Whoever said cheerleading wasn’t a sport obviously hasn’t tried catching a girl from a two-and-a-half high pyramid. For all involved, stunting requires a lot of precision and trust. As a base you have to have faith that your flyer will dismount correctly. As a flyer you must have confidence that your bases will catch you no matter what, even if they might get hurt. The amount of trust that cheerleading requires, as well as a willingness to “take one for the team” makes cheerleading squads some of the most bonded sports teams out there.

    It must have been the second or third practice of my senior year at William & Mary. The last pyramid of the day was a Swedish falls and I was a catcher. Everything went up smoothly and it came time for the dismount. My flyer log rolled off…and then everything went black. Then came the major pain. Good news: my flyer didn’t fall. Bad news: I caught her with my face. Despite my teammates’ pleas for me to sit down, I insisted that all I needed to do is plug my nose with a tampon (a little trick I picked up from a doctor) and get back to cheering. Yet 20 sets of eyes as wide as dinner plates were staring at me, so I decided to see the trainer.

Yes, it was broken; no, there was nothing she could do about it. Sweet.

    After performing FBI-grade background checks on practically every plastic surgeon on the eastern seaboard, I cut the melodrama and saw my neighborhood ENT doctor. Boy was his staff in for a treat. In true cheerleader style I was convinced my injury was no big deal—hardly worthy of legitimate surgery. But I went through with the suggested surgery and afterward tried to do what I was supposed to, but in recovery I kept taking off my blankets and face packing and trying to get up. Let's just say I wasn't too willing to comply with the doctor's orders. Throughout the whole experience, I didn’t cry until after I was out of recovery. It’s not that it hurt (not that I would have admitted if it had) but the pain of being told that I couldn’t stunt or work out for the rest of the season struck me worse than face-planting into concrete.

    Sure, breaking my nose was a real downer, but as with any sport injuries do happen. If I hadn’t stepped in for my flyer, something worse could have happened. But, because of my actions ,my teammates knew that I would always—literally and metaphorically—have their backs. Without that type of dedication cheerleading might not be what it is today. Tell your critics to double down from a Lib with an unreliable backspot and then we’ll see who’s not calling cheerleading a sport!

*That’s me with two of W&M’s finest bases. No one hit the mats on our watch! *

xoxo,

Becca

rdolan@americancheerleader.com