I spent the last two days almost exclusively with Hectic-12. She qualified for the YMCA Gymnastics National meet, and we were there! We were super-fortunate that the meet was in Wichita, so our travel consisted of driving an hour to the venue each day and then driving home. No plane flight before the event…nor the entire lost day to travel since it’s hard to get to anywhere from Wichita. No multi-hour drive through unpredictable early Summer weather. No hotel with it’s uncomfortable beds, erratic air conditioner, and loud TVs. We were able to sleep in our own beds, eat home cooking, and still enjoy all the benefits of a National Championship.

I seldom get time to spend one-on-one with my kids, so this was a special event for both of us. H12 is our youngest, and she’s a Momma’s girl. I love her to death, but she and her Mom have a very special relationship. While Hectic 12 and I get along great, she and her Mom have something extraordinary. Sometimes I’m jealous of the relationship they have.

Quite honestly, prior to Nationals, I assumed Hectic Mom would take the two days off of work. It just seemed natural that she would be the one taking H12. I was quite surprised on Sunday when I learned that I would be the one doing the driving, parenting, and cheering. At first I was a bit miffed at not knowing in advance, but as the event drew near I began to get excited. I was looking forward to spending a couple days with Hectic 12. We always have fun together, so I anticipated this would be great.

This was the first year that Hectic 12 participated in gymnastics competitions. She’s been in the gymnastics program at our local YMCA on a part-time basis for a few years now. But she also has played soccer, volleyball, basketball, run track, and swum. She was most dedicated to swimming, and we spent many weekends driving to meets, where she excelled. Her invitation to the traveling team this past Fall came as a bit of a surprise to us, but she embraced the new opportunity. We were quite excited when she qualified for Nationals in her first year of competition.

The day of the opening ceremonies went as planned. The one hour drive to Wichita was fairly uneventful, although we did spend the better portion exchanging bad jokes and even worse puns. She’s so bright for her age, and her grasp of the nuances and finer points of our language always amazes me. We laughed a lot on the way down.

The opening ceremonies were pretty average, but we enjoyed ourselves. Typically poor planning by the organizers, long-winded speeches by the politicians and YMCA muckety-mucks capped by some of the worst music by any band on the planet marked the ceremonies. As the band started their particular brand of awful sound, Hectic-12 was ready to go. And GO NOW! She kept yelling it to me over the music. With ears burning, I was happy to oblige.

Since we were leaving almost two hours earlier than planned, I offered her dinner with the stipulation that it had to be somewhere that didn’t have an analogous restaurant in Hutchinson. She picked Dog ‘n’ Shake, a tiny dive on the West side of town. It’s one of her favorites, and mine as well. After consuming corndogs, cheeseburgers, french fries, onion rings, and soft drinks we drove home to sleep in our own beds.

The next day, her competition session didn’t begin until 3:00. We were able to sleep in, do some light chores, and head over to the championships. We got there with plenty of time, and things were going smoothly. The exhibition hall was divided into four “floors”. This simply meant that there were four competitions going on simultaneously. In gymnastics they compete on four apparatus, so it was really like a 16-ring circus. The floor exercises have music. At the highest levels of competition, the girls get to choose their own music and choreograph a unique routine. The other three levels have a single designated song for all competitors, and the routines are identical. It makes judging easier, I suppose. The significant downside is that the music is awful.  More significantly, it gets in your head as an earwig and you can’t get it out. It just roils about…repeating, repeating, repeating. And the Level 2 music is bad. Really, really bad. Awfully, horribly, misguidedly bad.

Somehow, in all this commotion, the young competitors are supposed to focus on their event. Let’s face it, these kids range in age from 6-13 and focus isn’t their forte. The group that was competing was exclusively girls, so they have a tiny bit more focus than boys of the same age…but we’re talking a tiny bit. Honestly, if someone had let loose a flight of butterflies there might have been serious injuries as the girls got distracted!

