by Eve Stenson

I was riding my unicycle the other day, when – as happens often, at my level of expertise – it went in a different direction than I did. Rather than landing on my feet as usual, I suddenly found myself flat on my back on the concrete. While I struggled to regain the ability to breathe, I observed that this was probably why so many people look nervous when they see me trying to ride the thing, and even more nervous when I offer them a turn: they’re worried about falling.

As a gymnast, I’ve become somewhat desensitized. I’ve fallen from the balance beam, the uneven bars, even the rings (which, admittedly, I wasn’t supposed to be on in the first place, it being a guy’s event); doing cartwheels and double twists; on my feet, my head, and everything in between. Indeed, more than anything else, gymnastics teaches you how to fall.

Of course, that’s not the sort of thing they put in the brochures. Instead, they claim it increases your flexibility. Yet, after 16 years, I still can’t do my splits all the way down, even with someone sitting on my shoulders. (Yes, it’s been tried.) They claim it increases your coordination. Gymnasts, however, are among the clumsiest people I know, prone to stick a landing perfectly and then trip while walking off the mat. They claim it relieves excess energy. It’s always the gymnasts, though, who attempt to vault over the sofa. (At least, when I was baby-sitting, they did . . . I also agreed to spot them, though.)

But then, I don’t suspect many parents would want to enroll their youngsters in a program that advertised, "If you want to make an impact – literally – we’re the ones to show you how." Parents don’t want their children to fall, any more than they want to fall themselves. In fact, a lot of people will simply avoid altogether anything that generates a measurable risk of falling.

This isn’t unreasonable, by any means. A fall can mean embarrassment, frustration, even injury (sometimes to your body, more often to something less tangible, like your pride). The risks aren’t entirely different whether you’re applying for a challenging job, asking someone out on a date, or attempting a back layout on beam.

The secret, however, is to learn how to fall; that accomplished, interviews and aerials both seem much less daunting. Thus, instead of indulging their misguided self-preservation instincts, more people ought to look to gymnastics for instruction in this most essential part of life.

Now, I don’t mean that gymnasts aren’t afraid of falling. That’s a popular misconception, not discouraged by their propensity to climb trees/buildings/people, tumble on concrete, or backflip on bridge railings. On the contrary, gymnasts know exactly how scary falling can be. The proof: the face of a person who’s just slipped off the high bar mid swing. Nor is it uncommon for someone to stand unmoving on the balance beam indefinitely, trying to muster the courage to throw their next move.

Eventually, though, almost everyone goes for it. The few that don’t pick a different move, one that seems more worth the risk. That’s the heart of it, really – you weigh the potential rewards against the risk of falling. And when it comes down to it, you find that falling usually isn’t so bad after all.

Granted, there can be more substantial consequences than a moment of terror or injured pride. Broken bones (I think I’m up to five, not counting fingers) aren’t so easily dismissed, nor are broken dreams. But both heal, often stronger than before.

Injuries do make falling even scarier, for a time; the thrill of re-conquest is equally heightened. While the traditional euphemism refers to horses, I maintain that getting back up on the beam after missing your hands is a much more poignant example. I have yet to meet a horse that’s only four inches wide.

Even when you can simply stand up and brush yourself off, you still have to admit that you fell. This is the part that a lot of people tend to forget in daily life. Refusing to make this admission, though, is both counterproductive and unbecoming. Gymnasts see this very quickly:

"Why’d I get such a low score?"

"Because you fell off the beam."

"No, I didn’t." (That sort of thing doesn’t go over with the judges very well.)

Yet, all the time someone will respond to a falter by denying it ("Oh, I decided not to apply."), by blaming someone else ("The hiring process was unfair.") or by devaluing it ("It’s not such a good position anyway.").

In gymnastics, being able to say that you tried something is an accomplishment in itself; if it’s worth trying, it’s worth falling on. And although I’ve never experienced anything outside the gym that can quite match the exquisite fright of attempting a double back for the first time, I still think this ought to become a more widely-held view.

Gymnastics has a great deal to teach its participants, and not just the life-long devotees. Although I may be biased, I firmly believe that everyone ought to master a cartwheel in their lifetime – or, at the very least, to give it a couple tries. Even if you don’t succeed, you learn how to handle not landing on your feet, and that’s almost equally valuable.

(published in The Ram, 1 October 2003)