The Young and the Hopeful

Cruising through Facebook during this past week I noticed that roughly 66% of the updates were regarding the Olympics. Of these, a recurring theme surfaced that went something like this: "Gillian has now decided she wants to be a gymnast"..."After watching Gabby Douglas, my Peyton is bouncing off the walls and trying to 'stick the landing'"... "Madison has been glued to the TV tonight, screaming GO FAB FIVE!"

These girls are all quite young, one is only 3 years old. But, like I was in 1976 watching Nadia Comaneci score all those perfect tens, they are completely entranced by the Olympic gymnasts. 

Despite women competing in more events than ever before (even boxing and powerlifting), it remains the petite ponytailed powerhouses who capture the hearts of little girls. Neither the runners and jumpers, nor the tall tan volleyballers, the precision divers, nor the bedazzled synchronized swimmers wield the power to render 5-year-olds blinkless in admiration, to inspire 8-year-olds to push their stretch a little further, and to give 10-year-olds the confidence to finally attempt that aerial.

I was four years old when I first saw Nadia, and for years after that my life's dream was to become an Olympic gymnast. Pesky things like growth spurts and an insurmountable fear of landing on my head eventually squashed that dream, but I had a good run of recreational gymnastics training at the local YMCA, and it remains one of my favorite memories of childhood. One of my fellow tumblers is still a friend and we still reminisce about the routines we performed, each time imagining we were flipping in a huge arena rather than in the multi-purpose room above the racquetball courts.

I remember, too, the morning my mother told me that the United States was boycotting the 1980 Olympic Games in Moscow. When she explained that this meant NBC would not be going, and hence it would not be on television, I burst into tears, realizing there would be...no gymnastics. I was beyond crushed. These girls were the only heroes I knew. They had superhuman ability to defy gravity. Nadia's fluid, graceful lines disguised the intense strength that carried her through every apparatus. She was so tiny yet so .powerful. 

As I am writing this I just saw Gabby Douglas take a heartbreaking slip on the balance beam in her final competition. Despite such a medal-defeating falter, Gabby remained focused and continued her routine through to the end with more composure than most 16-year-olds could muster after simply tripping in front of a cute boy at the mall. Though as a child I didn't understand the concept of focus, I know that I and my fellow gymanstics-enthusiast friends could see it on their faces, and we imitated it. We had that "eye of the tiger" even if we didn't yet have the hearts of lions.

As my bio on this blog has stated from day one, Nadia will always be my hero. But I continue to be enamored by every new team of Olympian gymnasts. Mary Lou Retton, Kim Zmeskal, Dominique Moceanu, and now Gabby and the rest of the Fab Five.There is something mystical about these girls. They perform what the rest of us can only accomplish in the dreams of our deepest sleep. Four years old or 40, us girls just want to fly...and then land on our feet with a flourish.

Running Into the Sun

I have a love/hate relationship with running.

I like the way I feel after I've done it but I don't really enjoy doing it.
I like the shoes but not the shorts.
I like that at a lot of races they hand out beer afterwards.

I fully understand the benefits of regular running, and I see how great my runner friends look, but I still struggle with motivating myself to do it.


When I got up this morning after sleeping in late, I opened up Facebook. The top-most post was a picture of four women who'd just completed a 5K run. Good grief, I thought, I've only made it downstairs and they've already competed in athletic pursuits. One of the women in the photo is a good friend of mine, let's call her Fancy.

Fancy has been through a lot health-wise, more than most women her age. And she's done it all while raising her young kids and maintaining a seriously busy career. She's the type of person who looks at the life cards she's dealt, plays them as best she can despite sometimes ominous odds, and impressively keeps winning the game.

Her most recent medical episode involved a pretty serious surgery, which went well. But during her recovery she developed pneumonia. And then a pulmonary embolism, which can be fatal if not caught and treated immediately. Because of this, Fancy suffered a pulmonary infarction: tissue death of a portion of her right lung. Through quick action and modern medicine, Fancy survived, and a mere two weeks later was able to throw her husband a big 40th birthday party. This lady doesn't slow down for nuthin'.

So when I saw her pictured at the finish line of a foot race, I was more than happy, more than impressed. I was motivated. If Fancy can do it six months after cheating death, with only 1-1/2 lungs...I can surely do it with two. Let's run!

From Jackson Browne's Running on Empty:

Everyone I know, everywhere I go
People need some reason to believe
I don't know about anyone but me
If it takes all night, that'll be all right
If I can get you to smile before I leave

The New Ladies of Leisure

I was watching an episode of a new MTV show called Awkward recently. In a scene involving a mother-daughter party, an angst-ridden teenage girl described a group of mothers who fit into the mean-girl-turned-trophy wife category. "These women don't work, they work out," the teenager said. As this line was uttered, the women were admiring the toned and tanned biceps of their hostess. It made me think about how the physical traits of status have evolved over the centuries.