At a gymnastics competition, the order of the events is fixed, but the apparatus you start on is done by a draw. Hectic 12 excels at all the apparatus, but she has to have a weaker one…and the balance beam is it. She’s good, but not great. She’s been working very hard to improve her beam skills, and they are rapidly improving. Nevertheless, there is always the potential that she’ll fall off the beam and lose precious points. Falls from the beam aren’t usually catastrophic at her level, just a minor inconvenience in a fairly simple routine. The girls have learned to remount the beam and continue with their routine without a lot of hoopla. The just hop back up and continue where they fell off.

When the apparatus draw was completed, our team was going to compete on the balance beam first. I silently sighed, realizing that she would have to claw her way up into the standings, since we all knew that she would have her lowest scores on the beam. History may not be an indicator of future performance in financial products, but it sure the heck is in gymnastics. You’re pretty much guaranteed to struggle in your toughest event. It’s just the way it is. As a competitor the kids learn to deal with it, and as a parent you learn to handle their frustration as well as your own.

You cannot imagine my surprise and elation when she had the best balance beam performance of her short gymnastics career. She was amazing. Totally nailed the routine, and her face when she stuck the dismount probably gained her 2/10’s of a point. She knew she’d done a good job and the hugging and high-fives from her coaches reinforced her jubilation. Not only had she averted disaster, she’d risen to the challenge of the 16-ring circus and exceeded everyone’s expectations. Her score of 9.250 was well above her average, this despite the coach’s warnings that YMCA Nationals would be scored much more harshly than local and regional meets.

The team moved onto the floor exercise, which is an average event for her. She’s tall and lanky, so her tumbling is still developing, but her jumping and body control are excellent. Her scores are usually a bit better than average, but the floor exercise is probably her 3rd-best event. With her long legs, she often has points deducted for a bent knee here and there, and today was no exception. We were a bit disappointed when she scored an 8.800. When compared to the scores for her teammates it seemed that she’d been judged more strictly than her shorter, stockier compatriots. While the score was good, it wasn’t what we’d hoped for. Fortunately, the scoring display had a malfunction about that time, and Hectic 12 didn’t see her score. She’s really not all that concerned with the scores during the competitions at this age. This is partly due to the odd nature of their display and partly because she’s too new to the sport to really have a grasp of how her scores compare. It’s just not one of the things she keeps in her busy brain. After the competition portion is over, just prior to awards we usually have a talk and I remind her of what her averages are and how this competition compared. Then she has an aha! moment, but not before. In many ways this is advantageous because it allows her to concentrate on the apparatus at hand without worrying about how she’s done on the others.

After the floor exercise, the team moved to the vault. This is one of her best events, her height is a distinct advantage and coupled with her strong legs, she tends to get a lot of air. Her extreme body control comes into play too, and she usually has some very pretty vaults. Although pretty is something that has taken some time for me to be able to say. If you’ve ever seen international gymnastics, you’re used to the athletes running to the horse, bounding off a springboard, touching the horse with their hands, twisting and turning in the air, and then landing in a standing position on the mat. A solid landing with no wobbles, steps, or falls is the goal. At the lower levels of gymnastics, the athletes approach the springboard at a full run, bounce into the air, and fall flat on their backs on a stack of mats. The first time I saw it I said, “Really, it’s just jumping and falling on your back?”. I couldn’t believe that this could somehow be scored. Over the course of the season I’ve come to understand what matters, and having watched the next couple of levels in competitions I can discern how the skills are taught. It makes sense now, but it still looks weird to me that they jump and fall on their back!

The vault was on the other side of the arena, and normally I would have stayed where I was and watched from afar. For whatever reason though, I wandered over to the other side. It wasn’t really a conscious decision, but I was trying to get a bit of video and some photos on my iPhone for the rest of the Hectic Clan so they could share in H12’s competition. Somewhere in the back of my mind I guess I surmised that being closer to the apparatus was better. Since each athlete takes 2-4 practice runs, I was in no hurry and meandered over with no sense of urgency.

