No matter the layout, the tuck, or the pike, I could always land perfectly. My landings never faltered. Because of this “talent,” my gymnastics teacher made me her prize pig and always told me, “You’re going places”. On June 23rd at 4 pm in the afternoon in the Huntington Gymnasium, I broke my stellar record and my ankle in 3 places when I landed from a Double Full Layout. After Mrs. Baker rushed over to see what had happened, the shock and disappointment on my trainer’s face was all I needed to know. 

At the time I was preparing to qualify for the Olympic Gymnastics Team, and at that moment, I saw every chance of that being diminished. I felt it vanish. Without knowing for a fact, I knew I was done for, and I knew it would never be the same.

I trained 8 hours a day since age five and was homeschooled by my stay-at-home mom while my father worked night and day to support us. The thoughts of my parents losing all that time and money because of this break hurt more than the break itself; knowing that I took away everything they worked for so I could succeed. 

Days later I ended up back home. My hometown of hay bales and late-night silence, I started to miss my training in Chicago. 

Now, it was July 5th, three weeks post-break, and I spent my time staring outside my bedroom. I had never known how it felt to rest in bed and do nothing. It felt so empty; purposeless. The doctor told me I would be off my foot for at least four months and that I’d have to partake in rehabilitation training for another four to five months afterward. Hearing that news destroyed my parents. As I watched their facial expressions drop while the doctor discussed what would happen, the hurt was unbearable. All their time and effort spent on me and for me had been wasted. 

Day after day, night after night I spent my time in bed; barely allowed to move so I didn’t injure my ankle further, and having no friends to speak to. My brother had moved out of the house and my mom went back to work to help pay the expenses that my now broken career used to pay for. Essentially, I was alone; I took solace in my music and tune out my sorrow with the classical workings of Ludovico Einaudi and Olafur Arnalds. 

Classical music has always been a place of escape for me through the sounds and melodies that told a story. The collaboration of beautiful instruments that created a peaceful escape and a daunting thriller. Besides gymnastics, classical music always gave me peace. 

In those hours I spent alone, I closed my eyes and listened to the melody, slowing my heart rate and following the music; I listened to the transforming melodies for hours and hours without knowing how much time had passed. 

One day, I decided to go to the living room and use the piano that I was told I could never play. My brother took lessons but they always told me to focus on gymnastics. After I pressed the first key a part that I felt would never awaken again came back to life. I started looking up videos on how to play and read music, doing everything I possibly could to learn how to master this instrument. 

Learning how to play piano gave me a new purpose, a way to externalize how I felt and brought me out of a place that I never want to be in again. When I played, my tragic injury didn’t matter; I felt like me again and I found purpose in my tomorrows.