Burning Out in the Spotlight

            “’Josie! You actually made it on time!’” exclaims my teammate, Jess, as I walk into the locker room on time for the first time in what’s probably been weeks. I don’t have to try very hard to justify missing the first part (or, sometimes all) of practice, because to be frank, I’ve dreaded every second of gymnastics for years now. Seeing myself in a leotard any time before 4:30pm on the weekdays has become a sight rarer than gold.

            “Hey, Jess. Yeah. Unfortunately.” I look down and scoff. Jess seems disappointed. We grew up competing together, and every week since we were nine years old, she’s had to watch me fall out of love with the sport that used to be my entire life. She shrugs and rummages through her backpack. We’re supposed to come to the gym straight from school, but I go home first to waste time and procrastinate the three hours of hell that awaits me.

            “’Coach Andrew said we don’t have rope climbs today. AND— ‘” She pauses to fix her ponytail and pick up her grips— ‘”Today we’re doing flexibility, not conditioning!’” She whispers giddily, like a child who just learned about the f*cking tooth fairy. I turn to her, raising my eyebrows and my arms and perform the best sarcastic jazz hands I can muster. I guess I did pick a bearable day to show up on time for, though. It could be a lot worse, and I know it.

            4:30pm catches up to us much sooner that I would’ve liked, and we walk out to the floor to greet our coach, Andrew, before stretching. He, too, looks baffled and a little bit pleased to see me on time. I pretend not to notice, and he doesn’t mention it. I look across the gym, scanning the groups of girls, all divided by age, jumping around, stretching, running, and training events. The majority of them look just like Jess: happy to be here; eager to learn and spend time doing what they clearly adore. An all-too-familiar pit forms in my stomach, one that has teeth and hands that tear apart my insides until I have to turn and blink away an ocean of salty frustration that forms on my waterline.

            With everything in me, I wish I still loved gymnastics as much as the little girls across the gym do, getting spotted on cartwheels and throwing their hands up in victory when they land on two feet. Or, even as much as Jess, who can have her moments in the gym and still come back to the passion she’s had for living and breathing gymnastics throughout every aspect of her life. Athletes get burnt out all the time; it’s a part of growing up and moving on. But I don’t want to move on. I want to stay here, in a gym, wearing a leotard and doing exactly what I’ve been doing since I was six years old. So why do I dread being here so much? This is why I don’t show up on time, I thought to myself, shaking my hands out in an effort to shake whatever feeling has a death grip on my heart.

So many children and young adults reach a point in their adolescence where justifying hours and hours of practice, large sums of money on equipment, and sacrificing sleep and their social life just doesn’t seem worth it anymore. And, sure, many athletes quit their sports for other reasons, but burnout is one of the most heart-wrenching but common reasons for walking away. Because deep down, you just know the athletes didn’t expect to devote so much of their life to something they eventually would grow away from. Physical and emotional exhaustion will quickly turn any competitor into a wreck of nerves, sore muscles, and resentment toward whatever pushed them to their oncoming breaking point.

For athletes, the most effective solution to burnout is stepping away from their sport and finding another passion. However, most of the time the reason athletes don’t quit even after reaching their breaking point is because so much of their lives revolve around the sport. Who would they be if they eliminated it from their lives altogether? Too much training and not enough recovery time quickly leads the body and mind to spiral, leaving nothing but a shadow of the passion they once felt for their sport in its wake. Burnt-out athletes see a plateau in their progress, most of the time even though they’re training with just as much enthusiasm and persistence. Self-doubt, frustration, and an urge to abandon their work is common once their progress slows. I didn’t ever want to quit gymnastics, but I knew it was in my best interest to take a break in order to avoid my foreshadowed demise. Burnout took ahold of me and swallowed me whole; it left me with almost nothing to live for as I came to terms with my life after my gymnastics career.

After a long debate and a lot of nights spent trying and failing to justify stepping away, quitting gymnastics left me as a shell of the girl I grew up being. Hundreds of hours spent at practice, traveling to competitions, and working my way through the compulsory-level system felt like a complete waste of time. In previous years, all of it had taken away the most basic parts of my childhood; I grew up being absent from birthday parties for my friends, sleepovers on weekends, and other extracurriculars in my social life, all because I had practice, a gymnastics meet, or conditioning bright and early the next day. The saddest aspect of experiencing burnout was that I had seen countless other gymnasts pull away because their bodies and mental health couldn’t withstand the pressure anymore, and I continued to swear up and down that I’d never amount to that. And suddenly I had blinked, and I was right there with them, watching what I loved from the sidelines instead of continuing to devote every ounce of myself to it.

            Although I miss it more than anything, I’ve learned how to appreciate gymnastics from a distance. Knowing I did my best and gave everything I had to the sport for almost fourteen years was enough, no matter what anyone else thought about my decision to retire. After a while, quitting wasn’t a pit in my stomach; it was something I could appreciate because it helped me find other aspects of my life to appreciate more. It still aches sometimes, like a wound that is healing but hasn’t scarred quite yet. But I’ve accepted that. I’ve learned how to miss the little girl I was in a leotard and still appreciate the woman I’m becoming because of her. I found other passions and had the opportunity to build friendships, connections, and a social life that didn’t revolve around what event my team was rotating to every day at 4:30pm. It wasn’t always supposed to be the most defining part of me and growing up and moving on taught me that, regardless of why I walked away from it.