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!)
To borrow from Santana's "Maria, Maria," the rich are getting richer and the poor are getting poorer. 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Empathy pangs
Today, I'm sore.
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.
Two emotions simultaneously:
By Wednesday, the gymnasts complain, "I'm sore." They still have two more days of conditioning and practice to push through.
"I couldn't walk down the stairs this morning," Jamie says dramatically (but her presence at practices proves that she found a way, apparently).
"My back is killing me."
"My legs are soooooooo tired."
And so on.
Sympathy says, "Aw, that's too bad." Empathy says, "I know exactly how you feel."
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.
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."
We cannot become so far removed from our own experiences, so satisfied with our methods, that we forget.
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.
Two emotions simultaneously:
- I feel out of shape;
- I like the hurt; I feel like I'm doing something good for myself.
By Wednesday, the gymnasts complain, "I'm sore." They still have two more days of conditioning and practice to push through.
"I couldn't walk down the stairs this morning," Jamie says dramatically (but her presence at practices proves that she found a way, apparently).
"My back is killing me."
"My legs are soooooooo tired."
And so on.
Sympathy says, "Aw, that's too bad." Empathy says, "I know exactly how you feel."
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.
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."
We cannot become so far removed from our own experiences, so satisfied with our methods, that we forget.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Physiologically speaking
As I pranced around the gym this evening, my left foot rolled and I fell to the floor.
Then I rolled around, getting the sting out, moving quickly so nobody would see my face. I knew immediately: not so bad. My ankle wouldn't swell and if I gave it a moment or two, I'd be able to run around again.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Then I rolled around, getting the sting out, moving quickly so nobody would see my face. I knew immediately: not so bad. My ankle wouldn't swell and if I gave it a moment or two, I'd be able to run around again.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Can you hear me?
I've spent my mornings teaching writing and the afternoons coaching, and I've come to observe a similar phenomenon.
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.
"What did I just say?" I say.
They repeat it verbatim without making eye contact.
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.
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.
It all sinks in.
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.
"What did I just say?" I say.
They repeat it verbatim without making eye contact.
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.
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.
It all sinks in.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
The world's longest competition season
has finally concluded!
The kids already ask, "Do we get new routines?"
Is it wrong that I want to take the next month (or two, or three) and go backpack through South America?
The kids already ask, "Do we get new routines?"
Is it wrong that I want to take the next month (or two, or three) and go backpack through South America?
Friday, June 10, 2011
Floor Music Friday, straight out of our Italian restaurant
And we're back, folks, with Floor Music Friday!
And there was much rejoicing.
Anywho: this week's pick for potential floor music goes out to the Piano Man.
There is the wistful, classic opening (1:02 - 1:43).
The playful and whimsical center (2:24 - 3:03 -- after 2:48, the vocals cut out).
This rocking part (4:29 - 4:52).
And the conclusion, grander and yet more wistful than before (5:55 - 6:27; 6:49 to the end).
Heck, I may try to cut this one myself.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
The art of the chuck
For anyone out there who has done junior high or high school gymnastics, you know where I'm coming from.
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.
But I can't just have my kids chuck it. Right?
Ankles. Knees. More ankles. Hyperextension. I can see it all.
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.
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.
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.
But I can't just have my kids chuck it. Right?
Ankles. Knees. More ankles. Hyperextension. I can see it all.
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.
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.
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