As part of the circus, aerial yoga, or “aerial dance,” is a unique way to the sky. It allows students to be free with their moves by tangling in the hanging cloth. As widely suggested, a good age to start aerial yoga is 7 to 8 years old. Teachers of aerial yoga say it is almost never too late to do aerial dance. Some risks for doing aerial yoga are falling from up high or getting tangled in the silks. In terms of its benefits, aerial yoga is almost a full body exercise of fingers, arms, core, and legs. Besides building muscles, it can also help with flexibility. Aerial yoga can be accommodated for people in wheelchairs too. I learned aerial hammock at 10 years old, a type of aerial yoga because my mom went to this fitness studio next to my grandparents’ apartment in China to do Pilates. One time I went with my mom and found out about aerial hammock. I took one class and was already in love with it. So, I continued with aerial hammock for the rest of my summer vacation there. I did not fall or get tangled. Even though my fingers were sore at the end of each class, I felt my full body become stronger. After the sessions, I could do handstands which I had never been able to do. Moving back to Miami, Florida. I explored online about aerial yoga because I hoped to continue the training. Luckily, I found that Florida even has aerial silk championships. Some locations of learning aerial yoga in Miami are at Aerial Fitness Miami or Miami Circus Arts Center. For aerial yoga you can just wear a yoga outfit – yoga pants and yoga top. My tip is to wear a long-sleeved yoga top and long yoga pants. A fun fact about aerial silks is they are not actually made of silk, because silk has no stretch and would hurt. Instead, they are made of nylon, a stretchy and silky material. Nylon is also called artificial silk because it is made of longer threads. Now that I have provided many details about aerial yoga, I have a question for you: Do you want to try aerial yoga?
Sports
Running or Racing?
Running or racing? It’s such a simple question and most of us would probably choose running. But is that really the case? Do we really run for enjoyment? Or for speed? I once trained the slowest girl in our whole grade to be the fastest on the Cross-Country team. I would say that I have loved running, but what I really loved was my times and medals. It was not until a devastating break from running due to scoliosis (a curvature of the spine) that I’ve come to truly love running. My story begins with the only track I know that is made up of grass instead of rubber, a track that has always held very special memories for me. It’s where got my first sports medal in 6th grade’s Cross-Country meet, my only two gold medals from last year’s track tournament, and also this year, as it was one of my first runs after my scoliosis recovery. As I’d expected, my results weren’t ideal; I couldn’t possibly believe that I got so much slower from 6th grade! But, I guess that’s just the consequence of taking such a long break from running. I’ve always participated in cross-country meets. Starting off as a 9-year-old, I felt proud of just completing the race, even if I finished last. Finishing a race was already a huge accomplishment for a girl who couldn’t even play tag with her friends, as I would always remain the tagger because I ran slower than everyone else. However, after a summer of rough training, and joining the swim team, I got a lot more serious about sports. I began to run frequently. I developed a true, ardent passion for running when I was the first to finish the 800m in Track and Field Day in 5th grade. I no longer felt forced to run but genuinely enjoyed it, feeling all my anxieties vanish and burn off through every step. Running then wasn’t just a sport to me, but the only escape from all the negativity in my life. It became a part of my life that I couldn’t live without. Then, in the fall of 6th grade, I attended WAB’s Tiger Classic Cross-Country meet and felt anxious about running three km without stopping. I definitely didn’t expect to achieve my goal of stepping onto the podium—I got 2nd place, which was completely unexpected, but super exciting for me. On one hand, running was still my haven outside of all of my stresses; but on the other, I became overly competitive with the sport and found it hard to be at ease unless I achieved a fast time or tangible medal to prove my ability. I feel ashamed to think about how many times I’ve cried in the bathroom after not achieving ideal places or times at sports meets. I blamed and hated myself for not achieving what I aspired to, but I should have realized that was just all part of the journey, something every athlete must go through eventually. I remember the moment I finished the race on October 9th I was on the verge of tears. I didn’t even bother asking my time because I was so scared, certain that my performance wouldn’t be ideal—judging from the swarm of familiar faces that ran past me. I can’t believe that I used to be ahead of all of them. Just as I was about to cry into my sleeves, my coaches came up and regarded me kindly, asking how I felt after not running for such a long time. Not about to cry in front of a whole crowd, I held my tears and spilled out to them all my fear of not achieving an ideal time, and how I felt ashamed that I was able to get a medal at this meet when I was only 10, but not when I was 13. “Well… welcome back! We’ve all missed you a lot and it’s wonderful to see you running again! There are still a few practices, and I’m sure that now you’ve recovered you’ll be all fit for track season!” The coaches replied, with a nudge on my shoulder. My friends all came and comforted me, congratulating me for finishing the race after not running for such a long time. I felt so ashamed that I felt the way I had after finishing the race. The positive spirits of my peers really got me, and at that moment I felt much more confident. I used to only value the gold, silver, or bronze medals, ignoring the participation ribbon. But this time, I hurled out my participation medal and wore it like a badge of honor. Because this is sportsmanship. Not everything is about the time, but rather the experiences and lessons you learn from it. After my break from running due to scoliosis, I have learned not to blame myself for every “mishap.” Some things are just out of my control—no one could’ve guessed I would have to take such a long break so suddenly. And not just that, but I’ve learned that mistakes and failures are just fine—they’re an essential part of your growth. Instead of purely focusing on my times, I should take a look at the beautiful scenery, be grateful for such supportive teammates, and be happy just to be a part of this bigger picture. In the end, if I had to choose between running and racing, I would always choose running, so why not just focus on that more? Thinking back on it, I am prouder of myself after that meet than I ever was before. Maybe I didn’t achieve a PB or get a medal, but I finished the race and didn’t blame myself for not achieving my goals. I wore my participation medal proudly and cheered on all the others. The medal from that race will forever remain an epitome of not my best times or places, but of the difficult journey that I’ve made it
