Musings of a Former Gymnast
- KAYLA ERICKSON
- Dec 16, 2020
- 3 min read
I know I sometimes share a lot about gymnastics, and that’s because my 8 years in the sport (rhythmic, women’s artistic, and trampoline & tumbling) absolutely changed me for the better and made me who I am. It taught me strength and flexibility, both physically and mentally, along with bravery, trust, patience, focus, and diligence. The more I reflect on my life, the more I realize how much my gymnastics background (as well as figure skating, but that’s not what this post is about) informs my decisions and colors my world today.
However, gymnastics culture did condition me with some things I’ve had to overcome. I quit the sport at 14 (for reasons unrelated to these things), when I was entering adulthood and high level competition. If I had stayed on a highly competitive trajectory throughout my teen years, I can only imagine how much deeper the damage might be.
1) Physical growth is shameful
I was always the tallest girl on my team. That made lining up in height order with my teammates easy, but most other things difficult. I was always growing, so I constantly had to adjust my technique to accommodate my rapidly changing body. My coaches would jokingly tell me to “stop growing!” and I wanted nothing more. Adjusting the uneven bars to be wide enough apart for me was a hassle for my coaches, and I learned to be timid and apologetic about asking for what I needed. I have a family friend who used to tease, “You get shorter every time I see you!” For years, that would have been my dream come true. All throughout high school, my drama teacher had to remind me to “stand up straight!”- subconsciously I still wanted to be small. The shame started with my height but also influenced my views on adolescence. Becoming a woman was deeply troubling to me, and it took me a long time to be proud of my adult body.
2) Endurance is more important than self-care
I’m still working on this one. Gymnastics taught me to endure silently past my breaking point. Speaking up for myself was a sign of weakness and defeat. I trained for months without consulting a doctor about my chronic heel pain, and even after I had a diagnosis I’d tumble or vault while crying until my coach finally told me to stop. One coach physically forced me to handstand walk all the way down the vault runway and back multiple times in a row while I was having a mild asthma attack- soon after, my face was covered in little red dots (capillaries had burst because I wasn’t breathing). I learned to laugh hysterically instead of cry as my coach pushed me down (probably too far) while doing oversplits on a chair. After breaking my foot, I kept doing backhandsprings on the beam and even got through vault warm-up before listening to my body. These kinds of stories are common in the gymnastics world- I used to tell mine with pride and consider them badges of honor. Endurance is necessary to be a champion, but only to a certain degree- beyond that is downright unhealthy and idiotic.
I still struggle with this mentality when it comes to my schedule, my relationships, and my health. Earlier this year, my roommate had to make me go to urgent care when I clearly had a concussion. I’m slowly learning to be kinder with myself. Self-care shows strength, not weakness.
I hope this post gives you a small taste of what people mean when they say “gymnastics culture.” Although I never reached the highest levels of the sport, the harmful ideals I was ingrained with are the same ideals that allowed a serial predator like Larry Nassar to thrive for so many years. No one should be surprised about this scandal when gymnasts commonly have body image issues and are conditioned to silently endure.
This is by no means a condemnation of the sport. I LOVE gymnastics, and I’m forever grateful for all the incredible lessons it has taught me. If I had a daughter, I’d put her in gymnastics without a second thought. With that being said, we need dramatic change in this sport. It starts with actively teaching body positivity and creating an environment of love and not fear, where young girls are empowered to speak up.




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