a silly, froofy turn. Even the judge looked upset that she fell.<br />
<br />
"What did you do that for? We took that out!" I said as soon as she walked over. And thus she hid in a corner and cried as her 8.75 was raised.<br />
<br />
I did not feel good about this.<br />
<br />
Less of a tolerance for the all of the above makes me a better coach. I know that. But I just...I don't know. I just can't reconcile myself with the idea of being that person, the one who makes a kid cry because she made a mistake. The world didn't end. The wrath of God didn't rain down upon us as she fell from the beam.<br />
<br />
So these months have been an effort in stepping back and saying, <i>What is all of this really about? </i>Still working on that answer. </div>Emskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03554410163447780696noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2087542454613465660.post-73481198140335173202011-10-23T19:17:00.000-07:002011-10-23T19:17:28.108-07:00Keeping it coolToo cool?<br />
<br />
Yesterday, the kids had their first meet of the season. It was surprisingly disaster-free (everyone made it over the table, nobody melted down on beam) until bars, when young Larissa jumped to the high bar, peeled off, and landed on her neck.<br />
<br />
Coach P., who had been standing next to the high bar, immediately dropped to the mat to assist her. There was the tense moment when we all watched: Is she okay? Will she get up?<br />
<br />
She did get up, but she was in tears. Coach P. had her salute to the judges and then brought her to the side, where folks from the host gym arrived with ice.<br />
<br />
What did I do? I set the board for Colleen. She stepped onto it, looking at Larissa with concern. <br />
<br />
"Let's go, Colleen," I said.<br />
<br />
Now I'm wondering if Larissa's mom thinks I was insensitive, or negligent, or something of the sort. But as soon as Coach P. went over to her, I knew that my role was to keep the kids calm and keep them moving. <br />
<br />
When a kid goes down at the gym, I do the same thing. Keep the world turning. Do not yell, do not go running. I am not the one to play the first responder, although it has happened at times. But then, too, I maintain the same demeanor. Send a kid for an ice pack, sit with the injured girl while making sure the others are occupied, start telling jokes when it appears that she's okay, just scared. <br />
<br />
But maybe too detached? Today makes me wonder.Emskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03554410163447780696noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2087542454613465660.post-12723332166543533942011-10-04T22:17:00.000-07:002011-10-04T22:17:27.679-07:00That awkward moment<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">when a kid's parent friends you on Facebook.<br />
<br />
What do you do?<br />
<br />
So far, I've left the request hanging in the "yet-to-respond" pile. But another one hath arrived. <br />
<br />
I don't want to reject. I know I can set it so that if I accept, they can't seem much of my wild and crazy (yep, so wild and crazy) life. <br />
<br />
But then they can message me. And poke me. And send me requests for Farmville or whatever game's all the rage these days. <br />
<br />
Once again: what's a sister to do?</div>Emskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03554410163447780696noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2087542454613465660.post-9974124736429787452011-10-03T21:36:00.000-07:002011-10-03T21:37:02.068-07:00Eureka!I love that moment where you find a way to reach the unreachables.<br />
<br />
Young Mariah embodies the phrase, "She wouldn't hurt a fly." Instead, she'd probably gaze at it and blink in wonder as it tried to suck her blood. <br />
<br />
When you work with Mariah one-on-one, she's with you. She focuses as best she can. But when she's just one of the group, as everyone must inevitably be during practice, she moves about in a rather lost manner. The basic things you emphasized in one-on-one time -- pointed toes, straight legs, the finer stuff -- disappears entirely. You repeat yourself. She nods, then continues to bend her legs and drift along through her routines.<br />
<br />
What was it that worked so well during the private lessons that was lost on her now, besides the extra attention? <br />
<br />
Then I remembered.<br />
<br />
"Mariah, I'm going to judge your routine," I said when she came over to the beam closest to me. "You have to get a 9.0."<br />
<br />
Her eyes widened. "Oh, no!"<br />
<br />
But what happened? Toes pointed. Legs straightened. Turns completed and cartwheels stayed on the beam. <br />
<br />
