At my first competition I was bewildered as I pranced on to the orphan blue vinyl floor in a sparkly leotard and a similar puffy pink tutu. The chairman of the B.B.T.S.A (British baton Twirling Championships) started my music. I lost concentration as the crowd cheered with encouragement. So I did as my teacher insisted and made something up. Raising my 15 inch baton I began to twist the tubular metal “stick” and started shaking my hips. The audience – made up of parents and coaches – began to applaud after all I was a gorgeous five year old with blonde loose curls and a cheeky smile. The applauding boosted my confidence and I
welcomed my family with four trophies that shone like the sun on a day of clear skies.
Four years and many trophies later, as I walked into one of my many dance classes, I was swiftly lifted by one of the older girls from my dancing. As the smallest I did not appreciate being carried around like a toddler. I hated being the youngest. I was led into a sitting area at the back of a worn down, church hall. The room contained two people, my grinning mother and my “slightly cheerier than normal” coach. At the age of nine, all I could think of was, “what have I done now?” I was placed on an uncomfortable chair, just like the ones in hospital waiting areas, as I waited on the news that was churning my “full of beans and toast” stomach.
“So Jodie…” my dance teacher paused with a smile (which was rather rare) “How would you fancy going to Portsmouth?” My worried expression quickly became a huge grin. Portsmouth is the city that hosts the annual BBTSA British Championships. “I take that as a… definitely” my mum joked. I had listened to endless stories that began with “Remember in Portsmouth…” and finished with “OH MY GOD that was hilarious!” I had told my mum on countless occasions, “My life would be so much better, if I could go to Portsmouth… HINT, HINT!”
As Nationals grew closer, I managed to balance my time equally between training and piano. However as my Gran began to lay off the amount of practice I was to do, my mum would have me at the Magnum at least four times a week perfecting my routines.
It was the first morning of the three day competition. The tension in the hall was almost unbearable. I felt like a mouse in a warehouse. My Gran had phoned a few seconds before my section “Tiny Tot Beginner” was called, I was grabbed by Mums who were either adding to the tonne of hairspray that was already on my precise bun or they were re-doing my lipstick, my Gran had no
idea what was going on as she chuckled at the hissing sound of hairspray. I was no.15 out of 47 to compete in Solo Twirl. As number 14 dropped her last move, I turned into an anxious bag of nerves. My hands were clammy although cold as ice.
I approached the panel of Scottish and English judges in such a way that my eyes met the floor. I blocked out all of the screams from my supportive dance troupe and only had one thing in mind… remembering my routine and not dropping! I had promised my family I would come back with a trophy and a sash (meaning first place), I caught sight of my dance teacher gnawing what was left of her nails. I had one drop in my 1 minute routine which led to me being asked into the top six out of forty-seven other eight and nine year-olds. I achieved a “no drop” in the final round and, as soon as I walked off calmly, I realised what had happened and sprinted from one side of the hall to the other to reach my Mum who was in tears. Like any other nine year-old I though I had done something wrong, however my Mum explained that they were simply happy tears.
The Awards ceremony was quickly approaching and I had been in contact with my Gran throughout day, although she never seemed interested or happy with my no drop. “Can all athletes please form an orderly line to enter the hall to commence the awards ceremony”. There was nothing anyone could do to change the outcome of the day, even though there was nothing they could have done after their final round.. I felt sick with worry. I imagined my name not being called out as, 4th, 5th or 6th, meaning I wasn’t on the podium. I was too busy worrying about not being placed that I barely heard… “And your Solo Twirl Tiny Tot Champion is… Jodie Downing”. As Scotland cheered and applauded, the only thing I wanted to do was phone my Gran and hear her reaction. I proudly walked onto the shiny white podium to the number one, to be proudly presented with my Royal Blue sash and huge gold trophy.
My mum was ecstatic and had contacted my Gran before I had the chance to inform her of my good news. My proud Mum was ecstatic and had contacted my Gran before I had the chance to inform her.
The following two days were mostly the same and, in the end, I won four out of six events championship titles and the Overall Award. This time my Gran really was “Over the moon” as I was the best athlete in my age division meaning I won a scholarship to train in Sweden for two weeks with World and International coaches.
I feel that with my competitive attitude and my Gran’s guidance, I have the perfect balance in life and therefore feel that my Gran has reflected her personality in such a way that I have been affected (for the better!).
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