Gymnastics Team Quotes

Ove glares out of the window. The poser is jogging. Not that Ove is provoked by jogging. Not at all. Ove couldn’t give a damn about people jogging. What he can’t understand is why they have to make such a big thing of it. With those smug smiles on their faces, as if they were out there curing pulmonary emphysema. Either they walk fast or they run slowly, that’s what joggers do. It’s a forty-year-old man’s way of telling the world that he can’t do anything right. Is it really necessary to dress up as a fourteen-year-old Romanian gymnast in order to be able to do it? Or the Olympic tobogganing team? Just because one shuffles aimlessly around the block for three quarters of an hour?

They’ll make a gymnastics team, bending over backwards to prove their investigation was sound.

That is what is marvelous about school, she realized: when you are in school, your talents are without number, and your promise is boundless. You ace a math test: you will one day work for NASA. The choir director asks you to sing a solo at the holiday concert: you are the next Mariah Carey. You score a goal, you win a poetry contest, you act in a play. And you are everything at once: actor, astronomer, gymnast, star. But at a certain point, you begin to feel your talents dropping away, like feathers from a molting bird. Cello lessons conflict with soccer practice. There aren't enough spots on the debating team. Calculus remains elusive. Until the day you realize that you cannot think of a single thing you are wonderful at.

Wake’s stomach was doing backflips that would do the Romanian gymnastics team proud.

What if you wake up hung-over the following morning, not dead, but realizing that you had killed somebody? Even worse, what if you wake up in the morning realizing you destroyed the things you loved most in your life? When she regained consciousness in the hospital scared and alone, Kate realized the nightmare was a reality… her parents were dead… her soul-mate was in prison… her life would never be the same. Through the eyes of many, Troy Trindle had it all… he was good-looking, popular, captain of the football team and dating the head cheerleader. What he lacked were the basic necessities; food, shelter and a family. Kate and Troy’s worlds collide when she moves to Alabama to resume training for a spot on the Olympic Gymnastics Team.

An attorney who worked for victims who'd been abused by priests told an investigative reporter, “Mark my words, Mr. Rezendez, if it takes a village to raise a child, it takes a village to abuse one.” And it does. It always has. But the film showed that it takes a village to stop the abuse too. One rogue attorney unwilling to let it go. One survivor who stood up first and said you can use my name. One newspaper editor who said "this matters". And a team who pulled their hearts and minds into it.

Because I love my body. I saw the way girls on my gymnastic team would whisper about me. I heard so many fucking derogatory remarks and tips about dieting and working out. It didn't matter how I felt about my own body. People honestly thought I should be unhappy with myself. They thought they were helping. “But men liked me. Men appreciated my body. And I don’t care if that makes me sound like a slut or an attention whore. I was, and am, proud of my curves, and I was tired of hearing how I should change them.

The poser is jogging. Not that Ove is provoked by jogging. Not at all. Ove couldn’t give a damn about people jogging. What he can’t understand is why they have to make such a big thing of it. With those smug smiles on their faces, as if they were out there curing pulmonary emphysema. Either they walk fast or they run slowly, that’s what joggers do. It’s a forty-year-old man’s way of telling the world that he can’t do anything right. Is it really necessary to dress up as a fourteen-year-old Romanian gymnast in order to be able to do it? Or the Olympic tobogganing team? Just because one shuffles aimlessly around the block for three quarters of an hour?

I daydreamed about BEING Anne. Traipsing through nineteenth-century meadows, reciting Romantic poetry (Keats was my fave, because he died with such gruesome panache.) One day, I started creating my own original scenarios of Anne doing her plucky orphan thing. But I didn’t want to deal with the annoying stuff from old-timey days, like sexism and polio, so I moved up the timeline and transported her into modern life as a free-spirited teen heiress. I’d imagine Anne flying to Hong Kong on her private jet, or spying on Communists while she performed gymnastics for the US Olympic Team. Or simple things, like attending a new high school where she’d enter a classroom wearing designer jeans and everyone would gasp at how pretty she was. “Her hair is so long and red. Can I be her best friend immediately?

As I stepped off the mat, Aimee ran over and gave me a hug. Lexie rushed up to me, face beaming, and said, “Hey, you caught your Thatchev!” “I did!” I said, high-fiving her. “Thank you!” Everyone else was looking at us, completely puzzled. They were probably wondering, Why on earth is she so excited? She just fell off the bars twice! But I didn’t care right then. I’d caught my Thatchev, and I was on my way to Nationals. One month later, it wouldn’t be the Thatchev that would put me out of contention for the USA women’s junior team by just one spot—it would be that dang Amanar. Maybe if I’d spent more time practicing the vault, I might’ve gotten picked. But the same thing that’s true in gymnastics is also true in life: You can’t go back. The best you can do is forgive yourself, take a deep breath, and get to work on the next challenge. But that doesn’t mean you can’t bawl first—and let me tell you, I did.

