The Hustle

One thing that was driven into us as kids was “Hustle” and the longer I live, the more I appreciate this concept.

The image that comes to mind when I think about “hustle” is this: a tennis player awaiting the serve. The player stands, his stance wide, his weight shifted from his heels onto his toes where he bounces side to side in anticipation, using the slightest momentum so he is ready to pounce on his prey at any moment. His core is tight, his arms are a gun, locked and loaded. He is acutely aware of his environment, what is out of place, what is exactly where it’s supposed to be. His brain actively reinforces what is most important: go hard, swing big, lock it in, focus, you can do it. Every part of his body and mind are active and on high alert.

What the player does not do, is stand on his heels with his arms slack to the side thinking about cheeseburgers. Laziness and stagnation are not an option if he has any chance at returning this ball. Because life, and that ball, come quick.

I am a gymnastics coach by trade, but I am also a lover of many sports so here is another sports analogy for you. If you attend any little league baseball game, you will hear the coach call out the same thing as his team takes to the field. “Hustle!Hustle out there,” he will yell.

And then go ahead and watch. The best players, the most engaged, and motivated players will sprint to their positions. The players that are only there because dad is making them, will walk out on their heels, taking their good-old, sweet-time. So,what does this really tell us? What can we learn from this simple behavior of outfielders and why does the coach put so much emphasis on it?

Well, it tells us maybe the most important thing of all—who cares. That was not a question, it was an answer. It shows us who the game matters to, who this inning matters to, and that if the opportunity to make a play comes their way, who will be ready.

Our gymnasts and our coaches are no different. There are the gymnasts who are always on time, ready to go. And if, by chance, they’re late, the come hustling in, anxious to make up what they have missed. They do not need to tell me they care—they are showing me. The athlete’s minds are on always on high alert. As they survey their surroundings, if something is in their way, they move it. If someone is moving something, they run over to offer help. There is an awareness that is both internal and external that is hard to explain but easy to recognize.

And then, there are those who are always late to the game. The last ones on the field. They need told to help, because honestly, they didn’t even notice that anyone needed it. They need told to move the mat, because honestly they didn’t even see it over there. They are passive in sports and in life. Without constant direction—some force or voice jolting them into action, they might just stand or sit where they are forever.

I know nothing about physics and my left brain might just be as barren as the surface of the moon, but I do understand one concept: objects in motion will stay in motion and objects at rest will stay at rest unless acted upon by an outside force. Applying this logic tells us that a person who is active and moving will keep moving, be more productive, more helpful, emit more energy. Once something stops, it can be hard to summon up that energy to get moving again.

I respect the hustlers more than I can say. I know the hustle they learned in their sport will show up, every day in life, in the same way it shows up for me.

When I look back on my childhood, I can see me and my siblings standing in a circle, bumping a volleyball that always feels just a little bit too hard. The ball goes over my head, but I had already predicted it was going to go long by the way it contacted my brother’s forearms. I am already moving backward. “Hustle,” my brother yells, even though I already am, even though I already know letting it go over my head with no effort at all is a cardinal sin in this family. It’s a lesson thatwasn’t easy to learn but I have grown to understand: don’t be the last to show up. Don’t wait to be told what to do. Be ready.

I leap off my feet and lay myself out like a skydiver. My arm lurches forward and makes just enough contact to keep the ball in the air. There is something so satisfying in the slight pain I feel in my ribs, the pounding of my heart in my chest. I kept the ball in play. I laid it all on the line and gave it my best effort. From the ground I watch my sister bump it back up, a perfect set, and my brother spikes it into the sand. Then he comes over, offers a hand to help me up. We laugh and I brush the sand from my shoulders. “Nice hustle,” he says. “Nice hustle.”

Angels Among Us

I almost lost my phone four different times on my trip to Switzerland. The first time was right after getting through security in my hometown. I settled onto a bench to tie my shoes and got up without it. A passerby noticed it and held it into the air, “Is this someone’s?” he asked.

Indeed, it was.

The same thing happened on a Swiss train on my way home. It had fallen out of my pocket and was left resting on the seat. “Someone’s phone!” a good Samaritan called.  

“Thank you so much,” I said, taking the precious possession into my incapable hands. How could I possibly say thank you enough? My phone had my plane tickets on it, my itinerary andlittle did I know, I’d need it more than ever in just a few hours. 

My flight out of Zurich was delayed, causing us to be late for our connection. But I was determined, sprinting through Frankfurt airport like a maniac. At customs, I left my passport on the counter and started running to my gate. “Wait,” an officer yelled, holding the little blue book in his hands. My God! I thought. “Thank you,” I said. How could I possibly say thank you enough? No Passport, no flight home. 

Despite getting to the gate with time to spare, they refused to let me on the plane. I later discovered this was because they don’t let passengers on if they don’t have time to transfer their connecting luggage. 

