Push

"What are they feeding you girl? You're wasting away."

Her older brother Nate had picked her up as easily as he used to when he was still in high school but Twyla highly doubted she was wasting away. As she stared at her bare stomach in the locker room mirror she silently wondered if she looked the same as she had her sophomore year. Back when dancing and gymnastics and chores kept her appetite light and her figure similar. Now all she got was her jogging, whatever Jujitsu she could fit in with Shin, and the random trips to the local YMCA with Henrietta after class and on the weekends when they had spare moments. "How far the mighty have fallen." Twyla muttered to her frowning reflection as she held her shirt up with her left hand and inspected the lose skin of her belly with her right. She had been mighty--decently mighty at least. What happened to the medalist that was unafraid of anything so long as her hands re-grasped the bar? To the girl who, even though she was a freshman, competed with her dance team at competition? She was gone--replaced by a sniveling, chubby, nobody with frizzy hair and rapidly deteriorating muscles.

Well, the frizzy hair was probably due to the fact that Twyla had yet to shower that morning, and her muscle mass wasn't as rapidly deteriorating as she thought it was, but still. Where did the shy but strong girl go? When did she get replaced? Twyla had narrowed it down to two events: the day she was born (assuming the girl never existed in the first place) and the day she found out that she was a mutant. Fear. Incredible fear and panic like she'd never felt before had overwhelmed the girl that night at the party. Apparently that fear hadn't abated--no matter how 'comfortable' she was with herself or how much support she was getting from the people around her. It was fear that was holding her back. Fear of a million things that distracted her from what she wanted and who she wanted to be.

She had to get rid of that fear.

A hard look at the girl in the mirror followed Twyla smoothing her tank top down. A deep breath. She was the only person in the locker room of the YMCA and it was eerily quiet in the basement room. "I am not afraid." The words were hesitant, nothing near the strong proclamation she'd imagined in her mind. Let's try that again. "I am not afraid." It was a little better in the volume department but the look on her face was not believable. Decidedly not believable. Screwing her face up into something angrier she started laughing at herself. Maybe not... A cockier grin spread her lips apart and made her eyes squint slightly. It was the look that always found its way onto her face before any kind of competition. She nodded to herself. "I'm not afraid." That looked much better. Turning from the mirror, the girl walked out of the locker room.

It wasn't a cure, but it was a start.

---

The gymnastics room was eerily quiet as well--the class of little girls that usually occupied the space in the mornings wasn't meeting until later that day so Twyla had the equipment to herself for a few hours. Her bare feet hardly made any noise as the padded across the matted floor. Stretching was mindless and calming and it took a few minutes to get her body as loose as she wanted it. The light pouring into the long windows added to Twyla's sense of inner peace. This was a calm place and what she was going to do would be done in a calm matter. Matter of fact. She'd done these moves millions of time before. Old hat. Calm.

Deep breaths. Prep. Run. Spring. Arms out and a simple round-off can make the world seem right. Fear? What fear? There was nothing but the push of her arms, legs, and the tightness of her core and she ran through a series of moves in a drill familiar to old practice sessions back in her local studio or high school gym. Nothing but the sweat that slowly formed on the girl's brow as she forced her body into more complicated sequences. Even as she flipped and tumbled across the mat the girl hardly made a sound, her breathing was the loudest noise her body made.

Floor skills were Twyla's favorite. Her best event was the uneven bars but it felt so good to use her entire body--hands and feet and everything on a solid surface. Not that the uneven bars weren't challenging for her entire body but there was something in floor skills that the girl connected with on a different level. Maybe she just didn't want to fly? Bars was more about weightlessness but there was something very solid with working on mats or a sprung floor.

The girl suddenly wished she had a sprung floor. Even if she didn't always enjoy swinging around in space she loved the weightless feeling gotten from launching herself in the air for a few moments. Those moments that lasted for a too short eternity as she prepped herself to fall back to earth were worth hours of practice--they were worth blood, sweat, tears, and long nights spent making up homework. If only she could recreate those moments in her normal life--then Twyla would never be afraid of anything again. When she thought about it, it didn't really make any sense--

How could someone be afraid of what she was but not be afraid of flying off a bar or launching herself into a move that could break her neck?

Maybe Twyla Ashby just needed to sort out her priorities...Well, she definitely needed some sorting.