In a word: magic.Emskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03554410163447780696noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2087542454613465660.post-86655241825968192662011-09-29T10:14:00.000-07:002011-09-29T10:14:47.692-07:00"I would do anything for love"<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Meatloaf should have added, "Or for a brownie."<br />
<br />
Over my few years here, I've witnessed many an incident of parent-gymnast bribery:<br />
<br />
"If you get your kip, you'll get a cell phone." <br />
<br />
"If you do your back walkover on high beam, you can have brownies." <br />
<br />
"If you don't cry after your bar routine, we'll go to the mall."<br />
<br />
Does it work? Kinda sort. Would they have accomplished the skills (or not crying) anyway? Probably, eventually. <br />
<br />
I bring this up because Coach P. is concerned about the motivation of the Level 5s, who are a potential disaster waiting to happen. He's hit the <a href="http://shannonsweetvalley.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/01/SVHSY03.jpg">conundrum</a> that I've experienced many a time with the older girls: if you yell, they get sad, but don't work harder. If you're encouraging, they fool around. If you're somewhere in between, nothing happens. <br />
<br />
It might be time to break out the baking sheet.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
</div>Emskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03554410163447780696noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2087542454613465660.post-49021720691022650132011-09-26T09:42:00.000-07:002011-09-26T09:42:34.825-07:00I don't give a damn 'bout my reputation(But I'd like the kids to be looked upon well.)<br />
<br />
There are the coaches who embrace the judges and ask about their children. The coaches who know every judge by name and have a history. The coaches who seem to eke out that extra advantage.<br />
<br />
Then there's us.<br />
<br />
I don't converse with judges more than necessary. Many of them remember me from my competitive days -- they'll call me by name -- but there's not much else to say. Whenever there's an inquiry, I send in one of the male coaches so they can work their manly magic. I get nervous. Maybe that's it. <br />
<br />
Since we started an IGC program, there have been whispers. One person heard from this person that the judges have said, <em>Those girls are much better now. </em>Their scores and placements reflect this. <br />
<br />
Still. You wouldn't watch a meet and think, <em>What's up with those scores? Those girls are getting extra tenths because of their gym name. </em>We're not at that point. (Yet?) And is it really that desirable for the kids to get inflated scores? I say nay. But, of course, it will happen inevitably, if not to us.<br />
<br />
In addition, the judges don't approach me to say things like, "What great routines." My friends who work at the well-known gyms say they're experienced it: judges coming up to them after the rotation or after the meet, unsolicited. I suppose that's cool. I suppose it could happen one day. <br />
<br />
But if our kids are getting the same -- or higher -- scores than the fabled gyms, I'll happily live without the pat on the back.Emskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03554410163447780696noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2087542454613465660.post-81429771448654900862011-09-25T09:09:00.000-07:002011-09-25T09:09:48.817-07:00hey, blog, hey!It's been a long hot summer. At least, I think it was hot. I was in the gym for much of it. (In the AC -- YEAH!)<br />
<br />
To borrow from Santana's "Maria, Maria," <em>the rich are getting richer and the poor are getting poorer. </em>Which is to say that the girls who came to practice regularly (who were, for the most part, already our better girls) have continued to improve. And those who didn't show up for the entire summer, or one day a week, didn't exactly accomplish anything. <br />
<br />
I was pleased by the discipline the kids displayed, especially our older kids. They were the first to complain about the summer schedule: "But we can't go to beach! What if our friends want to hang out?" (Rest assured that they had the majority of the hours in the day to hit up the beach.) But those who complained the most ended up having the best attendance, and with little 'tude in the gym to boot. It's the latter that's always the miracle.<br />
<br />
As the season quickly approaches, the IGC girls look solid. You couldn't always say that. But now, it's true. They'll go out there and perform anywhere between great and serviceably, but the embarrassing times will be fewer. <br />
<br />
The Level 4's have become Level 5. This does, in fact, have the potential to be scary. Front handsprings over the table look like slow, slow handstands falling to the floor. Bars are gross. Quite gross. The thing is that the kids don't seem to mind at all. But they will mind when they go to a competition and don't win any awards. The true motivation for our youth.<br />
