Cheerleading: Competition

It is said that the most dangerous sport in the world is cheerleading, but many people say that it is not a sport at all. Just because cheerleading seems to be a bunch of girls in uniform cheering on different sports does not mean it is not just as hard as any other sport or that that’s all it is made up of. There is a difference between cheering on the sideline and competitive cheerleading. Ask yourself if you could lift a girl or guy, who weighs as much as you, above your head multiple times, dance, tumble (flip), jump, yell, and do motions non-stop for two and a half minutes.

Building or stunting is when cheerleaders lift their fellow cheerleaders. You can have four possible bases, or people who lift the athlete, and the person being lifted is the flyer. There are two side bases, a front spot, and a back spot. Of the two side bases there is a main base, who holds all the weight of the flyer, and a secondary base who helps lift. In two legged stunts the weight is distributed equally among the two bases. The side bases hold the feet, the front spot holds the wrist of the side bases, or the legs or ankles of the flyer, and the back spot holds the bottom, waist, ankles, or legs of the flyer in the stunt. What the bases hold is all depending on the stunt, and what part of the stunt they are doing.

Before you can do any other type of stunt, you first have to learn to do a prep, or elevator. The first thing you would do is to set, or get ready for the build. The side bases and front spot spread their legs, bend them, put their hands in front of their waist, and get ready to catch. The flyer would put his/her hands on the side bases shoulders while the back spot puts his/her hands on the flyer’s hips. Next, is the load. The flyer jumps into the side bases hands, lifts herself/himself up by pushing down on the side bases shoulders, and pulls his/her legs up with bent knees. The back spot lifts the flyer by his/her waist into the side bases hands, and then the back spot moves his/her hands to either underneath the flyer’s bottom or the flyer’s ankles. The front spot would grab underneath of the thighs of the flyer or the flyer’s ankles. Lastly, there is the actual prep, or elevator. The side bases use their leg power to pop the build up to shoulders. They straighten their legs, and turn their wrist to hold the ankles and toes of the flyer, and lift him/her to shoulders. The back spot either lifts up on the flyer’s ankles or pushes up on the flyer’s bottom, and catches the flyer’s ankles. The front spot lifts up on either the ankles of the flyer or the thighs of the flyer. The flyer pushes himself/herself up off the side bases shoulders, stands up, and squeezes her body tightly. Now, that is how to do a prep/elevator.

There are many other types of stunts that you can do, and many variations of each. Other two legged stunts are extensions, split stunts, awesomes, show-and-goes, etc. Some one legged stunts are libs, heel stretches, arabesques, scorpions, bow-and-arrow, scales, torches, bottle rockets, show-and-goes, etc. There are also cradles or fulls that are ways you can end a stunt, or transition from one thing to another. That is when the flyer is thrown up into the air, and then caught. Pyramids are stunts that are connected to more than one build. Basket tosses are when the flyer is thrown very high into the air, and then caught. At the very top of the height the flyer is thrown, in a basket toss, the flyer can do something like a toe touch, pike, kick, or something else. With stunts, there are millions of different things you can do, and it is never easy.

Dancing is a part of cheerleading that anyone can do, but not everyone can make look effortless or good. Usually, in a competition routine, the dance portion is only about twenty seconds. Although it is very short, it is also very fast, and catching to the eye. Usually there are many ripples, or the same motions done on different counts. Most of the time the dance portion is the cheerleaders favorite part of the whole competition routine, because it gives them a chance to have fun, and put their personality in it.

Another part of competitive cheerleading is flipping or tumbling. Tumbling is a very important part of cheerleading, because it takes years to learn, and not everyone can do it. The more cheerleaders on a squad that can do the harder skills are shows that that squad is more advanced. Front rolls, cartwheels, and round-offs are the easiest skills. The harder skills are backhand springs, front tucks, back tucks, layouts, fulls, front handspring, etc. They are even more advanced when connected together. It is amazing to see twenty girls whipping their bodies in ways that seem impossible.