I had no choice but to accept this defeat. 

After visiting customer service, I was given information on a complimentary hotel and my new flight home the next day. Despite being in Germany, I was feeling confident with my subway navigation skills and my ability to find someone to help me if I needed directions. I mean, it was beginning to feel like people were being perfectly placed all around the world just to keep an eye on me. 

Jesus, she lost it again! I could imagine God saying with an eye roll. 

I made it to my hotel with no issues and prepared to head to my room. Hating elevators due to my claustrophobia, I decided to take the stairs. I opened the door with one hand, rolling my bag behind me with the other. The door clicked closed behind me asI made my way to my floor below and pulled on the door handle. Then, I pulled on it again and again, each time with more gusto. More muscle. This couldn’t be happening. Okay, breathe, I thought.  Just go back up to the door you came from. 

I did.

It was locked. 

Frantic now, I began scanning the stairwell. There, on the wall was a large sign written in both German and English. You are in an emergency stairwell, it said. The doors are locked for your safety.

Oh. My. God.

I began pounding on the door, shouting for help. I turned around and saw a large window at the bottom of the stairs and sprinted to it. I said a little prayer as I tugged it open. Thank you, I whispered. Oh, thank God. I was two floors up and I might have broken my leg if I jumped to the courtyard below, but at least I had options. 

A little calmer now, I took out my phone which was dwindling to one percent and called Verizon. Once I had an operator on the phone, I told her to call the Sheraton in Frankfurt and tell them to get me the hell out of there! 

No one answered. 

With a human on the line, I felt emboldened and made my way to a basement door that opened into a dark parking garage. I hit a small button next to the garage door, and thank the fucking lord, it opened. “Thank you!” I said to the Verizon worker. “I’m free!” 

“You’re welcome,” she laughed.

How could I thank her enough? She had kept me calm, as calm as was possible given my circumstances.

I headed back inside and met eyes with the man who checked me in. “You didn’t answer the phone!” I said, throwing up my hands. “I almost died in that emergency stair well!” 

“Oh my. I’m so sorry,” he said in his thick German accent. 

I knew I was being dramatic and we both smiled. Just a little. It was only noon, but I needed a drink. I needed several drinks. 

I know people find humor in my missteps. To be honest, so do I. Things never fail to happen to me as if these crazy scenarios get placed into my hands with the directions, “Remember this. Write it down. You’re going to want to share this later.” And I do. And if you can believe it, I’ve improved. I am more careful, more responsible, and better prepared. 

As I get ready for my trip to Spain tomorrow, I’m going to get a fanny pack for my phone and passport. I’m not taking any chances! I will double check my flight so I don’t have a repeat of Iceland (American Airlines doesn’t fly out of here anymore, honey!) and I triple checked the safety of the hotel so I don’t have another San Fransisco incident. (Even if The Golden Gate Hotel sounds nice, if you like your life, please don’t ever, ever stay there.) 

Traveling is not for the faint of heart. Things get delayed, changed, rearranged. Doors get locked. But if you trust that there are good people out there to get you through, there’s nothing you can’t overcome. 

It’s hard to believe in good things right now. But the best place for me to go in search of them is far from home, where I’m exploring all this world has to offer. I can see the good in the beauty of ancient architecture. I stumble upon it in historic districts or in the hidden gems of a local neighborhood. I hear it in the laughter of a family on the beach. I find it in the eyes of strangers, in the angels among us, that I will never be able to thank enough. 

Fear

As a gymnastics coach, I deal with fear on an everyday basis. I watch gymnasts battle with it, be overwhelmed by it, and try to overcome it. I have gone to seminars about it, studied techniques to get over it, and even come up with a few of my own. 

​One of those is an acronym called BRAVE: breathe, reaffirm, act, visualize, engage. Step one, take a breath. Two: reaffirm who you are and what you’re capable of. “Act” confident, like you got this. Visualize success. And then Engage—stop hesitating and go!

​ Sometimes these steps work and sometimes they don’t. And I know that firsthand. 

​As a child, I remember fear being ever present. My three older brothers were full of shenanigans like dragging me out into the ocean where I couldn’t stand, forcing me on rides I was too scared to get on, and leaning me over their shoulders off a bridge or over a scenic outlook. As a gymnast, I remember being forced to do my beam tumble even though my basics were inept and physically and mentally I was not ready. And as a 4th and 5thgrader, after my brother moved on to middle school, I had to walk to school alone—a fifteen minute walk that passed by houses with big dogs and a busy road I had to cross over, each time sprinting to the other side thankful I hadn’t been run over. Later, in middle school, I stood at my bus stop at the top of my street by myself, still in the darkness of night, praying some van didn’t drive by and snatch me up. Every day began with a feeling of dread and the consistent, constant presence of fear. 

