#cheer rant

I rebloged a post about how senior level one athletes are so unappreciated. And they are, don’t get me wrong. Level one was one of the most humbling experiences I’ve ever had. Honestly.

Now that I’m really thinking about it, in all my years of cheer (9) each of my teammates reminded me of myself at some point in time. This past season I had 7 other teammates.

They were:

the little flyer that everyone wanted in their stunt group

the flyer that got waaaaaaaaaaaaaay overly frustrated when the stunt came down

the base that hated legit everyone

the youngest on the team that tried (& somewhat succeeded) to fit in and make friends with the older girls

the good v petite flyer that kept getting hurt bc of bases that didn’t catch properly

the teammate with the helicopter mom

the only teammate whose mom would always come in to watch practice and probably made other people uncomfortable with “ideas”

And for the first time ever, I actually made a friend that I intend on keeping. That last part sounded so incredibly sad. Cheer has always had a very strict “no phones ever” vibe and the good girl  always listening to coach person I that was for many years, texting before/after practice wasn’t a thing I really did either. I didn’t go to school with any of them so for me it wasn’t a big deal, I chatted at water breaks and that was it. But this year I always had a semi relatable story– most of them were just starting high school and I had just graduated. Talking points. Easy. Also I had a hot co-worker and they wanted updates.

Last season I main based. Here’s the deal with my stunt group, the second bases arms had a smaller circumference than one of my wrists. My third didn’t help; she would only touch our flyers leg rather than lifting.

But really I gave that team so much. Like the beautiful gift of being the team mom, as well as my first broken bone that I broke badly fractured main basing on the warm up floor at an out-of-province competition where I still preformed my full routine. Nobody on my team really understood how big of a deal that was for me. I had to get a cast, my first ever. They will never know just how much my wrist hurt while basically single basing even after I was deemed healed & healthy by the doctor and by coach. They won’t find out just how awkward being by myself was while I was getting casted. My flyer only kind of knows how much I don’t blame her. It wasn’t her fault; she had done everything that she should have. As I replay that moment on the warm up mat in Regina over and over, I realize the I only had two options, the first being to call it and let the stunt down; or I could have done the deepest of deep squats (this particular one was a liberty at waist height) adjusted my grip and hauled it up as I stood. But I did neither. I tried to fight it and just keep it where it was. Then I heard they pop and what felt like my bones clicking inside of my right wrist. Here’s the summarized dialogue:

Me: OWW FUCK *pulls back from stunt begins walking quickly to medical*

My Coach: AWW SHIT

Medical: oh dear me do you still want to go on???

Me: *out of breath from sobbing* I DIDN’T SIT ON A NOISEY ASS-SMELLING BUS FOR 6 HOURS FOR NOTHING

It has made me who I am today, and I'm super grateful for every experience whether it be:

Hitting my lib for the first time OR hitting the floor after competing with the lib

Attempting a full down and biting my mouth OR finally getting that double down on my birthday

Learning how to backhand spring that took me 4 years OR getting that back tuck that took me 2 years.

The amount of times I can crack my back when I breathe OR realizing I can't pull a straight legged scorp because I didn't know how to hold my leg.

Every defining moment of cheer is how I define myself. I've learned very slowly that it's ok to make mistakes and that I shouldn't blame myself and hate when it happens. I've learned to use the upset feelings to fuel my desire and motivation to do better.