In addition to these many important components of cheerleading competition routines, there is also a jump portion. Jumps are very tiring and hard. Good jumps are level to your waist and awesome jumps are when your legs are above that. For example, when doing a toe-touch, above level would look like your legs were in a “V.” A toe-touch is when you jump with both legs spread apart from each other. Other jumps that are done in competitions are front hurdles, pikes, and hurkeys. Front hurdles are when you jump when on leg is straight up in front of you, and the other is bent behind you. This jump is usually done at a diagonal to the audience and your arms are in a touch-down motion. Pikes are done with the side of your body facing the audience and both feet are together straight in front of you. The arms are usually straight in front of you also. A hurkey is done to the front like a toe-touch, but one leg is bent. Your arms are in a “T” motion. Jumps are the hardest part to get together in routine, because not everyone’s jumps are on the same exact level. Once they are, it is amazing.

The cheer is the core of the cheerleading routine. It can contain all the skills cheerleading are made up of in one part of the routine. The cheer is the most original part of cheerleading, because that is why it was made, to cheer on sports. The louder you are the more impressive it is, and the more crowd involvement the more points you will get. Yelling words, doing motions, stunts, tumbling, and jumps all rolled into a short cheer is what makes the cheer the most tiring, and hardest component of the whole routine.

When a cheerleading squad goes onto the floor to perform their routine, something they are doing the whole time is facials. This is when you smile, or make other facial expressions. Would you rather watch a squad that looks excited, or one who looks unhappy or mad the whole time? Everyone would most definitely have more fun watching an excited squad. The more excited the squad looks the more excited the crowd and judges will be. With the judges being excited; this will mean the more points that squad will get. Facials are the way to go in cheerleading.

While the cheer is the hardest component, remembering every single count of the two and a half minute routine and when to do each, and every part on the exact count is what makes competitive cheerleading so hard. Each component of cheerleading is tough enough to do by itself, but connecting all of it seems almost impossible. Finding time to breathe in between doing each part also seems almost impossible. Two and a half minutes does not seem long, but it takes months to put together, and even longer to remember enough to do all together. No matter what anyone says, cheerleading is a sport and a hard one at that.

The Studio (Profile Essay)

I could not help but to gaze at the newly-built building, which contains a twenty-four hour fitness center and a dance studio, as I walked past. It looks a tad like a shopping center- two businesses connected, with big front windows and glass doors- and somewhat boring and unnoticeable. I had always wanted to take dance, so I decided to take a chance and find out what the dance studio was all about.

I thought a dance studio would look a lot different then this one did. It wasn’t at all like what I had predicted. I expected it would be more like a school- older, bigger, and plainer on both the inside and out. Instead, it was smaller, plain on the outside and full of life on the inside. The building was nothing special, a regular brick building with windows and a door, but when you walked in it was totally different. The walls were painted a bright orange with flowers sketched all over them. There were pictures from past dance recitals and of actual professionals hung everywhere. It was decorated so cute, but that was only the waiting room.

At this point I had no idea what to expect as I walked through the white, classy French doors to the dance room. I feared I may interrupt a class, or even be given the look of rejection. Both doors swung open, and everyone’s eyes turned right towards me. The walls were painted a soft, light pink, and the floors were stained gray, smooth concrete. The room had nothing but a stereo, mirrors, and various colored curtains. There was only one purpose for the room, and that was to dance.

I had presumptions about what a dance teacher would look like, but again I was wrong. I pictured an old, tall, and fit woman with long legs. Maybe even a Russian, since the Russian ballet is such a big deal. The dance teacher, Ms. Walker, had a thin, narrow oval face with a somewhat defined jaw line, and a small mouth with wrinkles around it. She had a stern, stressed expression on her face and was very young. Her lips were normal sized, and her chin was small and came to a point Ms. Walker’s small, flat forehead made way to a skinny, but long and pointed nose. She had perfectly straight, white teeth, and a long black ponytail. Her eyebrows were black and thin, her eyes were a deep brown, and her eye lashes were long and curled. She had a fair complexion. She reminded me of a Jewish woman. With a black shirt and black workout pants on, she looked very professional. Ms. Walker was short and muscular. Without a doubt, she did not fit my profile of a dance teacher.