​When I look back on it, I wonder why I didn’t tell my parents I was scared? I don’t think the thought ever occurred to me that I could ask for help. In a family built on bravery and toughness, fear wasn’t something we discussed. Was I even allowed to be scared? I guess I didn’t think so. 

​Family legend had it that the day I was brought home from the hospital my two-year-old brother threw my out of my crib. I was later found on the floor, whimpering but not crying. It became a funny story, one we all laughed about. You were so tough, so quiet, so unbreakable. This is what I heard and so, thisis who I became.

​One of the biggest barriers to brave is not getting the help we need. It takes another kind of bravery to be able to name the fear and then get the support and advice we need to move past it.As a shy and introverted child, I did not possess it. 

Now, as a coach, I see this so often, kids afraid to speak up, to admit that they are scared. I have to remind them that there is no shame in scared—only steps. Sometimes a step forward and sometimes back to find your footing and confidence once again.Without a relationship of trust, they will often hold their silence inside where they feel trapped and alone, as I did.

​I learned another acronym about fear once. FEAR. False Evidence Appearing Real. And while I can find some validity in that—some fears are more irrational than others, it takes awaythe possibility that sometimes our fears ARE real and most times, there is an element of danger involved. Is my fear of elevators irrational? Maybe. But people have been trapped in them for hours. Was my fear of rides irrational? Maybe. But at the Big Butler Fair, I almost fell off of one, being too small. And at Water Country in Florida when I was six, I popped off my innertube in the lazy river and became trapped under water, pinned below a sea of other innertubes. Before my dad fished me out, I almost drowned. 

Telling people they are being irrational instead of validating that real sense of danger is one of the worst, most insensitive things we can do. We must instead think, how can I help alleviate the danger? How can support someone having such a strong and visceral emotion. Does this make me a “softy” as a coach? Lol. You can ask my gymnasts about that! Being empathetic and understanding doesn’t mean I’m not tough. 

​Many times I offer spotting, mats, or low beams to work though fear just so a gymnast can take active steps to start erasing fear. If they need help, all they have to do is ask…which some gymnasts hate even more than doing the skill itself. But asking and asserting yourself is a step, and any step, no matter how small is helpful because fear can be paralyzing. 

When we are experiencing fear, we are rarely thinking about technique or logic. We are only thinking about how we can survive. Only when we get out of that fight or flightresponse with a pounding heart and shaky hands, can we effectively enact the steps of BRAVE and apply them. 

But overcoming fear has to be a choice, not a requirement. Every human should have the free-will to look at the things that scare them and then decide if they are willing to overcome the dangers, either real or imagined. When I look back, I can see those choices were stolen from me. I was forced onto the high beam, forced into the ocean, forced to walk alone. I hope I can say this loud enough for those in the back: being forced into scary situations is NOT what has made me brave! Those are the things that have made me scared, worried and doubtful, in myself but also in others.

​What has made me seek bravery are those times I willingly made a choice. The times I took one small step forward toward something that felt scary. I began to learn from those experiences. I began to grow from them. On my own terms, I saw many of those fears were not going to kill me—like asking a question in a crowded room, or reading a poem at an open mic. I felt scared, but afterward, I felt proud and empowered and I wanted to seek out that feeling again…and again. I traveled to Costa Rica, Iceland, Switzerland, each time learning more about myself, how to travel, and what I was capable of. 

I teach my gymnasts and call upon other writers to put themselves out there. But only they can make that choice, when they feel ready. All you can do is encourage them, to walk next to them in solidarity, to let them know their fear is real and it is allowed, and it is okay. But that also, that fear may not be bigger than you. You can take a hose to that fire and quelch the shit out of. Then you can take those ashes and build something beautifulwith them. It might look like you landing your first backhandspring or catching your first geinger. It might feel like you leaning in for a first kiss, or jumping out of a plane. It might sound like call of a blue-jay deep in the woods, a rustle of the leaves on the Appalachian trail—or it might just sound like your own voice, declaring I’m scared but I’m going to breathe, to trust, to leap. I’m scared but I’m going to do it anyway. For me.

