Today I brought Ananda to her first Gymnastics lesson.

As I watched her so giddy and excited to be there, I thought “This was probably how my mom felt when she was watching me.”

I absolutely LOVED gymnastics. It was my life for 11 years. That’s one third of my existence.

I decided to try out the equipment, just so I could see what effect they would have on me. Every time I enter a gym, I can’t help myself, I HAVE to get on the beam, I NEED to do cartwheels on the floor. I love to feel my bare feet on foam, bouncing on trampolines and pointing my toes.

So many of my childhood memories are centered around Gymnastics in on way or another. I have such mixed feelings about the sport. On one hand, it kicked my butt physically, mentally and emotionally.  Imagine being 10 years old and being perpetually on a diet even if you are 100% fit and made of muscle, training hard everyday and even going abroad without family for a long period of time because they, along with the country, depended on you to win the gold medal. It was major pressure on us, although at that age, I did not have any idea what to call it. I would act out, pretend parts of my body hurt so I wouldn’t have to train on certain days. I felt so trapped and, if I had balls, I would say the sport was holding me by the balls.

On the other hand, I loved it. More than anything and possibly anyone in the world, I could not imagine my life without it or what would become of me if I wasn’t doing it. It  was like a co-dependency. I was dying to get out, but I could not imagine being able to live without it.

I hope to God my daughter loves this sport forever if she decides she wants to pursue it in the future. I hope she never resents it, or me. I hope she never gets hurt physically or tormented mentally by it. I hope that I can keep it fun for her, and be able to push her to her full potential without pressure or tears.