On a visit to the Cairo Museum when I was 12, I saw statues of Prince Rahotep and Princess Nofret, each sitting on a throne. Our tour guide explained that the prince was tanned because as a man he was outside, working (or overseeing the slaves); the princess statue was very pale, because a woman of such status did not labor in the sun. I remember thinking at the time how everybody where I lived was tan...on purpose! In fact, the tanner you were, the cooler you were. What a difference a few millennia can make.

Now, as evidenced by the characters on the MTV show and others, women with defined musculature are the modern picture of status. But it's not because they are perceived to be in better health, or admired for their athletic prowess. Rather, it is because a sculpted physique infers an excess of leisure time. Bodies like these require significant time to achieve...and usually money to pay for gym membeships, personal trainers, and trendy private classes.

Take a look at most of those "Real Housewives" shows; those women are competitive in seeing who can lay claim to the most spin classes in one week (in between comparing shoe closets, fancy cars, and private jets). The Bar Method classes I attend have a reputation for attracting this distinct demographic of women. They work out 5 days per week, morning and afternoon, in a different matching designer outfit each class. There's no denying how fit they are, and that in itself is undeniably admirable. Physiques like theirs require committed effort. If I didn't have a job I'm sure I'd work out a lot more. And there's my point.

When a celebrity like Victoria Beckham or Kate Hudson is photographed six weeks after giving birth and already has her figure back to swimsuit model perfection, most of us have the same reactions. First we ask, "How did she lose the weight already?" Then we concede, "Well if I had a couple million in the bank, three nannies, and no job responsibilities, I could spend six hours a day with my personal trainer, too. And then I'd look like that."



Ergo, a thin, muscular body equals leisure time and wealth. Check out actress Julie Bowen's biceps from Sunday night's Emmy Awards. This is the what women in their 30s and beyond are striving for (visible sternum notwithstanding), which is quite different from even my mother's generation.

But as with any good symbol of status, there can be a backlash that follows. A professional woman and mom of three once made an underhanded comment to me that I have the luxury to work out because I don't have children. In reality, I am forced to work out because if I don't I will be in constant pain from a twisted, crooked spine. How odd that I have to defend my habit of exercise. I didn't know if I should be offended by her comment, or impressed that she thought I was so well-off to be able to lead such a luxurious lifestyle of leisure.

While I can't deny the high that comes with a particularly effective workout, I still occasionally long to live just one week in the baroque period, when the height of beauty was having a plump rump. It was an era where leisure time was spent lounging around eating grapes, and not by logging hours on a treadmill.

The Significance of You

Fellow generational blogger JenX67 recently wrote a really smart piece about how her many pairs of Nikes have carried her through the various stages of her life. It immediately reminded me of an old Nike ad I’d torn out of a magazine 20 years ago. It was eight pages long—unheard of in the typical rules of brevity in advertising—and began with the phrase, “You were born a daughter.”






It replayed some of the desires and dreams girls all have when we're little.

























It evolved through many of the typical insecurities girls go through growing up.



No matter what you went through, the ad touched on it. You were included.



When I first saw it, I was 19 years old; I had no boyfriend, no job, had dropped out of college and had just moved back in with my parents. I didn’t know what the heck to do with my life. My ideas changed daily but were backed by no real motivation. I was living in a new town and didn’t know anyone.



And then finally...




"You became significant to yourself."






Yesterday I did a quick Google search for phrases from the ad. I was amazed to find other blogs mentioning it, other women talking about how they, too, had ripped out and saved that ad. One talked about taping it to her wall where it stayed for years…and then dozens of her readers commented that they had also ripped, taped, and saved.

This was a brilliant campaign, not just because we all remembered the slogan of JUST DO IT, but because we internalized the core message. It successfully appealed to the deep motivational pit in the souls of women across America, from teenager to middle age. Apparently even Oprah herself read it on an episode of her show.

It was written by then-32-year-old copywriter Janet Champ, whose message was that women who take responsibility for everyone else needed to take care of themselves. Later Nike ads written by Champ (how perfect of a name is that?) further championed the power within women while simultaneously challenging outdated beliefs on the capabilities of women. Not only did she inspire the athlete within us, she inspired legions of burgeoning writers, myself included. Don Draper could learn a thing or two from this chick!

Over the years when I'd rediscover the pages in my notebook, I would mentally check off the items in the copy that I’d reached in my life thus far. If I found that I’d reached another one, I think it reassured me that maybe my life wasn’t so off track after all, that I was just running through the normal milestones at my own pace. Many times the ad's message was in the back of my mind when I made a major life decision; when I ended that relationship that felt too confining, when I enrolled in graduate school at 37, when I started putting my writing out there for the world to see.

I think that becoming significant to yourself has different meanings at different ages. Early on it means finding your voice, standing up for yourself. Later it means letting go of outside influences and negative peers, following your dreams. Later still it can mean regaining an independence you might have set aside for years when you chose to devote your energies to family.

In any instance, it's a profound realization to make the commitment to be significant to yourself...for the first time, or once again.

