: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."

Mind games redux

With such a history, how then do I prepare my girls to face competition?

So far my methods are traditional: Have them perform routines one-by-one in front of the team. I try to mix it up a little by bringing over another group to watch, or another coach, or the secretary. A new pair of eyes to throw them off a bit. And I don't need to worry about simulating a noisy meet environment, since the girls who watch are never silent.

Somedays I propose a deal with everyone's favorite conditional construct: if you hit this routine, then (some reward, like working on new skills or getting a drink first or what-have-you). I make it clear: Like a meet, this is your one chance.

I have to say that my girls range between decent to very, very solid in competition on beam. Some are nervous but they fight. Others fight past the nerves and move confidently.

It blew my mind a little when the commentators at USA Nationals talked about Mackenzie Caquatto's struggles on beam, how she needed to "survive" the routine. (Of course, that easily could have been commentator dramatics.) You don't expect that out of an elite gymnast at a national competition. You expect that she can handle it. But maybe she reminds us: the beam is only so wide and no matter how good you are, nothing is a given.

Mind games

In the early years my mind was a wreck in competition. Thinking crazy thoughts during a beam routine. Working to rattle me as I tumbled.

At the end of the day I always competed just fine. Occasional meltdowns but we've all been there. I moved calmly and you would never guess the mental chaos.

I read a book about gymnastics psychology. All the gymnast biographies I could get my hands on. They all praised positive thinking and visualization. I visualized but found that my viewpoint kept shifting, like a filmmaker: first this angle, then this. I tried to "think positively," to "stay in the moment," but I was just too damn anxious. It was like my mind was saying, "Not only do you have to stay on a four-inch beam, but you have to defeat me, too."

I developed an excellent relationship with higher powers. As phrased wonderfully by a college teammate: "I talk to God every time I do a flight series." And so I did before every meet, during every meet. I had various requests ranging from "Don't let me die" and "Don't let my coach yell at me" (equally grave) to "Please let me qualify for [insert competition]." I must say the higher powers did an excellent job of upholding their end of the bargain (though I really brought nothing in return). But I remained tense, nervous.

What changed?

The battle never ended but it quieted as I got older, started realizing that competitions could be enjoyable instead of life-or-death. That I could be happy in the instants I wanted to rush through. That these times were finite.

Back to Basics

I do many of these drills with my girls, but I like that this video is a reminder of the basics--keeping it simple! Pointing those toes, learning how to jump and land, etc.



From the YouTube channel of kollstolen.

Remember, remember, the 5th of November

If you can't remember that, how about your beam routine?

Generation 4.0 exhibits desireable traits: they pay attention, talk little, and work hard. Except their memories are like water to a duck. Nothing stays put.

"Roundoff from one knee," I say.

Colleen cocks her head, long ponytail sweeping over her face. "What's a roundoff?"

"You just did one."

Colleen doesn't believe me. Then the epiphany: "Oh." She does a cartwheel.

"Land with your feet together."

She nods. The ponytail waves like a flag. She does another cartwheel.

I look at the clock. Two hours to go.

The learning process for the beam routine is arduous. Larissa and Dana remember. Except there are a few parts they forget, and no matter how many times we review, they still forget. Holly's the most solid. It's hard to tell if Mariah has forgotten, or if she's just pausing every three seconds from fear. Colleen prances as she wishes, puckering her lips on the "fish pose." Nina and Allison look at me bashfully. They're lost.

Greg suggests that we designate each beam as a different part of the routine, and have them practice piecemeal. I support this idea. Except nobody besides the former three remembers those parts. Nor can they put the parts together for one cohesive routine. Then you've got Nina and Mariah scared to do handstands, Allison rolling her ankles and stubbing her toes constantly, Colleen lying on the beam pretending to swim, and Larissa and Dana already bored of the routine.

"All right, let's get a drink!" I call.

Meet Season, Round Two

I don't know what to expect this first meet. The girls seem prepared. They're looking the way they probably should have last year: all their skills, though a bit choppy around the edges. It's just a small meet in November and none of the big teams are here.

But you never know.

For once, all of our gymnasts have the same session, and between the 4's, 5's, and 6's, we've taken up just about a whole squad. The first event: beam. I like seeing the girls start on this event, but unfortunately that means they'll end on bars. Nothing like ending your meet with a 4.0.

Kathryn's first up on beam. She's calmed her tendency to flail every part of her body as she jumps, or kicks, or walks. At practice, her mind's everywhere. But now her eyes stay on the beam. She moves calmly. Nails her cartwheel. Dismounts.

9.3.

Brittany next: 9.2. Jamie: 9.0. Alejandra later, for the Level 4 contingent: 9.25.

Is this my team??

..

Bars, of course, reminds me that much remains to improve. Jamie pulls off the team's highest for the day, a 7.95, with a messy routine. Several girls miss their long hang kips. A few errant squat-ons. But only Kasey, with her lack of kips, falls into the 4.0 club this meet.

We're rising.

Flip the plank

Balance beam, you light up my life.

I loved beam as soon as I started gymnastics, quite possibly because I recognized that everyone else hated it. Four inches wide, four feet off the ground--what's not to love? (Plenty, apparently). This is not to say that I love everything about beam. I lived (and live, when I prance on it now) in fear of straddling the thing. I've had my share of wipe-outs, fear, and more wipe-outs. But I always came back for more.

I'm also aware that my gymnasts are not the biggest fans of the apparatus. But they deal. They have no choice. My beam methods are not ground-breaking, but they work more successfully than with the other events: make ____ repetitions of ______ skill. For some ladies, this task takes five minutes. For others, it takes the entire time we're on beam.

"All right, Tia," I said one day. "If you make your first beam routine, you can frolic in the pit."

Tia's eyes widened. "Seriously?"

"Seriously."

Her face sets. She moves through her beam routine without any flourishes, but few wobbles. Until the cartwheel. Her hands touch the beam. Her legs kick over her head. She lands. One leg flails up. Now everyone's watching. "GO, TIA!" someone calls.

And with a dramatic "NOOOOOOOO!" she falls to the ground.

But in competition, Tia's fierce. More often than not, she makes her entire routine. Same with Kathryn, Brittany, and Kasey. The routines may not be breathtaking and they sometimes wobble enough to equal the deductions for a fall, but they don't give in.

I remember those days. Level 8 State Championships, where I wobbled quite a few times but placed tenth on beam. NAIGC Nationals, ending my college career with a no-fall routine. The high school battle for the League 3 Championship, where the gym was absolutely silent and my teammates held hands during everyone's routines. My college coach would tell us that just staying on beam wasn't enough. But sometimes, it is.