All this is compounded by the chattering heads of their horrific stage parents with their inky tentacles groping for vicarious glory, weeping and sputtering and waving little flags with their eyes rolling back in their heads, awash in their strange addiction. They are not much better than those parents in Calcutta who poke eyes out of their toddlers or hack them off at the knees to make it a more pitiable beggar. Gymnastics must be destroyed. The gymnastics aesthetic looks like it was created by a bunch of dangerously repressed old Quakers. I've been bulimic ever since.
Nothing exists after gymnastics.
These poor creatures turn five circles in the air trying to fly closer to the sun, only to be eventually defeated by gravity and puberty, and spend the rest of their lives as travel agents with terrible secrets who don't work and play well with others. This is not a woman brimming over with enthusiasm and love for the art form. She still hates everything. Some of the Russian women, for example, had a stone-ground unwholesomeness in their faces and eyes, like they were about to patrol the streets for bored townies the second they got off the mat. Ve got pills.