The Early Bird May Catch the Worm, but It’s Never Too Late to Get into the Game, a personal narrative by Phoenix Crucillo, 12
Phoenix Crucillo, 12 (Los Angeles, CA) The Early Bird May Catch the Worm, but It’s Never Too Late to Get into the Game Phoenix Crucillo, 12 It was the day our baseball team had worked so hard for—the Little League Championship Game. Over the last four months, twenty teams had competed vigorously to earn one of two coveted spots for the championship game. And I was on one of those teams — the Braves! It was the bottom of the ninth inning, and our team was down by one run with two outs and the bases loaded. It was now my turn to bat. The sun scorched its hot rays down my back. My thick mask itched, and I longed to rub my nose on one of the long sleeves I wore underneath my jersey. Still, none of these irritations came close to the unease I felt as I walked up to the plate. I took a deep breath before crouching into my batting stance. My heart pounded through my chest. After studying the catcher’s signs carefully, the pitcher nodded in acknowledgement of their secret language. Just then, the pitcher adjusted his grip on the seams, lifted his front leg, and released the ball…. … If someone had told me four months earlier that I’d be playing in the championship, I wouldn’t have believed them. I’d never played baseball before. It all started one seemingly ordinary day…. After a long day of school, I waited for my mom to pick me up. All the other kids had already gone. “Um, should I call my mom?” I asked my teacher. “If you feel the need,” he smirked. Just then, she pulled up. I stuffed my belongings in the car, eager to go home and relax with my favorite video game before tackling my homework. Just as I was getting comfortable, she spoke the words that would change my life. “I signed you up for a baseball team,” she said nonchalantly. “Your soccer season doesn’t start until spring, so I thought you might enjoy another sport in the meantime.” “But Mom, I don’t want to go! Kids in that league have been playing their whole lives! It’s not a place for beginners like me! It’s too hard to start playing a new sport like this. Like you always say, ‘the early bird catches the worm,’ so starting baseball at twelve years old will make me the early worm… who’ll get eaten!” She chuckled and just kept driving to the baseball field. I knew it was useless to protest, so I surrendered to my fate. As we pulled up to the field, I saw something that shocked me like a horror movie. The players were warming up on a massively daunting field, talking and laughing as if they’d known each other all their lives. Oh no, they already know each other. Now I’m never going to make friends. And this field is so gigantic! How am I ever going to play on this?! “Alright!” yelled the coach in a southern accent. “Let’s all sit down in a circle and introduce ourselves.” “I’m Phoenix,” I said meekly. No one else needed an introduction. They all knew each other. Just as I thought. Time for fielding practice. I didn’t even know what that was, but I followed along. “Alright. The drill is simple. Get the ground ball I hit to you and throw to first base. Once you’re done, get back in line and wait until it’s your turn again,” Coach instructed. Like a chameleon, I stood in the middle of the line in a feeble attempt not to stand out as a beginner. The first player fielded the ball flawlessly and threw it like a dart to the first baseman. Each of my teammates fielded Coach’s hits with precision. Obviously, they had been playing this game for many years. Now it was my turn. I tried to pick up the ball that Coach hit my way, but I completely failed. “Coach, may I have another one?” I yelled so he could hear. “Sure thing,” he said as he hit a ground ball softer off his wood bat. I picked it up, almost stumbling, and threw it too far to the right of the first baseman. Oh, no! I’ll never make it! “Hey, are you new?” one of the bigger kids asked me. “Yeah, why?” “Oh, that’s why,” he mumbled to himself. My heart sank. “Okay now, next are fly balls. So go into the outfield and wait,” Coach instructed. Within minutes, a fly ball came soaring straight at me. Oh, no! Could this day get any worse? There’s no way I’m going to catch this, I thought as I raised my open glove into the air. Thud! I looked into my glove, where, to my astonishment, I saw the ball tucked away in the supple brown leather. Yeeeessss! Maybe I’m not so terrible after all. “Team, meet our new outfielder!” Coach proclaimed enthusiastically. His words magically erased my teammate’s earlier comment. A few weeks later, it was time for our first game. I felt so unprepared. Mom dropped me off at the batting cages, where I watched each of my teammates hit every ball pitched to them. Now, it was my turn. As hard as I focused, the pitches roared past me. There was something about these pitches that made them impossible to connect with. I felt lucky to hit a couple of balls. “Okay, that’s enough warm-up. It’s game time,” Coach yelled. One by one, we eagerly entered the dugout like a line of army ants ready for duty. Suddenly, Coach called out the batting lineup. My cheeks burned with embarrassment, and I suddenly broke out into a cold sweat when he called my name last. “Why am I last?” I asked. “I put you last because this is your first game. The other kids have more experience.” I listened, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the ground where they
