As of Oct. 17, you can find me — a 5-foot-6, stocky second-year — red faced, puffy-eyed and hunched over in frustration on any given University bench. The night before, I landed a full-twisting front layout on the floor exercise while practicing for the University Club Gymnastics Club, and my knee imploded.
My teammates, who had heard the textbook ligament “snap” from across the gym, thought that I had simply broken the spring floor — but I knew exactly what had happened. It was as if time stood still, as I recall a ripping sensation emanate from the bottom to the top of my kneecap while my feet hit the floor but my body continued to rotate. The pain was as immediate and as shocking as my blood-curdling scream. But, as I stared blankly at the gym ceiling while my coach applied ice to my furiously-swelling knee, the physical pain became an afterthought.
With the snap, I not only felt my knee implode, but also my dream to compete in college. Every gymnast dreams of competing in the Olympics, and I was no exception. I had fallen in love with the sport in the summer of 2008 while watching Shawn Johnson’s rise to stardom at the Beijing Olympics. From that summer on, I made it my duty to train to compete at another high level — collegiate gymnastics. And, for a little while, my goal seemed attainable.
After winning an individual state championship in 2012, I was on cloud nine. Charging through my 2013-14 season, I was tallying my highest totals to date, and the “Ready or Not” meet — the prequel to the upcoming Massachusetts State Championships — was no exception. Finishing with my highest-ever all-around score of 37.175, I mounted the first-place podium to receive my medal in ecstasy — but also in confusion.
An hour earlier, in the warm-up for my floor routine, I had under-rotated a front flip — subsequently forcing my knee into my forehead upon landing. For the remainder of the meet, the adrenaline masked the nausea and stars gleaming in my peripherals. But, as I searched for my family’s faces in the crowd to no avail, I knew my season was over. I was concussed and would not return to gymnastics for the rest of my high school career.
Fast forward to Oct. 20, 2017 — the University Sports Medicine Clinic. The MRI results were in — I had completely torn my ACL. My medial and lateral menisci were in pieces, and I had partially torn my MCL. My first, long-awaited college gymnastics season was irrefutably over.
I waited nearly four years for this moment, I thought. It is not fair. I am the unluckiest athlete in the history of sports. For the next few weeks, as I pitifully hobbled by the Lawn, glared in envy as runners whisked effortlessly past me on McCormick Road and sobbed in utter emotional and physical exhaustion — I allowed myself to be completely miserable.
I allowed myself to believe that with the snap of my knee, I had lost everything that I knew and loved — everything that had driven me to transfer to the University in the first place. And as I reflect on my past two weeks of devastation, I can affirm that this feeling is not entirely wrong. Though I indeed transferred to the University to rediscover the indescribable confidence that the sport provided — and to escape the misery of my former school — gymnastics could not and should not save me.
I had transferred to be happy. And while gymnastics does make me happy, it cannot be my only source of happiness. Happiness should not be determined by one person, place or thing. I had come to the University to be independent — to define my life and to be a complete and distinct individual. Yes — my primary identity is that of gymnast and athlete. But, I am also a student, writer, artist, daughter, sister and friend. I may be temporarily physically disabled, but surrendering my mental fortitude to my corporeal injury is unacceptable.
In times of hardship, we always search for the silver lining. It has been barely two weeks since my injury, and the tears are still flowing just as my knee is still swelling. As my team travels to Virginia Tech last weekend for the competition of the season, feelings of devastation have certainly resurfaced — and they may never fully dissolve. However, while my time as a competitive gymnast may have been cut short, my time as a student, person and friend is fully intact in arguably the most formative years of my life.
While you will surely find me moping on a bench from time to time, staring resentfully at my bulky knee brace, rest assured my happiness is not determined by one thing and one thing only. For no matter how broken my joints, ligaments or bones are, my moral and comprehensive identity will remain unbroken.
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