The scores are within tenths. Our hearts are racing. Palms are sweating. Stomachs are churning. It all comes down to the last event. Beam. If we wanted the gold, we had to hit. This was our event. Our chance. Our time.
Ten minutes on the clock and warm ups start. My teammates and I frantically take turns in warm ups. I feel confident. My team looks solid. Last minute in warm ups and our coach pulls us aside to pump us up. You can hear the crowd screaming, feel the adrenalin pumping and we know what we have to do.
First girl is up. She looks nervous but nothing can stop her. She finishes strong and scores a 9.233. Next girl up, she has execution. Her skills look clean but she slips on her round off and off the beam she goes. She finishes up with a score of 8.467. Third girl up, this is her event. We have faith that she will score big. Everything goes well. She doesn’t bobble. She scores a 9.0.
It is now my turn. Out of the corner of my eyes, my teammates are crying. I know they are counting on me, I’ve done this before and I can do it again. I know the pressure is on me. This is my last beam routine ever and this is when it counts. I salute. Back tuck—solid. I feel reassured that I can do this. Now that that is out of the way nothing can stop this perfect routine. Skill after skill with little deduction. Looking at the end of the beam, I see my coaches clapping and smiling. I am about to dismount. The gym is earsplitting. I feel at ease that my routine is almost over. I take a deep breath and step, hurdle, round off, fall. Did I really just fall? Did I let my team down? Did I ruin our chance to be state champions?