A blanket could be folded up and kept in the trunk of my car, in much the same way that I do with the Chinese gymnastics team before I chauffer them around town. 


In the two weeks following the All-Star Game, baseball was largely upstaged by the events of the XXI Olympiad in Montreal, including Romanian gymnast Nadia Comaneci’s seven perfect 10.0 scores, Bruce Jenner’s record-setting decathlon triumph, and the five gold medals won by U.S. boxers Howard Davis Jr., Sugar Ray Leonard, Leo Randolph, and brothers Leon and Michael Spinks—the mightiest performance of any American boxing team in Olympic history.

Who’s the dead chick?” Chip asked, pointing to Ashley. “She’s not dead,” I told him. “She’s unconscious. And she’s a junior SPYDER agent.” “She’s cute,” Chip said. “Ugh!” Zoe cried. “Chip, she’s evil!” “Maybe on the inside,” Chip told her. “But she’s cute on the outside.” “Is that Ashley Sparks, the gymnast?” Warren asked. “Yes,” I replied. “Though now she’s an evil gymnast.” “She was my favorite!” Warren exclaimed. “She really should have been on the U.S. Olympic team. The judge was blind. She stuck that landing.” “So I’ve heard,” I said. We

Who’s the dead chick?” Chip asked, pointing to Ashley. “She’s not dead,” I told him. “She’s unconscious. And she’s a junior SPYDER agent.” “She’s cute,” Chip said. “Ugh!” Zoe cried. “Chip, she’s evil!” “Maybe on the inside,” Chip told her. “But she’s cute on the outside.” “Is that Ashley Sparks, the gymnast?” Warren asked. “Yes,” I replied. “Though now she’s an evil gymnast.” “She was my favorite!” Warren exclaimed. “She really should have been on the U.S. Olympic team. The judge was blind. She stuck that landing.” “So I’ve heard,” I said.

In the late 1880s, he deployed it to argue for the profound reform of French education, and not just for the elites, but for the masses too. He certainly thought that the English model and its focus on team sports and ball games was preferable to the regimented gymnastics of the German Turnen tradition. Many in France had looked to Prussia, its traditions of nationalist gymnastics, drill and military success, and called for the transformation of French physical education and the armed forces on German lines. Coubertin, by contrast, argued, ‘It is citizens more than soldiers that France needs. It is not militarism that our education needs, but freedom.

I was not a denizen of Studio 54, although Steve Rubell gave me house privileges, including access to the basement. The shirtless guys behind the bar were like a college gymnastics team.

In high school, Sturgeon had been captain of his gymnastic team, and he announced that he would perform one of his best tricks. Clearing away some of the furniture in the living room, he stood with his feet together, back straight, arms outstretched, and suddenly whirled backward in a flip. But instead of landing upright, he hit the floor on his knees, shaking the whole house. Struggling to his feet, “humiliated and laughing in agony,” Kurt could tell, Sturgeon would become the model for one of Vonnegut’s best-known characters: Kilgore Trout, the wise fool of science fiction, ignored, sold only in pornographic bookstores, and half-mad with frustration.43 But Sturgeon wasn’t a fictional character—his reversals and the blows to his pride were real. And Kurt was afraid he had just witnessed a glimpse of his own future, too. “Kilgore Trout is the lonesome and unappreciated writer I thought I might become.

Teams take serious chances when they try to make large changes without tests. It is like doing aerial gymnastics without a net.

part of something that made us feel uncommonly accomplished, enjoined in our mission to enable my success. We were a team dedicated to a single player’s performance, confident

He loved me to feel better about himself Rightfully, I mean, have you met me? He dumped me to feel better about himself Rightfully, I mean, have you met me? But I walk the beam all the way across- away from the team 'cause I'm The Boss Poetry in motion, I swear... There's no 'I' in team I got off the cross Fuck that whole damn team Mind-fuckery-bone toss All that commotion, I Dare You... I'm a mean machine Let me balance it out Gymnast won his dreams His nightmare found out Dreams run out of steam for the wicked, no doubt Dreams freak on the beam Dreams just die right out for the wicked