Come to find out, Ms. Walker was not much older than me. She was only older than me by three years. As a dance teacher, Ms. Walker or “Taylor,” was responsible for teaching 108 children. There were about twelve different groups, three dances per group, and there is no telling how many individual solo dances. When a child and their parents decide they want to sign up for a class, the studio will either sign them up for a class, if it is before the school year, or if not, add them to their mailing list. If the child does not sign up in time for dance throughout the school year then there are always summer classes. In May of each year, there is a recital and there are different outfits for each dance. This is the children’s time to shine, and show off what they have worked all school year on. From what I had heard, it is almost like a real Broadway show.

All the information Taylor provided me with was very detailed, especially when she explained the different types of dances she taught. You could definitely tell she knew what she was talking about. We sat and talked for awhile in the waiting room about the times I could take classes. We discussed who I would be dancing with, and what kind of dancing I would be doing. Her mother, who was also the receptionist, told me the available times.

“Wednesdays at 6:00 p.m. are available.”

Her tone was that of a stern business woman. While considering the day I saw a sign hanging on the wall that said “I do not try to dance better than anyone else. I only try to dance better than myself.” I decided that 6:00 p.m. would work out wonderfully.

“You can dance with Taylor. Ya’ll are about the same age and no one else would be close. Taylor has wanted to actually dance and not just teach, and this would be the perfect opportunity. Dance means so much to her, and I believe it would be to you also.”

I agreed with the idea. Dancing with the dance instructor sounded like a privilege. Not only would I be learning from the best, but dancing with the best also. While we were talking, it became time for her pre-school class to start. Parents pulled up in red, yellow, green, black, silver, and every other color car you could think of. I watched as they each came in to drop their child off. The little girls embraced their parents and then ran excitingly into the dance room. All of the girls wore pink tutus or leotards with flowing skirts on them. They were all so cute.

I looked around the room. The girls were all different, but they blended perfectly together. Ribbons in their hair, a perfect diagonal cut at the ends. Some had straight hair, hair that fell perfectly from a tight rubber band and swayed opposite to their bodies. Others had curly hair; the type of hair so thick that they have to tie with several rubber bands. The ringlets formed around the outlines of their face, twisting in the glistening sweat. It was not about looks to these girls. It was about form.

A girl in the corner, around my same age it seemed, rehearsed a dance. Again and again she hit the same moves. She tucked the loose hairs behind her ears, but never took her eyes off her feet in the mirror. She never once looked at her face, or wiped the blurred eyeliner from under her eyes. Her main concern was the move she could not land. Every time she got it right she put her hands in front of her, as if setting a box down and whispered “okay” and began again. Every time she messed up, she squeezed her hands in a tight fist, threw her head back, counted, and started fresh again. It was as if nobody was in the room with her. She was never distracted by the noise of the instructor counting, or the slow classical song coming from a small blue CD player nearby. She never took her eyes off her feet.

I asked one of the pre-schoolers what their favorite activity in dance was and she told me two things:

“My favorite part of dance class is putting on my shoes and doing the Hokey Pokey.”

I could not help but laugh, because I would have never thought putting on shoes could be so much fun. Across the room a group of girls were getting ready. I watched them take their shoes from their bags. They were in all colors and shades: dark pink, light pink, baby blue, pearl, yellow. They were ballet shoes. The long ribbons were coiled around the shoe itself. Some girls carefully un-winded them, shoe in one hand, ribbons in the other. There were a few that held onto the ribbon ends and just let the shoe twist out. They slipped on the first shoe and carefully pulled the back of the shoe over the heel. Some had band-aids on the back of their ankles, covering up the blister beneath or adding a cushion to prevent harm. It dawned on me why this girl enjoyed putting on shoes. It was not about actually putting the shoes on; it was about being with your friends. The girls slowly laced up their shoes, pausing every once in a while to laugh at a joke told between friends, or to look at a girl telling a story of what happened to her the night before. A task that should take no time became an event, a gathering. The fellowship these girls had intimidated me. Sitting by myself, I flipped through my phone.

