My Version of Going for the Gold
#MoreThanAGame: Coordination might not be my thing, but I have dedication and commitment covered.
Twenty years ago. That’s when the Olympics not only caught my attention, but consumed my world to a degree that bordered on obsession. It was the summer I stayed with my Aunt Anita and Uncle David in Virginia. The summer that the Olympics were taking place in Atlanta. The summer Uncle David and I bonded over a lunchtime Big Mac (he claims he doesn’t remember our heart-to-heart at McDonald’s over Big Macs, but it doesn’t matter. It HAPPENED, UNCLE DAVID, and you’ll always be my favorite uncle because of it!)
I remember the night so clearly, watching the vault routine with my aunt, uncle and cousins. Kerri Strug was the last hope for the U.S. Gymnastics team to take the gold. She ran, she vaulted, she fell; and while doing so, tweaked something in her ankle. She limped back to the end of the runway and stood there, twisting her ankle back and forth on the mat, her coach screaming, “You can do it!” in the background. Then, like a bolt of lightning, she took off. Goosebumps washed over me as I held my breath, eyes growing wider with every stride. She hit the vault, flew through the air like a ninja and stuck the landing, both feet making contact with the mat so briefly that she appeared to have landed on only one freaking foot!! The pain on her face was explosive but she hopped around to face the judges on one leg, holding her pose the required amount of time before collapsing on the mat. The sound of the crowd can only be described as explosive. It. Was. Epic. Her talent and dedication had me in awe.
And then it began. I wanted to be not only a gymnast, but a hero gymnast! I called my mom and asked why she had never put me into gymnastics. She sighed and told me how she had tried when I was younger but I was insistent that I hated it. If only my 5-year-old self had known better! My only hope was a time machine, so until I stumbled upon one of those I had to improvise.
Curbs became balance beams. The neighbor whose pickup truck had high bars around the bed? Hello potential homeowners insurance claim! I swung around on those like they were the uneven bars. I did round-abouts and cartwheels across the lawn, punctuating each landing with throwing my arms up in a V shape, palms horizontal to the ground. I wandered onto the diving board at the pool in their neighborhood, imitating Ms. Strug’s stiff, yet graceful and powerful, mannerism as I barreled down the board towards the water.
Now, to be clear, I use the word “imitating” loosely. My 2016 tally of coffee spills on the hallway wall (yup, wall) currently stands at 4.5 (that last one barely counted. I caught most of it with my dress). I recently had toothpaste shot into my eyes when I scared my boyfriend while he was brushing his teeth. And I fell down the stairs in such a way last winter that I tore my jeans in half at the knees. So this wasn’t graceful coordinated stuff. But it was the first time I remember being filled with pure admiration for a female athlete.
Those days in Atlanta were the culmination of her tireless hard work, dedication to a goal and astoundingly fine-tuned talent. On top of all that? She looked the potential of failure, a moment of all her hard work crumbling into nothing, square in the eyes and told it to fuck off. Not just for herself, but for her her team. In that moment, Kerri Strug solidified the vision of how I wanted to live my life. Dedicated to doing what I love, always learning, constantly fine-tuning my skills and never giving up. Especially when my version of an injured ankle at the Olympics arrives.
Melissa Grounds is a regular contributor to The Relish as the DIY half of the Grounds Crew. She is also the owner of mod.creative and can be found most often wearing her favorite ripped jeans, covered in whatever material she’s working with that day.
