A Ripped Soul

I miss the sweat.

I miss the chalk.

I even miss the blood and tears.

I miss the noises.

The shouts of coaches, the cheers of teammates.

The chatter of little girls, the thuds and creaks of equipment.

I miss the smell.

That peculiar combination

That can be found in one place.

The strange mix of chalk and sweat

That never gets blown away by the air conditioner.

I miss the pain.

Feeling like my limbs are on fire.

Wishing my hands would fall off.

The stinging brought on by sudden loss of skin.

The bruises and rug burns of a thousand falls.

I miss the fear.

The moment of telling myself to let go.

That moment in the corner where all my fears rise up

And try to choke me.

Yes, even that split second of terror as my narrow solid surface 

Disappears from under my feet.

I miss the joy.

The time with my team talking by the chalk bowl.

The relief I feel after a long day of school.

The moment when I realize we're conditioning ourselves.

The feeling of being part of a team.

 I miss the satisfaction.

The knowledge that however much pain I'm in, it's worth it.

The sound of my feet hitting the narrow solid surface right on.

The moment I know I did my routine correctly; straight legs and all.

The feeling after I get a skill for the first time.

The knowledge that I did it.

That relief that floods me as I realize I can do what needs to be done. 

The knowledge that weeks of hard work have paid off.

I miss the gym.

Every aspect of it.

Even the parts I used to complain about.

I miss my team, who never let me chicken out, 

But who were always there for me.

I miss hearing my coach yell at me (loudly enough for the whole gym to hear)

That I just needed to get over it and go.

I miss being told for the hundredth time that my full turn won't count.

I miss the hugs from my team when I was scared and the coaches angry.

I miss the giant hugs from my coach the first time I got a skill.

Then I knew that all the yelling had been worth it.

I miss the sweat dripping down my forehead.

I miss the chalk coating my hands

And the callouses that snag.

I miss the gym.

Have you ever had something that was so much a part of you it felt like it was ripping your soul when it was no longer part of your life? Like it was tearing apart the very fabric of your being? 

When I first left the gym, thoughts of it would bring hot tears to my eyes and I could nothing to stop them. Now when I think of gym, I don't cry, but there is a dull ache there that is somehow worse than the raw emotion of the tears. An ache that will never quite go away. Only lies unnoticed. An ache that cannot be healed.