My cheerleading team and I traveled to Orlando, Florida, to compete at the UCA National High School Cheerleading Championship–weeks of practices and pressure finally leading to one routine on a fluorescent stage. It felt like everything had been building to that moment–and in a way, it had.
Nationals in Orlando were everything you’d expect: bright lights, loud arenas, matching bows, and a raging energy in the crowd that prickled across my skin and lifted the hairs on my arms. Unfortunately, a few weeks before we left, I had sprained my ankle and was told not to tumble at all costs, even during practice the day of nationals. But when the music started, the pain blurred into background noise–I threw my passes anyway. I hit them. The rush was unreal–a mix of defiance and relief, like my body remembered what it was capable of, the adrenaline numbing the pain that would come in waves before. When we finished, I felt proud and strangely calm. But as I looked around, I saw the bitter look on my teammates’ faces and knew something had fallen somewhere in the routine, and we hadn’t placed. It was bittersweet–knowing I had pushed myself so hard and succeeded personally, only for something else to mark us down. Still, when it was over, I felt lighter. Relieved. Like I had left everything on that mat.
A few days later, while the rest of my team headed home, I wheeled my suitcase through Orlando International Airport at 7:15 in the morning, exhausted but steady. Security was easy, the kind of quiet airport morning where everyone moves a little slower. It felt like I was going home–the competition behind me, the adrenaline fading into memory. I boarded the plane thinking about my own bed, my own routine, the familiar rhythm of life waiting.
But when I landed at Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport, Georgia greeted me not with rest, but with chaos. We rushed to catch a shuttle down to Gainesville, calling ahead to say we’d make the bus. And we did–we were less than ten feet away when the driver made eye contact with us… and left. Just like that. The shuttle only came hourly, so we were stuck waiting far longer than necessary, tired from travel, and mildly betrayed by public transportation. It was frustrating in the moment, but now it feels almost funny–the dramatic entrance into the next part of my trip.
When we finally made it to Gainesville, everything slowed down. I got to see my great-grandmother in her new nursing home, and despite how hard I knew it was, she was glowing with joy, as per usual. She seemed happy and content, surrounded by a community that truly suited her needs. The trip got brighter from there–shopping with my aunt, and grandma felt light and easy, full of laughter and small joys. And then there was my baby cousin, proudly performing the little cheer routine she’s been practicing. An adorable 4th grader, she’s all confidence and excitement–knowing I inspired her to start cheerleading is one of the sweetest feelings I’ve ever had.
This trip started with bright lights and a national stage in Florida, ending in a quiet Georgia living room with family and a tiny cheer routine just for me. It wasn’t the ending I expected when we didn’t place at nationals–but maybe it was the one I needed.