Right now, there are children from sea to shining sea staring at their screens in awe of Team USA Olympic gymnast Simone Biles. And then there’s me.
I’m a realist. The chances of me doing anything remotely worthy of anybody’s 30 Under 30 list in my final four years as a twenty-something are slim. But if I’m going to Super Soul Sunday my way to success, I need a role model. And Biles is so goddamn phenomenal, I believe I would only need to channel the strength of her quads to launch me into a brighter future. In this moment, her thighs are objectively better than my whole life, and I am inspired.
No sense in aspiring to be the whole gold medalist. That ship has sailed. Hi, I’m Evelyn, and I have actually pulled a muscle reaching for a hanger under my bed. I’ve inhale-exhaled my way through a charley horse during Shavasana. Yes, the yoga pose where you JUST LIE THERE. I know my limits.
But them quads though.
How many reps do I have to do on the Leg Extension Machine of Life? How many squats? How long must I wall sit until I can flex on all my haters?
If I could touch the hem of her warm up clothes, be the wind that swooshes around her ponytail, shine half as bright as one Swarovski crystal on that leotard, I would be fine. I need the Biles Blessing. She’s electrifying.
May we all run toward our obstacles with the same speed she runs toward the vault. Strong enough to stand firm and harness that power into a (handspring?? Double tuck? Girl, I don’t know, she levitates for like 20 consecutive twirls), and stick the landing.
My adoration for athletes is nothing new. In 2015, my mantra was Be like Misty Copeland’s calves, solid and unwavering, and now I add Simone Biles to my weird anatomical mood board of girl power.
Do I know anything about competitive gymnastics? Barely. Do I follow gymnastics outside of the Olympics? Hell nah. Did a solitary tear roll down my cheek at the end of her floor exercise when she hit that final pose, face to the sky, basking in the glory of a gold medal win?! Absolutely and with no shame. When it comes to the Olympics, I don’t believe in bandwagons, I call it seeing the light. And I see you, Simone. I see you.