Most days I don’t have time to, but when I can manage it, I like to go home for lunch. It’s a good break, not only from the competitive atmosphere of our campus, but also from all the responsibilities that hang over my head. Since I live near the Athletic Campus, I usually feel awkward walking back to my afternoon classes while lacking the athletic backpack. A stream of athletes rush against me, outfitted in their dark-blue parkas, heading to what I assume to be practice. Today, I decided to turn around and walk (drive) with them. By doing so, I got to immerse myself in my favorite team’s practice: Michigan women’s gymnastics.
My love of gymnastics is rather unfounded — I was never a gymnast nor anything related. (Though, I do have to resist the urge to cartwheel at least once an hour.) Growing up in a sports-loving family, in a sports-loving town (Ann Arbor), is most likely the root of my search for a sport to become one with. Not to mention, finding a sport to love and entirely dedicate ourselves to is simply good for you: frequent exercise is known to boost endorphins, dopamine and serotonin — bodily mechanisms that, when activated, are proven to increase mood and ensure longevity. But, I had to find the sport I love to watch — a tedious project in itself. Football felt too brutish to watch, basketball has no risk and even swimming, my home sport, seems to lack the certain sort of shine and glamor that I had been inherently craving. It makes sense that gymnastics is the only sport that really resonates with me — it’s daring, glamorous and (even as a spectator) stressful — all I could want as a viewer. But as an athlete? Let’s see…
Coached by Beverly Plocki, the coach with the most Big Ten titles in history — spanning any sport — makes the Michigan women’s gymnastics team not just good, but fantastically great. They are the reigning Big Ten Champions, and, as of today, are ranked fourth in the country. After becoming one of only seven teams to nab an NCAA National Championship title in 2021, Michigan women’s gymnastics seems poised to do it again — with an almost identical competition team (the notable difference being that Abby Brenner is now at the University of Utah). The current team includes the consistent Sierra Brooks, ‘icey’ Abby Heiskell and Natalie Wojcik’s perfection, which left me wondering: How the hell am I here? And: How can I possibly not humiliate myself?
Since I am physically weaker, completely untrained and too much of a liability to flip (which my neck thanks and my heart curses), I couldn’t do much actual gymnastics. So, this immersion was basically a two-for-one: Half embarrassing myself while doing the most basic of leaps and handstands — at one point hanging motionless from the high bar — and half admiring my hard work.
Part one: Getting out there
From the moment I emailed Brooks to set this immersion up to the writing of this piece, my hands have been clammy with sweat, too much for chalk — used for its extreme moisture-wicking capacity, which enhances grip, in turn helping the gymnasts stay on apparatuses — to even help. Because I was so star-struck, I spent the first 10 minutes staring at the floor, my legs shaking with each nervous pace. My timidness was cut short by Plocki’s booming, almost regal, voice: “you wanted to immerse yourself — get out there!” I’m pretty sure that my face turned Ohio State red — a difficult color to pull off, especially in Ann Arbor. But I did eventually get on the mat, immediately stuttering while more formally introducing myself.
Unphased by my presence and ready to start practicing, the team decided it was time to break — an end of a huddle cheer — a ritual in which I got to participate. With our feet in an aptly perfect circle (apt because they are gymnasts, obsessed with the details, such as foot placement), the team rapidly discussed what to chant, settling on: “One, two, let’s take big fives!” Conveying their determination to win, which they did, a five team Big Ten meet.
Splitting into two groups — one at the uneven bars and one on the balance beam — practice officially commenced. I went with the beam group first, nervously stepping onto the four-inch-wide leather covered plank, laid out on the floor with mats flanking it for additional safety. I spent what seemed like forever embroiled in a mix of jealousy and complete awe, watching the gymnasts masterfully walking up and down the beam, spinning so quickly and so elegantly a tornado might as well have been summoned, doing it all as if it were second nature.
Maile’ana Kanewa-Hermelyn, the team’s assistant coach who specializes in the balance beam, attempted to teach me how to turn on the beam. Unsurprisingly, I couldn’t balance, and instead took steps off — costing myself a half point deduction. This seemingly-slight metric is more than enough to lose a meet, where the results often come down to hundredths of points — for example, Michigan’s 2021 national title was only won by .0175 of a point. My lack of balance was clearly a disqualifying trait, and it was a good thing none of the athletes were like me in this respect.
After fooling around for a little while on the beam, sophomore Ashley Lane, was kind enough to take me through her jumping and flipping drills. The gym is riddled with pits filled with fluffy blue pillows, providing a safe landing spot for risky attempts at new skills. Lane and I took turns jumping in. She would first demonstrate a beautiful leap, and soon after I would attempt to replicate it, never coming quite close. Lane, an ever-patient and ridiculously friendly teacher, walked me through her front and back aerial progressions, an awesomely intelligent way to learn these insane skills — a method that translates to the outside of the gym world, one of the many lessons I learned. If you simply slow down and work your way up to the difficult parts of life, for example by starting with one-handed cartwheels, you can work up and achieve goals faster and more efficiently, for example completing an aerial. I really appreciate this lent insight from these athletes. I can’t do an aerial, but I can apply their knowledge.
The limited skills I could attempt were physically challenging, so much so, that I took a sitting (and panting) break until the athletes were ready to move to the uneven bars — where my lack of strength really shined through. After coating my hands in chalk, I was allowed to jump and grab the high bar. Freshman Paige Thaxton, encouraged me to try and swing. My core engaged and my arms flexed, I piked my legs and tried. After about four seconds, I couldn’t hang on any longer because my hands burned like I had just put my palm down on the stove.
The confines of the gym seem no different than what we all go through in the outside world — we win and lose, and we put so much love into what we do. We fall unabashedly fall and then we get up and try again.
Part two: Engaging off the mat
The other half of this immersion was much more special to me: I got the privilege to watch these athletes put in some truly incredible hard work. What stuck out to me was the self-sufficiency: They were almost coaching each other. How? I don’t know. I can barely motivate three classmates to actually finish our group project, yet somehow these athletes, my age nonetheless, were able to guide and help each other through some truly complicated gymnastics with veritable confidence.
There was a lot of beauty to the team environment. They worked as a cohesive, familial unit — dropping the individuality of the sport at the door. Helping each other not only professionally, but efficiently. Not putting themselves first, but the team — so extremely obviously. With sunlight streaming in, music humming in the background and cheers of encouragement filling the foreground it seemed so clear, they love this school and their team enough to achieve all of their dreams.
The gym buzzed with joy. Not only were the gymnasts falling and getting up, they all had smiles plastered to their faces. And I felt it too — the contagious joy. I mean, after doing handstands or cartwheels the smile could not be wiped off my face. Joy in the hard work, the process if you will, doesn’t come often or easily, and this team has it. The gymnasts cheered after falls or perfect landings, recognizing the work, not the result. All of this seemed to be powered by love and respect — for the sport and each other.
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Getting a whistle and a “woo-hoo” from Plocki for simply swinging on the uneven bars, while these girls do things like deltchev’s (a D-rated skill entailing a 180° into a forward salto in straddled position), is just one example of how awesome this experience and environment was. This team’s magnum opus has yet to come, despite the 2021 National Championship. And if they keep working like they are — which I have no doubt they will — their potential is limitless.
Statement Columnist Sammy Fonte can be reached at sfonte@umich.edu.