Let me tell you the story of my teammate’s lip piercing. It was the summer of her sophomore year in high school and, like many of the stories you’ll hear here, we were in the gym, conditioning. Two teammates of mine, Hannah and Lacey, were partnered up on one of the stops in our circuits: weighted arch-ups on the vault.
For those of you that don’t know, that means you dangle off the vault with dumbbells in your hands and arch up to vertical as your partner sits on your legs to keep you from slipping. It turns out that last part is very important, for without your partner holding you down, you could slide off the vault… right onto your face. This is something Hannah had to find out the hard way. Literally.
When she hopped onto the vault that day, she had no idea she would be getting a new accessory. You see, before that fateful conditioning exercise, Hannah had no lip piercing.
Afterwards, the same could not be said.
At first, everything was normal.
Hi, all! Welcome to the third and final chapter of the Blood Wall Trilogy. If you haven’t read the first two chapters, please click here to get caught up before reading chapter three: End of an Era.
As you may have read in the second installment, I pride myself on being one of several who helped spread the custom to the gym I transferred to around level 7. However, I am ashamed to admit that I was also witness to the end of the tradition that was the blood wall.
The beginning of the end was a face-plant on beam. Little did I know that a botched handspring layout to my face would eventually aid in the demise of the time-tested blood wall.
A gymnast walks into a bar. She gets a two point deduction, a concussion, and ruins her chances of medaling.
They say whoever smelt it, dealt it. I suppose that’s not quite true here…
I was in gymnastics when I was about 8 or 9 years old, and we were getting help with handstands, where the teacher would hold your back while you kicked up. When it was my turn, I had to fart SO BAD. I tried to hold it in, but that made it worse. It slipped out just as I went up, and went right in the teacher’s face. She screamed, horrified, “SHE FARTED IN MY FACE,” and dropped me. EVERYONE in the gymnasium heard. I never went back.
– hijklmarley, buzzfeed.com
… have never been spoken.
Destiny was fearless. A complete wild child through and through. Of course, this is an admirable — and somewhat necessary— trait in gymnastics, a sport that defies every instinct your brain sends you.
“Go run full speed at an inanimate object, and do a flip before you hit the ground,” says your coach.
“Hell, no!” says your body.
But not with Destiny. No, it seemed as though she was absolutely undaunted by the thought of, oh, I don’t know, flying off the apparatus and snapping her neck in half. However, being the reckless, easily-excitable crazed gymnast that she was, perhaps a little caution would have been wiser.