I am hokey pokeying my way through Angel Believes’ 30 Day Challenge
Day 06 → Something you hope you never have to do.
I am 29 and 5/6ths, going on 64. My bones and joints are bad. Not arthritic bad - nothing that anyone has diagnosed bad - just bad.
Like - Woah, we need to stop sex for a second because my hip just dislocated. Bad.
Or - Yep, I hiked 3 days ago, so maybe I'll be able to move my knees tomorrow. Bad.
Or - I had to hold Babygirl extra long last night so I'm not able to clasp my bra this morning. Bad.
I blame gymnastics. I was in gymnastics - and was half-way decent. Like anything, I dug the mechanics of it. Flip, turn, step, run, flip, stick the landing, hands up.
No flare. No expression.
I didn't get that part of it. I remember my mom talking about my fingers when I stuck a landing. Something about making them pretty. They weren't doing anything, so they were flat as paddles, and I didn't understand the flow. The beauty. I thought that was in the flip. I didn't see the arched back, the flared fingers, the curves. I tried, but no frill.
Beam was my favorite part of gymnastics - until I graduated to the beam that was high enough to fall off. Like straddle. I would skin the insides of my thighs on that bastard. Or do a back flip with my hands too far apart and bust my head. It quickly became my least favorite. I feared the beam. Still do. I will do anything to not have to cross a creek on a log - no matter the size of the creek (or the log).
Anyway, against my coaches warning - I did back flips in my backyard. All. the. time.
The hard as concrete clay soil didn't give like the spring loaded mat in the gym. That didn't stop me.
Flip. Flip. Flip. Flip. Flip.
I don't remember how long I was in gymnastics. It was years and years. I remember quitting so that I could do Pop Warner cheer leading. I was in that for a year, and then didn't make the school team the following year.
(It probably was my obvious lack of spirit in my fingers.)
I never looked back. By then, I was developing breasts - and the mere thought of hefting myself onto the uneven bars made my booblettes sore.
Now, years later, I hurt. A lot. Before it rains, when it's cold, when it's hot, when the moon is out...
So, unless someone has a gun to my head AND I feel like breaking my neck AND my back AND have a hip dislocate AND fracture my skull AND break a boob AND skin my thighs AND stress fracture my radius AND jamb a finger....
I really hope to never have to do gymnastics ever again.