I was 10-years old, waiting in a long line of girls in sparkly leotards with slicked back ponytails, heavy makeup, and embroidered gym bags: Gymnastics Camp at the University of Michigan.
They seemed Olympic bound. I was not.
My mom was unaware of a required questionnaire. “What are your goals for your child?” My mom was stunned. She wrote, “to have fun?” The coaches asked me to show what I could do. After performing what I thought was my very best cartwheel, I scored 3/10. Day two, I arrived and threw up in the parking lot.