Teenage ‘Tude

A few weeks ago, I was talking to my brother-in-law about his teenage son. They were having some conflict and, caring about both of them, I tried to offer some advice. I do not have a teenage daughter, but I have coached hundreds if not thousands of them. I have dealt with every range of moody, perfectionist, unmotivated, hyper-motivated, rebellious, pleaser you can possibly imagine. And I have loved each and every one of them. I know. I know. Its crazy to say, but its true. Every kid is so unique, so full of possibility. Their youthful energy and drive gives me hope for humanity on a daily basis. Don’t get me wrong, we’ve had some tough talks, hard lessons, and disgruntled parent emails. As it turns out, I’m not perfect. But from all my failures in communication, there are two small victories that stand out the most. Two summers ago, I walked into morning practice in a horrible mood. The girls were just laying on the floor, not ready to go and the warmup area hadn’t been cleared as routinely expected. In a huff, I began clearing off the mats and no one stepped in to help. Commence my fiery cheeks and quickend heartrate. When I finished, I let them know exactly how infuriated I was at their lack of respect, help, and readiness. Who knows what I said in my anger but as I calmed and regulated and my anger passed like a strong gust of wind, I realized that my gymnasts were still cold. Whatever I had said had left a chilling effect and the respect I hoped to shove down their throats shockingly backfired. And this is what I told my brother-in-law. You cannot “ask” for respect and you certainly cannot demand it. Respect, to me, is the willingness to listen and obey someone due to a relationship based on trust and love. Lose those two things, lose the respect. And here’s the thing: if you lose it, it’s not easy to get back. Over the next few weeks, despite my apologizing, even with donuts, there was one particular gymnast who was clearly not letting me off the hook. Instead of coming to me for instructions as usual, she started going to my assistant. Instead of asking me for help or advice, she made a whole show about asking any other coach but me. She was clearly trying to hurt me and boy was it working. In a written letter about another incident, she gushed over how much she respected that other coach. My omission felt like a direct assault and I considered writing a letter to her in return. “I have done so much for you over the last eight years,” I wanted to shout! I have spotted, encouraged, andsupported you through everything! And you aren’t going to talk to me or respect me over one bad morning? Seriously! But despite my love of a good letter and intense need to fix things, I had the feeling that confronting her might backfire on me. There was a reason that Clara was not thinking of what I had done for her in the past and having to “remind” her of it was probably a sign. So, I did something I have never done before. I kept my mouth shut and my pen in my pocket. Over the next few months, I acted like I was immune to her resentment even though it stung my soul. I coached her just like everyone else. I came back to her again and again, smacking her in the face with my positivity and kindness. I resisted the urge to stoop to a level of teenage drama and angst. I was the adult in the room and I would act like it by showing unconditional love gosh-darnit!!And wouldn’t you know it? Little by little, she started coming back to me. She started showing me trust by asking questions and I earned it by delivering results. Because I gave her space,showed her who I am and all I had to offer, her empty jar of respect for me began to fill back up drip by drip, day by day.

Every time she comes to stand next to me by the balance beams, I am reminded of what it took to get us back on track and what it was in the first place that had derailed us. If you want respect, I tell my brother-in law, you don’t get it by punishments, rewards, or disciplining lectures. You get it by consistent, repeated actions of trust and love over time. Deliver on that and they will come back to you, even if it takes longer than you want. Similarly, a few months later, one of Clara’s teammates was struggling to warm her floor routine up at a competition. With each fall, she became more and more emotional and I worried she was going to hurt herself. I took action and tried suggesting that she do an easier routine for the day, just to keep it safe. The suggestion did not go over well to say the least. In her eyes, I was telling her she couldn’t do it. That I didn’t believe in her. Even though that was far from the case, that’s how she saw it. The rest of the competition and all the way through the award ceremony, she kept a scowl on her tear-streaked face, an eye roll ready to activate. I was furious at her lack of sportsmanship, respect, or ability to be a good teammate, and boy was I ready to tell her. But again, something told me to wait. After a few practices went by and it felt like we were back to a solid enough relationship, I pulled her aside. “Ya know,” I said, “when I make suggestions, I’m just trying to help you. You know that right?” I smiled, showing her I was an ally not an enemy. “Yeah, I guess.” “Cause that’s kind of my job, to keep you safe and help you make good decisions.” I could see in her eyes she was making the connection to what happened at the meet without me having to name it, without me having to shame her. “You’re a good friend and a good teammate,” I said. “I love coaching you.” Now, she smiled. “Thanks,” she said. “I know that you know the right way to behave and you’re better than that, okay?” She nodded and once again, I felt like my patience had payed off. Had I confronted her at the meet, it might have only caused a scene. She would have felt even more attacked than she clearly already did. And even at the first practice, it was evident that she was in no frame of mind to listen to me, or let me in. In her eyes, I was still the enemy. I had to sit back, and wait for the door to crack open, just wide enough for her to let me in.

I know it’s not easy to have a combative teen on your hands and I know there has to be consequences for actions. And yet, in 26 years of coaching and 20 years of raising my two older sons, I have never seen results from punishment. Not once. Fear based coaching and parenting feels so archaic, so cave-man. We have to be better than that, more evolved in our reasoning and ability to form connections to them. We have to let them regulate and feel safe before throwing them the ball of a large lesson, thinking they’re going to catch it.

I know me and our team gymnastics program are far from perfect but I also know there is a reason we have THE LARGEST group of teenage/ high level gymnasts in the entire Region. Because we respect our teens. We know they are works in progress that need our trust and love. So give it to them freely.

Be patient. Trust they will hear you. Wait for them to get open.