<br />
Whenever the new Level 4's perform a beam or floor routine, something that is beautiful and pristine in our world (a work of art, a statue) weeps. But I like this new batch because almost all of them catch on quickly. They're young and hyper and all demand my attention at once. I almost went hoarse trying to teach them the beam routine en masse. Yet there's some real ability buried beneath the flexed toes and splayed fingers. <br />
<br />
The question is, do I have the patience and the skill to unearth it? I hope so, so long as I don't lose my voice.Emskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03554410163447780696noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2087542454613465660.post-89599190032727452172011-07-14T09:52:00.000-07:002011-07-14T09:52:36.737-07:00Empathy pangsToday, I'm sore.<br />
<br />
Abs wince when I laugh or cough. Back tightens when I sit against the car seat. Shoulders tender from spotting children/saving a few lives. <br />
<br />
Two emotions simultaneously:<br />
<br />
<ol><li>I feel out of shape;</li>
<li>I like the hurt; I feel like I'm doing something good for myself.</li>
</ol><br />
By Wednesday, the gymnasts complain, "I'm sore." They still have two more days of conditioning and practice to push through. <br />
<br />
"I couldn't walk down the stairs this morning," Jamie says dramatically (but her presence at practices proves that she found a way, apparently).<br />
<br />
"My back is killing me."<br />
<br />
"My legs are soooooooo tired."<br />
<br />
And so on.<br />
<br />
Sympathy says, "<em>Aw, that's too bad</em>." Empathy says, "<em>I know exactly how you feel</em>."<br />
<br />
I think that as coaches, we need to maintain empathy as we push the athletes. We want them to become stronger, faster, more flexible, more capable of enduring floor routines and bar routines. But we also have to remember what it feels like. <br />
<br />
The fatigue. The feeling of, "There's no way I can do one more." The "my legs might fall off of me when I walk down the stairs." The "let me check how many muscles hurt before I try to get out of bed."<br />
<br />
We cannot become so far removed from our own experiences, so satisfied with our methods, that we forget.Emskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03554410163447780696noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2087542454613465660.post-5501106126706480192011-07-13T18:55:00.000-07:002011-07-13T18:55:49.929-07:00Physiologically speakingAs I pranced around the gym this evening, my left foot rolled and I fell to the floor.<br />
<br />
Then I rolled around, getting the sting out, moving quickly so nobody would see my face. I knew immediately: <em>not so bad. </em>My ankle wouldn't swell and if I gave it a moment or two, I'd be able to run around again.<br />
<br />
I broke my foot about four years ago. Landed a Tsuk on my side and groaned. One of the doctors said he was impressed that I didn't break my ankle -- which would have made the recovery much longer. <br />
<br />
Compare this to one of my friends. One morning practice back in the day, we were sashaying about the floor to warm up. She was smiling and laughing even though it was 8 am. In the next instant, she was on the floor crying. Rolled ankle. Out for two months. She could never stop spraining or breaking her ankles. At the beginning of practice, she laced up her braces the way basketball players prepare for the game. <br />
<br />
Some of my gymnasts are this way, too. Amy rolls her ankle and it immediately swells purple and blue. Brittany spends about half of every practice icing. <br />
<br />
It seems that despite preventative measures and conditioning, at the end of the day, it's all about how you were born. There's only so much you can do to change your natural construction.Emskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03554410163447780696noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2087542454613465660.post-61914135763295747782011-07-10T21:27:00.000-07:002011-07-10T21:27:02.768-07:00Can you hear me?I've spent my mornings teaching writing and the afternoons coaching, and I've come to observe a similar phenomenon.<br />
<br />
Talk talk talk and the kids slump, stick their feet out, gaze at some point behind me. For the young writers, it's the window. For the gymnasts, it's the pit.<br />
<br />
"What did I just say?" I say.<br />
<br />
They repeat it verbatim without making eye contact.<br />
<br />
Maybe it's a specific task. Or maybe it's one of those talks about hard work and diligence, about attitude. The kind of talks where the kids give you an attitude without saying a word or showing that they're paying attention.<br />
<br />
