Arthrograms, Seattle, and the day that still haunts me.

Today I had my second arthrogram on my shoulder. An arthrogram is a fancy way of saying a doctor ties you down to a table and inserts a needle into your joint capsule to inject some shit in there to make your MRI more readable. And the reason for the MRI? A possibly torn labrum and/or bicep. Whoops. And I say second arthrogram because I went through these shenanigans two years ago, and ultimately had surgery on it. Oh yeah, I might have busted my stitches from that surgery, too. I guess they weren't Courtney Proof. Or tkachev proof. Or stupid proof. Ugh. Honestly, let's just get the joint replacement surgery over with now, because surely I'm going to need one (or six) eventually.

Uh, oh...I detect...The Story of The Shoulder and Why Courtney Quit Gymnastics and Other Things Too!




2011. My shoulder was bothering me for years, and after rest, physical therapy, and a cortisone injection it was just getting worse. This is the reason I give for why I was turned down from UW, just a few months after they had told me I was on their A List for a full scholarship. "My shoulder." It's also my default answer for why I quit gymnastics altogether. And yes, that's correct. But that's only half of the story. The truth is way more complex than that, and I have never talked about it until now.

Colleges require you to send them video updates of your training. Regularly. I sent UW a compilation of my skills on bars (and bars is usually what colleges need most) when I was healthy and in great shape, and those are the videos that made them tell me "you're on our A list." Well, soon after that my body started breaking down. My shoulder was getting worse and worse. But so was my back, my knees, my ankles, my hips, and my wrists. I was falling out of shape, gaining weight, and consequently, my depression got worse as well. So I started missing practice. At this point, there were no more video updates to send to the UW coaches because I was physically unable to do gymnastics. But in December, I went to Seattle to visit the school and meet the coaches. I stayed overnight with a team-member in her dorm room, toured every inch of campus, watched a practice, and went to a football game.

God, I was in love. Seattle and UW is absolutely amazing. I just knew that I was meant to be a Husky and wear Purple and Gold. But at the end of the trip, during the football game, the coaches pulled all of the recruits aside one by one and gave them the news. I was second to last to be called.

"We feel that we just can't offer you a scholarship at this time. We just didn't see enough of you."

Suddenly my entire life had been a waste. Suddenly my set-in-stone plan from DAY ONE was obsolete. Yeah, that was a long plane ride home. When I told my teammates what had happened, they encouraged me to keep my chin up and start talking to Division 2 and Division 3 schools. But that wasn't what I wanted. I wanted to go to a big popular school, travel around the country for competitions, and win Nationals. Going to Courtland or Brockport did not seem right at all, but I had to get a scholarship somehow.

Competition season was approaching fast. Other schools would need to see videos from my meets and see my scores. In a desperate attempt to heal my shoulder so I could compete, I got another cortisone injection without telling my coaches (if they knew how badly I was injured again, I feared they would give up on me entirely). I got the injection on Monday; the competition was Saturday. I was supposed to have let it heal for an entire week before slowly starting to put weight on it again.

It was my last meet ever.

My routines were so watered down and embarrassing that if anyone knew I was trying to get a scholarship, they would laugh at me. I did one-armed tumbling and one-armed vaults. Want to know what place I got? Dead last. I didn't even qualify for States, which was my gym's last meet to qualify.

After the meet, my coach told me that she would enter me into another competition so that I could have one more shot at qualifying for States. "Okay," I said.

But in my heart I was done. I had given up. I was once Courtney Keating, the gymnast people used to fear. I was Courtney Keating, the gymnast people called the next Mary Lou Retton. I was Courtney Keating, the gymnast who walked away from meets covered in gold medals. I was the gymnast who could do anything my coach asked me to do. I was once fearless, I was once number one. But the legend was over.

After agreeing to train for another chance at States, I put on my leotard but two more times. My coaches assured me that I could do it, that I could make it to States. Ha. Making it to States at this level wasn't even supposed to be a question. It was simply known that you would make it to States and Regionals and even Nationals. I couldn't believe I was in this position. What if I didn't make it? What school would want me then? Where would I go to college? But the even more terrifying thought was: what if I did make it? Then I would have to keep going to practice and pounding on my joints to make it to Regionals. What if  I did get a scholarship? I would have to do this for four more years. I panicked.

At the same time this was going on, family life was deteriorating. My mother and Kelly's relationship was getting ugly, my mother and other Erin's relationship was nonexistent, and I was stuck in the middle. Then, my mom had a heart attack. She was in the hospital the day I decided I would never go back to Capital Gymnastics ever again.

Because my mom couldn't drive me to practice, Kelly took me. She and I were barely speaking due to family drama. She dropped me off and drove away, not looking back to see that I didn't even go in to Capital. I physically could not go into that building to be in pain and find out if I would fail again. So I didn't. I went into the building next door, a gym called Olympus. I went into the locker room and started to cry. Ugh, I can still smell the distinctive stench of that gym. I called my mom at the hospital and told her I couldn't take it anymore. I could hear the disappointment in her voice when she said, "okay honey." I could hear her thinking of the past 15 years of arranging her day around taking me to practice and making sacrifices to pay my competition and leotard fees. I could hear her remembering me on the first place podium and people whispering that I was the next "it" girl. I could hear her remembering me dancing around the living room and flipping on the furniture because I loved gymnastics so much. It had all come to this.

I called Cailean, my boyfriend at the time, and asked him to come pick me up. I stayed in the locker room of Olympus, watching the clock pass the start time of practice. When he got there, I ran to the car, hoping nobody would see me. I saw my coach walking in, and I ducked down. I was so ashamed of running away like a coward. But I was finally escaping.

After about a week, my mom called the gym and told them I was done. My coach said that I was welcome back any time, and I said that I would go back after a few months off. But I think everyone knew that wasn't true. It was over.

So yes, my shoulder played a huge part, but it was more pure exhaustion from 15 years of relentless pounding on both my body and my spirit. Did I give up too soon? Should I have just finished out senior year and walked onto a college team? Did I screw myself over? Numerous people have said that I made the best decision for my body by walking away, but ever since that day, I have been in mourning: in mourning over my gymnastics career, over the person I once was, and over the person I could have been.