Moving, I am constantly moving. I have done this a thousand times before. I am just going through the motions now. It is almost mundane. The only thing keeping me alert is the adrenaline buzzing beneath my skin. I always get this way in warm ups, before I compete. The opening jumps and stunts are flawless as usual. Nothing out of the ordinary is foreseen. The other cheerleaders around me are nothing but a mass of short skirts, glitter, and bows. The time to compete is approaching, but we have plenty of time to spare. Our coach yells, and jolts me out of my daydream “Do the basket one more time for good luck”. We have done this a million times before. Our coach begins to count “1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8…” and all eyes in the practice area are on my stunt group. As the bases link wrists forming a sturdy basket and the flyer stands on their hands. The entire room seems to hold their breath as we throw her with all our might in to the air. Within seconds she is high above our heads and as she descends her body begins to spin. Once, her body rotates and her elbows spin away from her body like the blades of a turbine. Twice, her body rotates again and she is quickly descending upon our outstretched arms and hopeful faces. Crack! With a jolt I awaken on the competition mat, sweaty palms, panting with goose bumps trailing across my skin. I shake my head in a disgruntled attempt to clear my muddied mind. My coach yells “Tolbert, shake it off…” and quickly stops mid-sentence as she sees my battered mouth. My coach and teammates flock to my side with worried looks on their faces. Someone rushes to the bathroom to get something to stop the bleeding. My mouth is spouting a fountain of crimson fluid onto my stark white shoes and freshly pressed uniform. We hear an announcement that my team is up next to compete, and everyone fears the worst. But at the announcement of my injury, the judges grant us more time. Within a few crucial minutes the bleeding has stopped, and I muster all my courage and willpower to march onto the competition mat. Cold judging stares scrutinize our every movement like bugs beneath a microscope. I am vulnerable. My lip feels as though it is a brazen bulletin exclaiming “notice me” across my face. The music starts, and I am moving, constantly moving. I have done this a thousand times before. I am focused and meticulous performing each skill perfectly with surgeon like precision. Our routine comes to a flawless finish and the crowd erupts with a deafening applause.