lxforever

In the fall of 1995 I competed in my second year of Level 6. Back then (!), Level 6 was a compulsory level, fairly basic, but because I was always just barely good enough, it required a second competitive year to get myself up to any kind of useful snuff. I was pretty killer that season, for an old Level 6, anyway, having had time to perfect the back tuck and the backwalkover on beam and even shooting the clear hip to handstand on occasion. I knew my weaknesses (still vault), but they were being worked on. I capitalized on my strengths, letting them shine, shining medals on shiny ribbons dangling down my neck. I felt pretty good and even managed to earn a high enough score a few times so I could leap right over Level 7, skipping it in that weird year where they allowed this. No one liked Level 7 anyway. Onward to Optionals and 8. I felt pretty unstoppable by the end of 1995, and it seemed Level 8 would be doable, just harder.

I didn’t compete at all in 1996. The way things worked for us, the compulsory levels, 5 through 7, competed in the fall, while Optionals started their competitive season in January. That left me adrift in 1996. I churned through the amalgamation of some sort of acceptable Optional routines, now spending every evening with girls I’d watched from afar (but who were finally my age), learning the complicated Code and scraping together skills fairly giant to me. Doable, maybe? Just harder. A lot harder. Before we knew it, it was January 1997 and the Optional competitive season had arrived.

What a leap. The first season of Level 8 was not at all just harder, it was full of hard falls and uneven errors and giant smacks, back whacking against the floor. Doing three RO BHS back tuck floor passes because you just didn’t know. Barely twisting the lamest vault possible. Falling at least once, how about twice?, every beam routine. And was I really supposed to let go of the bar, then catch it again (let alone the time I hit my foot and then bounced onto the ground)? And circle around it, body fully extended, with only gripped hands to guide me, handstand after handstand? (NOTE: lots of this applies to 1999/first year of Level 9, too.)

And then there was the flyaway. I’d learned giants, and that’s fine, but I had never figured out how to slow down enough and control my body going into the dismount, and so every single bar routine for the first half of the season ended the same way: with me overrating the flyaway onto my back, thwacking against the mat and then having to sheepishly stand to salute my okayness. I mean, I was OK, but it was embarrassing. It got to the point where I would look down at the dismount mat from my handstand on the high bar and think, ‘alright, this mat looks soft for my back to land on’, and just took it. Over and over.

Sometime mid-season I figured it out. I slowed down and landed on my feet. The other pieces started coming together too. By the second round, in 1998 (WASN’T IT GREAT!), I was back at it and feeling unstoppable. But I sure had not expected the adjustment of that first year out after so much Level 6 success.

This is kind of how I feel about work right now. I killed it last year. I got so much cool work done, got a ton of important stuff to go my way, launched some really great projects and held a team together and navigated my way through all kinds of new craziness and DID IT. I nailed it. 2019 was fantastic.

And now I’ve leveled up and I feel in over my head. A coworker made the point that if I know how to do this stuff—and I do, much like Level 8 me KNEW how to stand up a flyaway, just wasn’t yet—I’m NOT in over my head, and he’s right. But knowing more and knowing better comes with knowing your shortcomings and areas for improvement more and better, and the skills carrying you so well before need to be built upon, connected, complexified. Doable, but harder? A lot harder. And of course the vision of the next step from a place of great success is fairly rosy—how else would you make that leap?

I feel like I’ve been struggling with this leap, but 1995/1997 came to mind the other day and it’s so helpful. It is messy, but I’m doing it. Skills are ugly, but they’ll get better. It’s doable, just harder. And before I know it, a 1998-esque season will be upon me again.

(HAPPY LEAP DAY, I hope you enjoyed these references lolololololol. Yes I did wear blue and yellow.)

ETA: For your enjoyment(?)—past Leap Day updates
2012 (thought it would be start of new era; forgot 2016)
2000 (missed opportunity to reference leap day)
So obviously I will see you all again in 2028, or 2032.