I arrived just as my precious daughter was about to make her first practice run. I pulled my iPhone out of my pocket and prepared to video the vault. I usually video one practice run, take photos of the next one, and then try to mix video and photos from the scored vaults. Then I pick the best photos/videos and upload them to the family group chat.

For some reason I decided just to watch her. No tech in my way, just a moment to watch an outstanding athlete perform one of her best events. Just a couple seconds to relish how amazing she is.

The coaches adjusted the mats and secured the velcro straps. They moved the trampoline springboard and centered it on the runway. Meanwhile Hectic 12 chalked her hands. She stood to the side of the runway and mentally prepared for her vault. The coaches positioned themselves to either side of the mat, ready to provide a watchful eye that would evolve into a tip or two after the vault.

Like hundreds, maybe thousands of times before, my darling girl stepped onto the runway. With scripted perfection she saluted the empty judges table just as she would in a few minutes when the vault would be scored. She flashed her most precious smile in the direction of the table, then focused her eyes down the runway. As she always does, she put on her game face and her countenance became focused and serious. Her eyes blazed as she stared down the runway. She stiffened. Then she dropped her shoulders and began her approach.With each successive stride, her long lanky legs developed more speed. She was hurtling down the runway in a textbook approach. Everything looked perfect. All was right with the world. In mere moments she would hit the trampoline, compress the webbing to within centimeters of the floor, convert her forward momentum into a practiced and perfected bound into the air, drive her legs over her head in a perfectly formed flip, and land on her back on the mats in an exquisitely aligned position.

It was simple, easy, and practiced. So simple that I almost looked away. But I didn’t.

Things happen in a split second in every walk of life. A car comes out of nowhere and hits you while you’re driving. A door swings differently that you expected and you get knocked on the head. A vase falls at just the wrong moment and shatters in front of you. Your timing is off and you bump into a stranger on the street whilst trying to pass them.

Stuff happens. The simplest, most mundane moments can turn into catastrophes in a flash. And sometimes a catastrophe is averted in another moment. A bit of time too short to measure, we don’t really have a word for it. A split second isn’t accurate. It’s much less than that.

Hectic 12 hurtled down the runway and took her takeoff step. She was a bit further back than usual, but nothing that I haven’t seen before. A bit of a stretch to the trampoline, but well within her limits. Her knees compressed and the webbing dipped. The combined actions pushed her into the air. And something was obviously wrong.

She knew it.

As she was flung towards the apogee of her vault everything seemed to go disintegrate. She twisted in the air where she should have been on a straight trajectory. She began to double over instead of flattening out. Her legs were bent rather than straight. Her head was off to one side rather then perfectly inline with her back.

In that bit of time that was too short to measure everyone watching realized that she was not going to make it to the mats! She was going to fall short of the mat, with her beautiful neck directly in line with the concrete floor. An image of my daughter, crushed on the floor with a broken neck flashed through my mind. Yet there I was, 30 feet away without the speed to reach her. Without the reactions to save her. Helplessly standing too far away to make a difference.

Time slows down in moments like this. I’ve heard of it before, and even experienced it before, yet every occurrence is like the first time I’ve had it happen.

I watched the faces of her coaches as they realized the disaster that was unfolding. The coach to her left started to move, but she was too slow. Anguish was etched into her face. She knew she wasn’t going to make it. Nothing she could do was going to be fast enough. The coach on H12’s right was a bit faster. She lunged forward, extending her arms. In a flash she’d extended just enough and made contact with H12’s back. Not a football tackle, only slightly more than a light brush against her back. But just enough of a shove that H12 was propelled into the very front edge of the mat, breaking her downward fall to the concrete ever so slightly. That bit of contact slowed her descent just enough to allow the other coach to make contact with her shoulder, bouncing Hectic 12 the other direction, further pushing her into the mats and forgiving more of her downward descent.

The audible gasps of the crowd filled the arena. There was a scream as Hectic 12 finished her crash to the floor, desperately clawing at the mats with her right arm. She was fighting to do anything that would absorb her speed.

