When Ashley arrived at school the day after taking first place in the National Gymnastics Championships, little work got done in her sixth-grade classroom for the rest of the day. All her classmates made it clear to the teacher that they were not going to concentrate on lessons until they had heard the entire story directly from Ashley, with all their questions answered.
When Ashley arrived at the gym that afternoon, the coaches had the same problem. But since gymnastics lessons were expensive, and some of the parents were always watching, a different solution was called for.
“It’s four o’clock,” the coach announced, stepping out of the office.
“Ashley, please warm up the class.”
It was the first time he had asked one of his students to lead the warm-up.
It was also the first time he had had a national champion in his gym. Ashley, a bit embarrassed, stepped to the front of the class of fourteen gymnasts, and had to stand there grinning for a moment before she could remember what to do.
“Let me see . . . oh, yeah. Running in place.” The gymnasts spread out and began to follow her instructions. “Add left arm circles . . . add right arm circles . . .”
The warm-up continued, and Ashley eventually remembered everything the coaches did, although the other gymnasts let her know with giggles and rolled eyes when she did them in the wrong order.
Both coaches worked with individual gymnasts as Ashley led the class. An
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unusual number of parents looked on from the visitors’ gallery, and they seemed pleased that Ashley was being honored in some way.
At the end of the warm-up, the coach stepped beside Ashley. “Okay, we’re going to use no more than one minute each day to answer a question put to our champion.”
Everyone clapped at his recognition of their champion.
“And I want you to let Sue or Gina answer questions whenever they can, since they were at the championships also. So, what is today’s question?”
About ten hands shot into the air. “Kathy,” the coach picked.
“What was the most important moment of the whole meet for you?”
“This may sound funny, but it was when I thought Cheryl Adams was winning for sure, and all of a sudden I just felt free, like a kid going out to play, because I didn’t have to worry about winning anymore. That was just before my beam routine when I got the nine point nine . . .”
That weekend, Ashley had plenty of time to look at her gymnastics books and videos. She knew that the level-seven compulsory skills were a good start, but they wouldn’t be enough for the World Championships. Above the compulsories, most of the moves were named after the first gymnast to perform them in competition. She gazed at pictures of the great gymnasts who had come before, and then turned her mind to which of those new skills she wanted to learn first.
On Monday at four o’clock, she warmed up the class, handed the day’s question to Sue, and looked at her books again to get clear in her mind what she wanted to learn.
All that day and the next, she worked on the skills that were needed for the new moves. They were similar enough to the regular level-seven work that no one noticed she was doing anything different.
But on Wednesday, she was trying a new dismount from the beam and a new release move on the bars. When everyone was going home at eight o’clock, she heard the coach call her name.
“Ashley, I need to talk to you for a moment.”
She sat down near him on the mat. “Hi, coach!”
“Ashley, you know we don’t have an elite optionals program here.”
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“Yeah, I know. That’s okay. I can teach myself, from books and videos and stuff.”
“Well, it’s not that simple. You see, whatever we do here, we have to have insurance that covers it, and our insurance is limited to beginner through level seven compulsory skills.”
Ashley looked at her coach a moment longer, then at the vaulting horse in the far corner as she began to feel the impact of what he was saying.
“But if it’s any consolation, we’ve decided you can use the gym for free from now on, as long as what you’re doing is covered by our insurance, of course.”
Ashley felt her throat begin to close and her eyes begin to water. “You mean . . . you mean I can’t get ready for the World Championships . . . here at the gym?”
“Yeah, I’m afraid that’s right. Nothing that requires elite skills.”
Ashley looked at the exercise floor for a long moment. She knew it better than her own living room floor. She looked at the uneven parallel bars, and they were more familiar than any of the climbing trees in her yard. She looked at the balance beam, where she was as comfortable as most people on a sidewalk. And she glanced at the vaulting horse. Her hands had touched its leather surface more often than the handle bars of her bicycle.
She couldn’t think of anything to say, and she didn’t have the courage to look at her coach again. She tossed her hair band into her gym bag, stood up, and left the gym, not looking back or pausing for anything until she had walked the six blocks home, burst through the front door, and thrown herself onto her bed crying.
Ashley didn’t go back to the gym. She moped for three days, then began to picture the difficulty she faced as a huge boulder in her path. And boulders, she knew, could be moved, or at least chipped at, in a variety of ways.
By the time warm weather was causing new leaves to appear on all the trees, Ashley had worked with her mother, and a pile of gymnastics magazines from the library, to write letters to every gym that advertised a residential training program.
One evening, after Ashley and her parents had eaten a pleasant dinner, she
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decided the time was right.
“Hey Dad, can I show you the stuff I’ve been getting from gyms? I’ve gotten them all now, except for one that closed and I got my own letter back.”
“Sure, Ashley. Let’s take a look.”
Ashley ran to her bedroom and dashed back with a shoe box full of envelopes and papers.
“Oh, boy, where do we start?” her father said. “Why don’t you first show me the one you like best?”
“Okay! It’s this one.” She handed him an envelope with a letter and a thick color brochure.