Yet the next day, or the next event, or the next writing task, it's these kids who have snapped in. They ask, "Can I try one more time?" when you tell them to get a drink. They bust out a poem when you think they've fallen asleep. <br />
<br />
It all sinks in.Emskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03554410163447780696noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2087542454613465660.post-72197306330962826162011-06-14T20:10:00.000-07:002011-06-14T20:10:51.452-07:00The world's longest competition seasonhas finally concluded!<br />
<br />
The kids already ask, "Do we get new routines?"<br />
<br />
Is it wrong that I want to take the next month (or two, or three) and go backpack through South America?Emskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03554410163447780696noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2087542454613465660.post-27554491221049489372011-06-10T07:32:00.000-07:002011-06-10T07:32:26.138-07:00Floor Music Friday, straight out of our Italian restaurant<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">And we're back, folks, with Floor Music Friday!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/enSYlCEz5VI" width="560"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><em>And there was much rejoicing.</em></div><br />
Anywho: this week's pick for potential floor music goes out to the Piano Man.<br />
<br />
There is the wistful, classic opening (1:02 - 1:43).<br />
<br />
The playful and whimsical center (2:24 - 3:03 -- after 2:48, the vocals cut out).<br />
<br />
This rocking part (4:29 - 4:52).<br />
<br />
And the conclusion, grander and yet more wistful than before (5:55 - 6:27; 6:49 to the end).<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/JUz48xw_OiM" width="425"></iframe><br />
<br />
<br />
Heck, I may try to cut this one myself.<br />
<br />
</div>Emskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03554410163447780696noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2087542454613465660.post-46611942220861454272011-06-07T20:20:00.000-07:002011-06-07T20:21:18.715-07:00The art of the chuckFor anyone out there who has done junior high or high school gymnastics, you know where I'm coming from.<br />
<br />
How did I learn a front tuck off of beam? A mom who was a volunteer coach for our middle school team stood next to the beam one practice, and we all tried it. No drills. A nice, battered four-inch mat covering the gym floor served as our landing area.<br />
<br />
But I can't just have my kids chuck it. Right?<br />
<br />
Ankles. Knees. More ankles. Hyperextension. I can see it all.<br />
<br />
A few of the Bronze kids competed roundoffs and front handsprings off of beam as their dismounts this season. I'd like to teach them a real (read: salto or aerial) dismount. However, two of them already have a history of ankle injuries and one has patellar tendonitis. So I will need to proceed with caution with the fragile ones.<br />
<br />
Which leads me to an interesting juncture: coming up with progressions for a skill that I learned in one fell swoop. Breaking down something that I can do intuitively but now need to explain. Much like teaching grammar, though hopefully more fun.Emskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03554410163447780696noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2087542454613465660.post-22177206276506799082011-06-05T17:04:00.000-07:002011-06-05T17:04:14.284-07:00The other life<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">In keeping with the discussion of "<a href="http://level4andrising.blogspot.com/2011/05/that-real-coach-swagger.html">real coaches</a>":<br />
<br />
The main reason I write this blog is because I enjoy coaching: the stories, the subsequent struggles, and the victories (when they happen). Why do I coach? Because I enjoy it. And that comes from seeing the kids enjoy themselves. <br />
<br />
I believe that kids can, and should, have fun in competitive sports. Sports serve as a beautiful metaphor for many aspects of life. But your daughter's Level 4 gymnastics meet is not the culmination of her (or your) life. <br />
<br />
I love seeing my girls win. I'm proud, they're proud, parents are happy. It's good for business and morale. But I wouldn't look forward to work at the gym if the girls were robots who focused only on gymnastics. I'm glad that they have personalities and way too much to talk about. If I remain their coach, I'm confident that they won't walk away from gymnastics emotionally traumatized. <br />
<br />
So what about me? What are my goals? Whatever I do in my real life, I'd like to continue coaching. I'd like to learn more and teach more difficult skills. But for me, as with the kids, I need the outside life. Other dreams. Other places.</div>Emskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03554410163447780696noreply@blogger.com2