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coordination in a way they’d never know to challenge the forces of physics. The happiness I garnered from gymnastics battled against the embarrassment and shame I felt from what others said to me. I loved that “girlie sport” with all my heart; Ifelt that I was meant to do gymnastics and I wasn’t going to apologize for it to anyone.
    Soon I began to believe my schoolmates’ view of me. Their whispers, jokes, and comments infiltrated my muscles and bones. I was outnumbered, and it became difficult for me not to believe them. But instead of quitting the sport, I went deeper into my body and practice, shutting down to the outside world. I couldn’t have stopped if I had wanted to: I was obsessed. After school, before gymnastics practice, the patch of grass that my brother mowed became my gymnasium. I would drag our old mattresses onto the lawn, lining up mattress after mattress, and tumbled on them. I learned new skills on my own to take to practice that night.
    After gymnastics practice, I would set up the mattresses in the basement to work on what I had learned while my brother and father drank beer and played pool. I would practice until my body could no longer take it, until each movement was just right. I never had much in common with my brother and father, who were very much alike, but somehow through my practicing I communicated and bonded with them. Though my father seemed like he was concentrating on his game, I would occasionally see him give me a fatherly glance that said, “That’s my boy.” Together in that room, as they played pool, I practiced becoming a champion, and that space and time became precious for us all.

 
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    PHALANGES
    T HE SMALL BONES OF THE FINGERS AND TOES ARE NAMED PHALANGES BECAUSE THEY RESEMBLE THE G REEK BATTLE FORMATION CALLED A phalanx . I N THE PHALANX FORMATION, SOLDIERS FORMED A TIGHT GROUP WITH OVERLAPPING SHIELDS AND SPEARS .
    I won first place in the state and regional gymnastics championship, which allowed me to take a trip to the Olympic Training Center in Colorado Springs. I was twelve years old and invited to a camp at the training center with other select gymnasts from across the country. This would be the first time I was going to be away from my family, and the idea of leaving them was both thrilling and disturbing.
    Dan’s coaching shone a light over my basic understanding of gymnastics, and I quickly absorbed his teachings. Our gymnastics team had grown in size to ten athletes, and the team dynamics had changed. Chris, the stronger teammate, was in a division higher than me because his skill level was more advanced. Even though he was better than me, I still kept him in the corner of my eye. Seth and I were in the same level, which was great because we were becoming good friends. I was sad Seth wasn’t going to the Olympic Training Center with me, but knew if I let my guard down once, he would be going instead of me.
    I loved to train in gymnastics, but I hated competing. I could never sleep the night before a competition and would continuously go through my routines in my head. I would lie there for hours, covered in a blanket of sweat, religiously and compulsively goingthrough them, making sure to occupy every memory, every physical movement to its perfection. My heart beat like a hollow drum, faster and faster, as I repeated those actions until sunrise. Those nights led to horrendous mornings without having slept a wink. My body and mind were braided into a miasma of fear: to be perfect or die.
    The mornings of gymnastics competitions were just as difficult as the nights before. I obsessively checked everything over and over again, as if it were part of my routine and I was to be judged on whether I properly packed my uniform and grips, or how I executed my daily rituals. I thought that if I didn’t religiously follow that compulsion, I wouldn’t perform well. I would return to my gym bag three or four times to make sure my uniform was still there.
    Early in