Chomp Press Pull is all about growing up WAY too enveloped in one’s sensory experiences, for better and worse. Are you itchy? Are you twitchy? Are you bliss-y? Is the air too thicky?

When I was in fourth grade I had quite a few friends who were cheerleaders and gymnasts and lord above, they tumbled as if nothing mattered. The sky was their setting, the freedom, part of their spirits. Just do. They did. And I wanted to do also, but my overactive intellectualizing of everything wouldn’t let me flip backwards into a handspring. I could walk over, I could bend backward, but I could not launch myself into the air and fly.

We all have those things from our younger years we wanted to be able to do so badly. If I attempted now, you’d be at my funeral I’m sure: “Oh Elaina. Usually a fairly smart girl. Thought she could flip into a back handspring at age 47. What a dumbass.”  

 
Enjoy an excerpt from Chomp, Press, Pull: 
 

Cut to the newest fascination I adopted after learning all the cheers I could learn: the fluorescent, glittery back handspring. In my small Walnut Street Elementary school world, it was the mother of all ferocious endeavors as a girl in fourth grade. The choreography of the neck to hand to ground via legs, through sunshine, into clouds—in an order I could never grasp. Karly spotted my lower back with her hands, modeled the form of the leap, and verbalized the sequence of the handspring better than any fourth-grade girl ever could’ve. I couldn’t bring myself to make the literal leap backwards. I couldn’t bring myself to launch in the air. My back walkover was perfection because of the emphasis on the word walk. The sequence was crystal clear and made sense to me. I told myself it’s the same move, just faster. It really wasn’t. One is like ballet; the other is aerodynamics. If you think a lot, this move isn’t for you.

The ingredient missing was risk. The ingredient I did not have in my heart, head, and the thing I could never locate was freedom. Jump back into the softness of earth. Let the hands and head lead. Yeah, well, my brain got in the way, and kept trying to tell me this wasn’t natural and that I’d break my neck. My mom’s voice, maybe? The thing about me mixed with risk was guilt. Fear of disappointing my mom dribbled through the crevices of my brain matter.  (Vine Leaves Press 4/15/2025)

Thanks for reading.

Elaina xo

Back Handspring of the 80s.