"Because you know it's never too late to have a life. And never to late to change one."

Regrets, I've had a few...

When someone asks of regrets, my first answer is usually something like “getting that first perm in back ’83,” because it kick-started a long habit of questionable hair choices. But delving deeper I’ll admit the regrets that still trigger a pensive sigh.

I regret not playing sports in high school. Aside from 1 year of rec department softball in third grade, I didn’t play team sports at all, but it’s the high school years that spark the feelings of regret. Growing up, gymnastics was always my thing. I wasn’t great at it, but I enjoyed it immensely. So when I got to junior high, cheerleading was my dream team. While I liked the dance and tumbling elements of it, and the cool uniforms, I also equated cheerleading with popularity. Like so many girls before and after me, I assumed making cheerleading would automatically elevate my social standing and make life grand. For a shy girl like me, that prospect was huge.

Just prior to tryouts, the volleyball coach approached me in the halls and tried to recruit me. Nope, I told him, I’m going to be a cheerleader. Lesson #1 not learned: When you are recruited for anything, at least hear out the idea. It means somebody sees something in you that you might not yet see in yourself.


I made the cheerleading squad, but it didn’t take long for reality to come hard at me. Being on the squad means nothing if you’re not already in the ruling clique. Being on the squad did nothing for me socially. If anything, it just confirmed that the popular girls were making fun of me. I had a few friends on that squad, it wasn’t like I was complete leper, but we weren’t besties, either. And it was only a few choice girls who were the main offenders, the ringleaders of mean. But it only took a few to be a majority against ME.

One of my closest friends now is another girl who was on the 9th grade squad with me. She was made to feel like such an outcast that she quit after one semester. Nobody quits cheerleading! But she couldn’t--or wouldn’t--take the humiliation, and I don’t fault her one bit for escaping that ridicule. At the time I was torn in my feelings. I wanted to stand in solidarity with her, but no way would I give up my coveted spot on the squad. So I chose to stay and be an outsider on a squad of 24. I can still picture her walking away from the final football game in tears after she told me she was quitting. Nobody else on the squad ever tried to convince her to stay.
But I trudged on. I made the high school JV squad the following year. Although I enjoyed the activity, I wasn’t gaining anything from being on the squad. We were all about boosting the morale of our school's football and basketball teams, and exciting the crowds, but among ourselves we were a mess.

Despite my best efforts I never made the varsity squad, which was humiliating. Tryouts were held publicly, with the winners being lauded and applauded, and the losers left crying in huddles on the sidelines. That didn’t happen with the volleyball, soccer, or softball teams. I didn’t realize this at the time, but my experience on the cheerleading squad did more damage than good. Don’t get me wrong, I truly loved the activity. I was committed to the group, I never skipped out on practice or games, and I put my best efforts into all we did. But who benefited from that?

It was a good 10 years or more before the girl who quit and I sat down and talked about the situation and bonded over our shared experience. She has turned out to be a far better friend than I ever could have known, and certainly a longer-lasting friend than any of my squadmates. I wish I’d been stronger back then, more assertive in sticking up for her against the others, more vocal in trying to convince her to stay. That’s one thing I never learned in cheerleading…how to stick up for your own teammate. All the things team sports are supposed to teach really aren’t in the cheerleading handbook. Our purpose was to boost up all the other teams, to smile, and to do everything in unison. This was preparing us for life how?

I know that any group is going to have some members who get along better than others, especially when you’re talking about teenaged girls. But team sports address those problems, and they reinforce the necessity of working together toward a common goal and of making everyone accountable for every victory as well as every defeat. Team sports foster talent, emphasize effort, encourage excellence, and discourage personal grandstanding. And you know, we weren’t a cheerleading team, we were a cheerleading squad. I guess if you don’t all yourself a team, you don’t have to worry about teamwork.

I look back through the yearbook pictures, and in the sports pages I see photos of jubilant players congratulating each other after a win, helping a team member up when they’ve fallen, arms around each other holding a trophy, bonded in victory. In the photos of the cheerleaders we’re smiling and coordinated, but we don’t look cohesive, despite our perfectly structured poses. They could have taken our pictures solo and then Photoshopped each of us into the shot as a collage and it would have looked the same. We look as if we’re each there only for ourselves.

I now envy my friends who played sports. Even back then I could see they had a sense of focus that I was lacking. They did better in school. They had strong ties to a group that they securely belonged to. They seemed to have more self-confidence.

I like to believe that I’ve since learned many of the lessons I missed not being in sports, but wish I’d learned them sooner, and with the benefit of teammates. I was born the same year Congress passed Title IX, the act that declared, among other things, equal athletic opportunities for girls and boys in federally-funded schools. I’m sorry I never took advantage of this opportunity.

But I am thankful to still have my fellow cheerleading outcast friend 23 years later. Obviously the other cheerleaders had no idea they were dismissing such a valuable person. I know we both survived and thrived in the end, but I guarantee you if I ever have a daughter, I’m going to encourage team sports till I’m blue in the face.