Finally, I walked back into the waiting room. I registered for dance, paid the registration fee, and thanked them for all their help. Their smiling faces assured me I was joining a kind community. If I never become a great dancer, I thought, at least I will make friends. As I got up and left I was excited. I juggled my keys between my hands. I could not help but smile myself. I could not wait for the chance to enter the world of dance. As I drove away I glanced back at the studio in my rear-view, a sight that would become very familiar to me, a second home. I would never look at the studio the same way I did that day.

I would have never thought a dance studio would look the way this one did. In addition, I would have never thought I would actually sign up for dance classes either. I went in to find out what the studio was all about and now I know. Dance is for yourself; it is not competitive. It is a way to express yourself, and that was what the dance studio did for me.

Essay #1 "When Bad Things Happen To Good People"

When Bad Things Happen To Good People

About six years ago, my cousin, Jenny Shields, died of a very “rare, inherited bone marrow failure disease” called Fanconi Anemia. Jenny is 1 of only 3,000 known cases in the entire world today. She was only twelve years old when she died and I was only thirteen. When Jenny was born she was not much bigger than a Barbie doll in size and they never could figure out what was wrong with her. Jenny was diagnosed at the age of ten and was on a waiting list for two years for a bone marrow donor. Time meant everything.
Jenny’s bone marrow was supposed to do so much more than it was. It was only producing five percent of the blood cells it need to and if she did not get a bone marrow transplant soon then she would run out of time. The doctors told her that her white counts were so low that even if she contracted something as little as an ear infection, it could be critical. The process that Jenny and her parents had to go through was so intense and intricate that I could not see how anyone could go through such a thing. The family tried a number of procedures, but the bone marrow transplant was the only hope left. Despite that the disease was robbing her of life’s “sustaining blood cells”, she still seemed as happy as ever.
Jenny always looked toward the better side and had hope for her condition. Her joy and great presence made it so much easier for those who surrounded her in this sad time. She could no longer go to school, doctors were telling her they could not help her, and she did not even know if she had a fighting chance, but somehow she stayed strong. Jenny wanted to be a veterinarian and saw herself with a future. She wanted to be a normal child and grow up. She had the mindset that everything would be okay and some how she made everyone believe her.
There was a group of older ladies in the community around Louisville, Kentucky, where Jenny was from. The women each wrote a prayer on a small quilt square. They all pitched in and made her one big quilt with each of their quilt squares. Jenny loved the prayer quilt with all her heart. It was beautiful and full of the nicest prayers I had ever heard. Once, when Jenny was asleep my aunt, Jo Ann, took it from the bed and washed it. When Jenny woke up, she found out and was heartbroken. Jenny thought that because my aunt washed the quilt then all the prayers were washed away along with it. Jenny usually was able to hide hear fear in the inside, but when it came down to it she was even more scared than everyone else.
Since most doctors knew very little about her disease, she was forced to an out of state specialist for her treatment. In the whole United States, there were only two doctors who specialized in Fanconi Anemia and could give her the help she needed. One was in Memphis, TN at St. Jude and the other was in Minnesota. Jenny and the family traveled to Minnesota to meet with the doctor who specialized in her case. A doctor who knew a great deal about Fanconi Anemia was a wish come true.
The first procedure they tried was having my aunt get pregnant so they could use the baby’s stem cells from its umbilical cord to cure her. My aunt was not capable of having kids anymore; therefore, they had to artificially inseminate her other daughter’s egg, along with my uncle’s sperms, into my aunt. Every time they went through this and the baby’s stem cells did not match they had to terminate. My aunt, Jo Ann, went through this procedure five different times. One of the times she was pregnant with quadruplets, but none of them matched. The last time they tried, the baby finally matched and everyone was so happy, but Jo Ann ended up having a miscarriage. Money was becoming a very big issue and they could not afford to keep doing this emotionally or financially. Can you imagine how devastating that must be? To be so close to saving your own daughter and being denied happiness again?
