Writing Exercise

I closed my eyes and opened them again. Deep breathe in. Exhale. I look across the blue carpeted spring floor in front of me, I lunge, and then.. I stop dead in my tracks. I had been trying to master my round off back handspring in gymnastics for months now. The other girls made it look so simple, so effortless. They sprung and gracefully dove back on their hands with the equivalent minimal amount of effort it took me stand up out of a chair. All I saw, however, as I stared across the floor demanding myself to fly, flip, and stick it perfectly, was a tangled mass of legs over arms tumbling across the gym, followed by an excruciating concussion as my head and the ground not so kindly embrace. My coaches were becoming frustrated at this point. When my coach was standing there, arms extended, waiting to catch my potentially disastrous fall, I had this trick down perfectly. “I didn’t even touch you that time,” they repeated every time I said I required their assistance. Hastily, I reassured them next time, I promise I’ll do it by myself. And every time, there I stood, eyes closed, deep breath, exhale, lunge, stop. Without the comfort of seeing my coaches’ reassuring arms extended my way, waiting for me in the middle of that royal blue floor, my limbs went numb and no matter how frustratingly hard I tried, I could never figure out why.