Caitlin Gurtner

Ms Gardner

English 10 Period 0

15 January 2015

Drop Dead Legs

The springs of the trampoline in Angelas backyard were quite loud under my fouryear-old feet.

My spindly little legs were determined to get me farther into the air, pumping away
at the tarp

beneath me until finally- whoosh. Time stopped, those spindly little legs were
suddenly in front of me

and I was supported by nothing but the air. My hair floated around my face and I
stared at the sky.

The beautiful, infinite sky. My flights couldnt have lasted more than a second, but it
always seemed

an eternity. And then, falling, drifting, flying, back down to earth, another boing and
Im back on my

trusty legs again, ready to start the eternity all over again.

It wasnt until nearly ten years later that I would get a trampoline of my own, long
after I had

left preschool. A lot would happen in those years. Just that same year, my restless
legs were put to a

different use. I was enrolled in dance classes at Suzannes Dance School with my
best friend Jessica. I

remember watching the older girls, their legs so much longer and stronger than
ours, leaping through

the air and spinning around and doing other things that I never could have dreamt
of.

I also started playing sports.

But dont people get hurt in soccer? I asked my mom when she showed me the
sign-up

sheet.

Well, yeah, she answered, looking back at me, but people get hurt doing a lot of
stuff. If

you want to do something worth doing, you have to take the risk.

So I started playing soccer.

Soccer to make me fast, dance to make me graceful, both to make me strong.

Life went on and the world around me started to change. My brother started Cub
Scouts and,

because Girl Scouts wasnt nearly as adventurous, I often went on outings with him
and his den.

Mommy, whats wrong with Rons legs? I asked one day, looking up at my mom
with

curiosity in my eyes. Ron was the father of one of the boys in my brothers den. He
came on outings

with us all the time and he was a really goofy guy. He moved around with two
walking sticks, and even

with the extra assistance, walking was clearly not an easy thing for him to do.

My mom sat down next to me. Ron has a disease called Cerebral Palsy, she
started to

explain to me. It makes it so he cant control his legs like you can.

Then how does he walk?

She smiled at me. Because hes strong. He taught himself how to walk. I pondered
that for a

minute. I couldnt even wrap my head around the prospect. Taught himself to walk?

Well, I concluded after a good deal of thought, I guess strength comes in many
forms.

I grew older. I kept dancing. I kept playing soccer. I kept meeting people. It would
make sense

that I would keep getting stronger. Even so, as I entered the fifth grade, I started
feeling like I was

getting weak in the knees. My friends were drifting away from me, either physically
or emotionally. I

started dreading practices and rehearsals. Everyone around me was changing,

getting taller, leaner,

stronger.

I glanced down at my own legs one day while laying on my bed. They had been so
thin when I

was a young child, but that hadnt lasted long. They were big now, much bigger
than they should be,

or so I thought. I started comparing myself to everyone else, to everything else I

saw. At school, in

movies, TV shows, magazines, even cartoons, everyone had beautiful legs. Long,
thin, tan, smooth

legs. In summary, basically the exact opposite of mine. Even Van Halen and ZZ Top
added to the

expectations with their songs of impossible standards.

To get stronger, I reminded myself, you have to go through the pain. This is the
pain. It wont

last forever and youll come out better for it. I kept telling myself this. It was my
only comfort in a

world of growing judgment. My only teddy bear in the dark.

In the last month of sixth grade, it was finally time for the most anticipated event of
our entire

elementary school career: Sixth Grade Camp. I was ecstatic to finally get the chance
to meet more

people my age. As I got ready to board the buses with everyone else on Sunday
May 8, 2011, I began

to hope that this could be the beginning of the light. This could be when the pain
stopped and the

strength started.

On that trip, I made more friends than I could have hoped for. Friends who laughed
with me

and supported me. Friends who helped me get back on my feet.

Coming into junior high, I felt like I was finally someone that I was happy with again.
Soccer

was getting more and more exciting. I attempted pointe, even though it was painful
and I wasnt very

good at it. I started taking real P.E. classes which included self-defense, couples
dancing, volleyball

and all sorts of other fun things. Coming in to Junior High, I started to learn how to
really push myself.

Seventh grade was fairly uneventful, despite the fact that it was my first year at
Kenilworth. I

got straight As, something that I struggled with for the first time in my memory. I
met some really

interesting people, and I started to gain a real interest in acting, having been an
anchor for K-TV.

Other than that, the only exciting thing that happened in seventh grade was that I
finally became a

teenager, and as a reward of such, I got the one thing I had always wanted: a
trampoline. I had

wanted one for ten years and I had finally gotten one. Throughout the entire
summer, I must have

spent almost half of my time on it, bouncing a lot higher than I used to, using legs
that were stronger

and more flexible, legs that could do more than just float out in front of me. Legs
that could take me

even closer to the bright blue Californian summer sky.

I wasnt happy about going back to school that fall, but then again, who is? Even so,
I had

soccer and dance to look forward to, as well as seeing all of my friends, but I also
had something new

to look forward to in the spring. I started playing the brutal game of lacrosse.

Coach, I cant breathe, I gasped, trying desperately to finish my suicides.

Yes you can, my coach retorted. You can talk, so you can breathe.

I nodded, trying to get my breathing under control while simultaneously trying not
to collapse.

My legs felt like noodles and they were shaking like Jello. I could barely stand, let
alone run another

suicide. Coach, I feel sick.

Then go throw up in the bushes and come back. Youll feel better.

I nodded again and forced my legs to imitate the look of movement. I tasted salt at
the corner of my

lips and hastily wiped my cheeks. Why was I doing this to myself? Why was I
physically abusing myself,

making myself absolutely miserable? What was I doing?

Come on, Gurt! Youre almost there! You can do it! I looked up to find my team,
all having

finished their run, cheering me on. A couple of the older girls jogged out to me and
ran with me, even

though they were still tired from their own suicides.

I went through a lot of practices like that, pushing myself to the brink both
physically and mentally,

but by the end of the season, no one was coming out to meet me anymore. They
didnt have to. I

could keep up with the team.

Its been almost three years since I joined the Girls Lacrosse Team. Almost three
years since I

got my trampoline, which I still use. I often go out and lay on it, staring up at the
sky, just as beautiful

and infinite as when I was a child, and contemplate this and that. No matter how
much the world

around me changes, I will always have the sky to remind me of better times. The
sky stays constant

for me. Im not really sure what defines strength, what defines happiness or
success. I cant pretend

to understand all of the reasons for all of my choices, why I walked the paths that I
did, or which paths

stretched out in front of me will be taken. All I know is that my legs got me this far,
so I best trust

them to take me where I need to go.