As time returned to normal I saw my daughter crumpled on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. She slowly arose, cradling her right shoulder with her left hand. She was shaking with the most horrified look on her face that I’ve ever seen. Or ever want to see again. She was terrified. Looking into her coaches faces, I could see that they were even more impacted. They were barely holding it together. Two assistant coaches raced to the threesome and quickly took H12 into their care. The head coach made eye contact with me by way of apology. It wasn’t her fault, but I appreciated the silent communication.

One of the assistant coaches is an EMT and a skilled sports medicine trainer. She began a shoulder evaluation of Hectic 12. I feared a broken collarbone or dislocated shoulder. In later discussions with the assistant coach she said that she was assessing for the same traumas. Hectic 12 finally looked at me, and we had a moment of communication. No words. Just a smile from me and a nod of encouragement. Through the tears streaming down her face, she gave me a wry smile.

By that time, the emergency medical staff sitting 50 feet from the vault, had brought over ice. All three of them had witnessed the failed vault, and they had acted quickly. They helped with the assessment of H12’s injuries and started a regimen of icing. The rest of the team continued with their vault practice, but the coaches where obviously on edge. A disaster had been averted, but past performance was clearly no indication of future results.

Hectic 12 sat in the chairs next to the runway, slowly drying her tears and icing her shoulder. The assistant coaches were talking to her. The EMTs were asking her questions. And slowly, every so slowly she started to return to the animated, glib, goofy kid that I’ve grown to love. She said something and five heads rolled back in laughter. They laughed loudly enough that everyone’s attention was drawn to the lithe, blonde clown with ice on her shoulder and five adults who had obviously heard one of her goofy statements.

Moments later, she stood up and got in line with the other girls, ice still on her shoulder. As each athlete took a practice run, Hectic 12 moved closer to the front of the line. As a family, we’ve talked about adversity many times. We have always told the kids that after something goes awry you get out there and have another go. You don’t let a disaster, near disaster, or a mistake be the last impression in your head.

Having passed her assessment and with no apparent broken collar bone, my dear child was inching closer and closer to another practice run on the vault. As she prepared to step on the runway and salute the empty judges table, I could see the coaches stiffen. The crowd grew a bit more hushed. All eyes were on my sweetheart. My little girl. My competitor.

And she vaulted. Oh my God did she vault. It was perfect. From the moment that she stepped onto the runway, through the salute, to the first step, through each stride, into the trampoline, through the air, culminating in the splat sound as she landed flat on her back on the mat…it was picture perfect.

Seldom is there much applause at a gymnastics meet at this level, but the crowd that had waited in hushed anticipation for her practice vault erupted in applause. She popped off the mat and waved to her admirers. Clearly making the point that she was not only fine…she was better than fine. She was fantastic!

A few minutes later she took her two vaults. They were beautiful.

Even though her 9.200 wasn’t the best score she had achieved this season, it was the most rewarding. She ended up placing 5th in the event…but that was overshadowed by her composure and moxie. She had faced a near disaster, looked it in the face, and punched it right in the nose. Bad things happen, but my little girl not only got up and shook off the adversity, she used it to propel herself forwards.

After the vault and uneven bars were done, we had a few minutes to talk before the awards ceremony. As I looked into the expressive eyes of my 12 year-old daughters she said “Don’t we always talk about how when something bad happens we should use it as a way to get better?”

And that, in a nutshell reminded me that my job as a Dad is never over. She’s learning from everything I say. And I’m learning from everything she says & does.

In a split second it could’ve all been different. She might have been laying on the floor with a injured neck, crumpled and broken.

Through an absolute miracle and the perfect melding of quick action by her coaches coupled with her athleticism, she managed to not impact the floor with her head. In a split second the disaster was averted.

So today, I’m reveling in a completely different kind of split seconds. Split seconds filled with joy. And hugs. Lots and lots of hugs for Hectic 12 as well as everybody else around me. You never know when a split second will change your life. I know I had one yesterday and I’m not going to miss the lesson that it taught me. Don’t wait, don’t postpone, don’t delay…use every split second to the best of your ability. Love those around you. And tell them!