After they had lost all hope on that course of action, everyone was hoping for a miracle. Jenny was getting very sick and needed some type of cure soon. They never found a perfect match for a bone marrow donor, but they did find someone who was as close as they were going to get. They set the time and date for the bone marrow transplant for the very next day. Finally, more hope at last.
I remember flying in and going to see how Jenny was. The hospital was so white and huge. It was crowded, noisy, smelly, and full of hurt and sadness. How would anyone be happy spending their last days in that environment? Jenny was already in surgery when we got there. It all happened so quickly. We received the phone call the night before and the next night we were there. No one had any idea what to expect. The next day everyone got to see her and find out how she was. She seemed well, even great for someone who had surgery just hours before. I only got to see her for a minute, but I still could never forget it. I was so relieved that she was okay. I could not bear to loose not only my cousin, but a great friend.
The whole day everyone kept their hopes up that everything would work out successfully. We had to wait and see if her body would accept the new bone marrow and it seemed as if it was going fantastically. That night it went bad. She hit rock bottom. Jenny all of the sudden became dreadfully sick. I was back at the hotel. I remember hearing the phone ring. Immediately, we knew something was wrong. My grandma called and said it did not look good. We kept on praying. Then, the phone call came. That one phone call I would never wish upon anyone. Jenny was dead and it drastically changed everyone’s life at in an instant. Together my mom and I cried. It could have been for minutes, maybe even hours. I had no idea what to do, or how to react. All I knew was it had to be a lie. It had to be a joke, an awfully mean joke, but it was not. All hope was gone forever. Jenny, my cousin, my friend was gone forever.
The next week was Jenny’s funeral. My mom, my sister, and I flew to Kentucky, where Jenny lived, and my dad drove from Arkansas to meet us there. Once we got there we went to stay with my grandma and the mood around us was indescribable. It was silent and sad. I was only thirteen and did not know if I did not know how to accept that she was gone for the better and that God wanted her to live a better life there in heaven. Should I be angry with him? When someone so young, so close, and so wonderful is taken away from you, it is hard to know how to react.
The day before the visitation, we went to my great grandma’s house to see everyone and see how everyone was doing. We ate dinner and the whole time everyone looked so depressed. The family talked about how Calvin and Jo Ann, Jenny’s parents, were doing and it seemed like they were definitely not good. Jo Ann could hardly speak to anyone and Calvin would not speak at all. They both were in a major depression and the next day, when I saw them at the visitation, I immediately began to cry. Calvin hugged me. He knew how close Jenny and I were and we were almost the same age. I was surprised he even came up to me. I believe it was the saddest time of my life.
Before the funeral the next day, they played a slideshow of Jenny and there was not one dry eye in the funeral home. This big vintage, distasteful funeral home was already sad looking enough. The tears and closed casket did not help matters. The people were all so sad and I knew exactly where they were coming from; I was sad too.
As everyone drove to the grave yard that stormy sad day, I could not think of anything else except what had happened. Jenny was such an amazing young girl. She was nice to everyone and she did not ask for much. All she wished for was to be a normal child. Everyone gathered in the cemetery to watch her casket be carried to the gravesite. All the people there came around and put a flower on the casket. As tears ran down everyone’s faces, the preacher said a prayer and a few nice things about Jenny. We all watched as the casket was lowered into the ground. At that time, I knew Jenny was watching down from heaven and that she was in a better place.
The loss of my cousin, Jenny, hurt her friends, family, and even people who barely knew her. She was the girl who would have made a great impact on the world. Still now, I think of Jenny every single day and I wish there could have been a way for me to make a difference, to save her, or at least say goodbye. Why do bad things have to happen to good people?

Essay 1 Ideas

While trying to pick a certain event, I finally decided on my cousin's death.

Her name was Jenny Shields and she was wonderful. Jenny was born with a rare blood disease called Fanconi Anemia. It is a "rare, inherited bone-marrow failure disease" that effects children drastically. Jenny is 1 of only 3000 known cases in the entire world today.

Jenny was a great person and wanted to live her life as normal as possible even though she was sick. There were so many different types of procedures that her and her family tried. Some took more than one try, but cost way to much. She died at only 13. Jenny was good one day and not the next. Why is it when something bad happens that it always happens to such wonderful people?