First Class, Or Coach?

Freelance writing is how I make my living and I enjoy it; but nothing is as rewarding on a personal level as coaching. Even creative writing cannot compare with the exhilaration of watching a kid progress into a confident athlete.

This weekend was not altogether unlike many others I've spent working in gymnastics. I traveled across the state to attend a gymnastics clinic. Compulsory camps are something I try to do every summer, along with other coaches from our gym, but this is the first year we brought our team with us.  Since the camp/clinic was hosted by one of the most respected gyms in Florida, the kids were nervous. After all, this is an Olympic year and the kids knew that some of the coaches they'd be working with during the clinic currently have more than a few athletes at Junior National Team level. Very impressive. Very exciting. Very intimidating. 

We did our best to keep our team kids calm and confident. During the first few hours of the clinic they worked harder than they'd ever expected to. I was amazed at just how much effort the clinic coaches could get out of these gymnasts. Not that the kids don't work hard at our gym, they most certainly do, but this was different. The kids put in an eight and a half hour work day the first day of this compulsory camp and a straight eight hours the second day. Our own workouts never go over four hours, so this was a bit of shell-shock to our athletes. The amazing part was that even though they were utterly exhausted, they never complained. Every now and then I would see a yawn, but other than a few passing comments of "I'm tired," none of the kids griped.

That was astonishing. Especially since the athletes were doing three hour rotations on each event. Now, for those of you who are not gymnastically savvy, I can't emphasize enough just how grueling three hours working out on uneven bars is, even if your in optimum physical condition. It's difficult to understand how gymnasts can take the punishment their hands alone endure from bar routines - and after three hours the skin starts to rip and peel. Still, their determination went undiminished, even if they were somewhat less enthusiastic.  

The facility, or "club" that hosted this event is as mentioned already, among the best in Florida and arguably has one of the most sought after programs in the southern states. I'm always in awe of the sheer amount and quality of equipment the place houses. The gym where I coach has everything we need, but nothing extra and our stuff is for the most part older and well worn. It's like coach nirvana to imagine access to so much new or like-new training material. During a break I got to talking to some of the instructors teaching the clinic and expressed my envy of their coaching environment.

Boy, was I surprised to hear just how frustrated some of them sounded in their first-class facility. They complained because they get severely limited time on equipment to work with athletes not considered "elite." One coach told of his ire at having to train a class of sixteen lower level gymnasts using only one piece of equipment, because the head coach insists that the elite, Junior National level gymnasts have exclusive access to everything else.  I was floored to hear that but for the money, most of these high level coaches actually envied my coaching environment. They all spoke openly about their dissatisfaction, and explained that their talents were relegated to little more than churning out success. It kind of made me wonder at what cost do they churn, but I didn't dare ask.

The answer came soon enough. Not because anyone spoke up, but because I noticed something. The rapport their own athletes have with them is not at all what we see from our athletes. There's a coldness, a professionalism. Not from the coaches, but from the kids. They can do a perfect Back Handspring, but they don't come bouncing up to their coach for a pat on the back or a hug after a great routine. It dawned on me as I was literally being smothered by two of my own kids coming up for a reassuring hug after falling off beam.

Their kids did lovely routines. No falls. No hugs.

This weekend I learned the true value of coaching as I was wiping a tear, fixing a French braid and explaining the importance of pointed toes. First class may come with all the prestige and the luxury, but I'd rather go coach.