The Failure Files: Volume 1

As a Type A perfectionist, failing is not an option. Of course failure is a part of life, so when I do fail it hits me hard. I tend to beat myself up and dwell on it even though I realize that's not productive. I decided to stare failure in the face and write a series of blogs about what I consider to be some of my most memorable (and for me traumatic) failures and the lessons I've learned as a result. It's hard to admit some of these things, so I'm going to start with something that may seem silly, but it's what I recall as one of my first failures.

I loved cheerleading from a very young age. I was on my first cheerleading squad in 2nd grade (Go Madison Colts!) and cheered until I graduated from high school. For me cheerleading wasn't what it is for many of my friend's kids now: this random competition circuit with inappropriately tiny uniforms, make up and "cheer curls". I was an extremely active kid and loved learning cheers and cheering at games (football or basketball) for my friends. I loved to be part of leading an actual crowd at a game in cheers.

Long Drain Hawks, circa 1988

My hometown did not put a big emphasis on cheerleading. I went to a very small school with only a few sports, and our squad did not compete. Nobody tumbled. It was pretty nuts and bolts cheerleading, but we worked hard, and I loved it.

In high school I wanted more of a challenge, so I started spending my Saturday mornings at a tumbling class I paid for with wages from my newspaper columns (because naturally in high school I wrote two newspaper columns: one for the Fairmont Times-West Virginian and one for the Wetzel Chronicle). 

And naturally I have scrapbooks with all my cheesy "Hundred News" columns

My tumbling class was also attended by cheerleaders from one of our rival schools, Clay-Battelle. Clay-Battelle took cheerleading seriously. When I was in high school they won the state cheerleading championships repeatedly, and they were great. I wasn't even close to Clay-Battelle level, but I loved attending tumbling with some of their squad. It challenged me. I also got to know many of them, and they were awesome. I went from being intimidated by them to being friends.

I became the only cheerleader on my squad who could tumble, and I threw around back handsprings with reckless abandon. I loved every game, every cheer, every stunt. My senior year wound down, and I was sad that a decade of cheerleading was over.

I headed to West Virginia University and decided I'd give it a shot: I'd try out for cheerleader at WVU. I began working my tail off to prepare for tryouts: working out, tumbling, sharpening my cheer moves. At that time WVU had a weight limit of 120 pounds for female cheerleaders (a Google search reveals that is likely no longer the case). I was solid muscle, and on tryout day weighed 121 pounds. 

They required females trying out to wear spandex shorts and a sports bra. I headed to tryouts feeling strong and confident. The first day went well, and I made the cut to the second day. My weakest point was stunting. Even though I had been the flyer on my high school team, 1) our stunts weren't that advanced and 2) it's way different stunting with one male partner. Even so I felt okay about my stunting.

There was one girl, Heidi (I will never forget her name) who was this teeny thing but had to have a spot for her back handspring. I thought perfect - I don't need help with tumbling and that's a requirement. I've got this.

I headed back to my dorm and waited for the results with my roommate. That evening I got a call that I hadn't made it. I was devastated. Everyone on the floor of my dorm knew I was trying out, so I had to them embarrassingly tell them I hadn't made it. (For the record Heidi did make it, so not having mastered all the requirements apparently wasn't really an issue.)

I was casually dating a guy whose mom had connections with the WVU coach. He told her I hadn't made it, and she called the coach to ask why. The reason I was given is that I was over the weight limit at 121 pounds. I had worked so hard. It was a punch in the face.

The weight limit was so arbitrary, and I'm sure that's why it's been eliminated. An acquaintance I knew from high school had been a state champion cheerleader and had cheered in college bowl games. Her tumbling was insanely good, and she stunted way better than I. She was tall and muscular, and weighed around 130. She didn't even make the first cut. Brutal.

After I'd processed it I wondered if the weight was an excuse. Maybe I just wasn't good enough which, if I hadn't known others had made it without mastering requirements, would've been easier to deal with. I also wonder if I simply didn't possess cheerleader pedigree: being at a school with a more competitive, successful squad. 

The comment about my weight, however, put me in a weight spiral for the rest of college. I've always had body image issues, but they went to the extreme. On one weekend trip home my mom saw laxatives in my bag which I would take if I ate too much. I blew off her concern.

I used to limit calories and then try to burn more than I had eaten at the gym. If I drank I would only drink until I threw up so I wouldn't gain weight. When I lived with two friends my sophomore year I kept very little food in the house so I wouldn't eat. They would make dinner together, and I would avoid it. Sometimes I'd wake up in the middle of the night and be so hungry I'd eat a small bowl of their leftovers cold, over the sink, hoping they wouldn't catch me. I went to the gym five days a week at 6 am all through college, and my obsession with my weight was all encompassing.

Honestly the only thing that pulled me out of it was having Crohn's. I got sick and couldn't eat, and them when I was under 100 pounds I realized there is such a thing as too skinny. I began to try to be stronger and focus on my health instead of starving myself. 

I realize in the scheme of my life not making it for college cheerleader is not a giant failure, but it felt like it at the time. And in pointing at my weight it felt like my body had failed me. 

Twenty five years later I still have body image issues, but I no longer starve myself. The ups and downs of Crohn's have taught me that my body is stronger than I ever imagined, and I have to be kinder to myself. It's a lesson I still work on every single day.

I'm part of a mastermind group meeting monthly this year to focus on goals, and I mentioned to them that I wanted to write a series of blogs on failure. One of the brilliant women said, "Failure is just uncovering the truth."

I loved my decade of cheerleading, and it had to end at some point. I truly believe if I had made it for cheerleader it would've altered my path significantly, and I wouldn't have the life I have today. I failed to make it for cheerleader, but the bigger failure was letting one comment about my weight take over my life. 

There are many sports that require women to be strong, and I hope coaches and mentors are talking about strength nor weight or being skinny. My hope for a new generation of young women is they know being strong should be the goal; not the numbers on a scale. I wish someone had said that to me at the age of 18. 

I now realize making while I failed to make it for cheerleader, I had a different college experience. I was on the debate team. I got to tailgate every weekend instead of cheering. I had a job. My life didn't revolve around cheerleading, and while it felt raw at the time I realize it was really a blessing. Because making it for cheerleader would've changed my experience which would've change where I am now. Failure is uncovering the truth.