“Hmm. Fancy place . . . beginners through world-class elite. Pictures of their champions — nationals, even world. Now lets take a look at the bottom line. Room, board, and supervision, with elite optionals program, five thousand a month.”
“What do you think?” the eleven-year-old asked excitedly.
“Very nice. And I truly wish we could consider it, but we can’t. So now let’s take a look at the lowest-priced one, shall we?”
“I know which one that is, too.”
“Smart girl. Hmm . . . smaller, no names of champions to flash . . .
four-student dorm room, basic board, clothing and spending money not included, one thousand a month.”
He leaned back in his comfortable chair and closed his eyes for a long moment. Finally he hunched down to Ashley’s level. “Ashley, dear child, when we adopted you, we knew there would be expenses, especially as you got older. We thought about it long and hard, and decided we would do it with glad hearts. You told us clearly that we could only have you if you could have gymnastics lessons. Over the years, those lessons have gone from fifty to three hundred a month, and we have paid for them gladly, knowing how important they were to you. We want you to know that we’d do this for you if we could.” His voice became very quiet. “I’m sorry, but we can’t.”
Ashley retreated into her daily routine. School filled her weekdays, and homework, if done very slowly, helped the evenings to pass. On Saturdays, she continued to volunteer at the local nursing home. The old people loved
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having stories read to them, but Ashley always saved an hour for Jenny, the one young resident, and Ashley knew where to find her.
Jenny stopped playing her penny whistle as Ashley pushed open the door to the little porch. With difficulty, the ten-year-old turned her head and strained to look over the top of her wheel chair. “Hi, Ashley! What’d he say?”
“Too expensive,” Ashley began as she pulled a plastic chair next to Jenny.
“I guess . . . I was afraid that was going to happen. I think they’ve really had to scrape to keep paying for my lessons as long as they did. But . . . for an orphan . . . I guess I’ve been pretty lucky.”
“Hey, try dying of cancer at ten! About once a week, some new nurse’s aide tries to take away my penny whistle, my only joy.”
Although the meaning of Jenny’s statement nearly made Ashley cry, the goofy grin on her friend’s face forced her to chuckle instead. “What were you playing?”
“Second bridge in Voice Four, minor adagio to major allegro. I think I’ve nailed it. Want to hear?”
“Yeah!”
Ashley listened with deep respect and near-amazement as the dying girl played a small part of one voice of her musical symphony. Even with the simple penny whistle, the transitions in both tempo and key were smooth and satisfying. Jenny ended with a few bars of the verse after the transition, which Ashley had heard before.
“Amazing . . .” Ashley breathed.
“So were your routines at the National Championships! I watched it live, and the nursing home’s getting the video.”
Ashley grinned, but said nothing.
“So what are you going to do now?” Jenny asked.
“Um . . . don’t know. Seems like I just . . . you know . . . retired from gymnastics.”
“Have you put ads on all the gymnastics bulletin boards on the internet?”
“Um . . . no. I’ve never been very good with the net.”
Jenny rolled her eyes and sighed.
During the following week, Ashley’s mom helped her draft the ad. The
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eleven-year-old didn’t sleep much on Friday night, going over and over the ad in her mind, wondering if she had said each thing in the best possible way.
When the sun finally rose Saturday morning, she could vaguely remember one dream in which she was sweeping floors in a huge gym, and another in which she was teaching beginning gymnasts. As she hopped out of bed, her mind was set on making those dreams come true.
At the computer that any nursing home resident could use, but few ever did, Jenny typed in the ad, and she and Ashley both checked it over for mistakes.
Champion Seeks Elite Training
I’m Ashley Riddle, the current national gymnastics champion. I’m 11
years old. I lost my parents when I was 6, and the people who adopted me can’t afford the cost of a residential training program in another city. I’m ready to begin elite training for next year’s World Championships, but our gym doesn’t have an elite program. I would like to do chores, lead warm-ups, teach beginners, and things like that to pay for my room and board at a gym that has an elite program. I get good grades and don’t get in any kind of trouble. Thank you!
“How long will it take to get responses?” Ashley asked her wheelchair-bound friend.
“Someone could respond in five minutes, I suppose. In a week or two, most people will have seen it who’re going to.”
Every Saturday, Jenny showed Ashley the responses. They were all variations on I’m sorry, but we get hundreds of requests for scholarships every year, only offer five, and those are filled for both this year and next year. We wish you luck in your search for elite training.
The responses trailed off after the second week, as Jenny had predicted.
By the third week, Ashley quit asking about new responses to her ad, and the two friends went back to talking about school, boys, and Jenny’s music.
On the fourth Saturday after placing the ad, when Ashley opened the door to Jenny’s little porch, the ten-year-old said nothing but was obviously about
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to explode with happiness as she handed Ashley a piece of paper.
Dear Ashley Riddle,
I know of a place that has a small gymnastics program that might fit your needs. It’s not a typical gym, and you will have to decide for yourself if it’s the kind of place you would like. When you call, ask for information for new members.
Best wishes,
Sister Claudia