January 11, 2000 — They were no doubt wondering what I was doing there.
Tall. Slender. A hint of facial hair. I didn’t look like any of the other students at The Gainesville School of Gymnastics.
There were about 10 of them, elementary-school-age boys, and they were sizing me up. Was I a father? A new coach?
Susan Bragg, the school’s owner, ended the speculation.
“This is Dan,” she said. “He’s going to try to learn gymnastics today.”
“But he’s older than us,” one of the boys protested.
I soon proved to the group that age isn’t always an advantage, especially when it comes to matters of flexibility. After my classmates watched me struggle with my first crabwalk since the mid-1980s, all of their fears were calmed. From then on, I was officially one of the guys.
Bragg led us through a series of stretching exercises and tumbling drills, the kind of stuff I hadn’t done since grammar school.
Slowly, my joints and muscles began to remember these movements from my past. And each attempted somersault, cartwheel and handstand was like a shot from the Fountain of Youth.
Why did I ever stop doing these things?, I wondered.
Then I tried to do a “bridge,” and I had my answer. I felt like my back was going break.
With feet and hands planted on the floor, stomach facing the ceiling, I tried to arch my body upward, the way my classmates were doing with ease. I tried. And I tried.
I didn’t remember sweating this much in the gymnastics classes of my youth. It was beginning to soak though my shirt — and these were just the warm-ups.
“Class, why does Mr. Dan have trouble with the bridge?” Bragg asked the rest of the group. “It’s because he’s not … ”
” … FLEXIBLE!,” the class shot back in unison.
Thankfully, the kids didn’t seem to care much about my lack of limberness. These were typical boys. They had other things on their minds.
“Do you have a car?” one boy asked me as I rested in between unsuccessful bridge attempts.
“Yes. Yes I do,” I answered.
“Wow,” the boy said, before turning to the others and announcing, “Hey, he has a car.”
From then on, I could do no wrong.
There’s something special about cars and the crabwalk that brings generations together.
Sadly, it was time for me to leave my newfound friends. Bragg had other things in store for me. She was determined to have me perform a “trick” before my lesson was over.
First up was “the pit,” a six-foot deep trench filled with foam padding, designed to make falling from the high bar a little easier … and a little fun.
Bragg recruited her 6-year-old daughter Skyler to demonstrate the high bar basics.
She swung her tiny body back and forth, releasing her little hands from the bar with every back swing, regripping the bar each time she swung forward.
Her movements were fluid and rhythmic. She made it seem as if bodies were meant to swing from wooden bars. When she was finished, Skyler drifted through the air into the pit of foam.
My falls were shorter, but more frequent. My movements, uneven and rickety. My hands burned badly. The sweat that soaked through my shirt was now obvious. The effects of the Fountain of Youth were beginning to wear off.
“It works you out from head to toe,” smiled Susan. “There’s no doubt about that.”
I rested as Skyler showed me the “chin-up pullover,” a basic high bar move, and my assignment for the day.
She pulled her chin to the bar and then swung her body, legs first, over the front of the bar, finally finishing with her arms locked out, supporting the weight of her body above the bar.
Hmm, I thought. I little different than the crabwalk.
After some exercises on the trampoline, it was time to get down to brass tacks. It was time for me to attempt a chin-up pullover.
As we headed to the uneven bars, I noticed the gym had filled up. School was out, and dozens of boys and girls who chose cartwheels over afternoon cartoons were now tumbling about me. Several parents mingled by the door.
Opened 15 years ago, Bragg’s school now has more than 500 students, 50 of which perform competitively on a regular basis — and their many trophies adorn the walls of the gym. This spring, the school is moving from its current location on Oak Street to a new gym Bragg is building on Clark’s Bridge Road near the Winn Dixie. I wondered how they planned on transporting all of the trophies.
And I’m sure many of these new kids and parents wondered what this sweaty tall guy was doing on the uneven bars.
I was getting stuck at first. I’d swing my long legs up over the bar and just kind of hang there — doubled over — the bar nestled in my belly, my body dangling like laundry on a line.
But then I nailed one … kind of. And then another.
“Good Dan,” Susan said. “Now I’ll show you what you do when you get a trick all by yourself on your first time at the gym. Skyler, will you take Dan over and show him what we do?”
Skyler led me over to a brass bell on a far wall. I looked down at Skyler and sighed.
“Pull the string and ring it,” she said with a giggle.
So I did, and the entire gym — kids, parents, coaches — stood at attention, waiting for me to do the chin-up pullover again. So I did. A perfect … seven.
The crowd cheered, and I felt like a kid again.
I packed up my things and headed to my car. I wanted to go home and lie down — and catch some afternoon cartoons on TV.