by Avani Gregg
Starting at the new gym was hard; it meant getting to know new coaches and teammates. I guess all that stress distracted me and I injured my toe while practicing on the beam. In the world of athletic injuries, an injured toe is no biggie, but once it healed, I sprained my ankle while vaulting. Then I injured one of my core stomach muscles while practicing my floor routine. That one took me out of practice for a good couple of weeks. When it healed, I got a hairline fracture in both of my knees while doing vault. The tendon that goes from my knee to the tibia had been pulled so hard that it fractured the bone. On top of that, an old hip injury also flared up, which triggered my back. You see a pattern here? I was falling apart! The intense training was beating me up and I had to go to physical therapy all the time. Can you imagine the medical bills my parents were paying?
Because of my hip injury, my pelvis was off-center, so I would get recurring injuries near my hip and lumbar area. But eventually, after my hip healed, I went right back to doing full practice, which is when I felt this strange, sharp, constant pain in my lower back. I didn’t think too much of it. I’d had so many injuries that I’d conditioned myself to simply push through the pain. There was no reason for me to think this was any different, or any more serious. But then it became a constant gnawing ache, and it continued to intensify. My coaches saw how much pain I was in and insisted I see a doctor. My parents were worried because I could barely stand up straight anymore, and they were afraid I was doing permanent damage to my body. So I had an MRI and was told my back was “slightly fractured, not to worry, it will heal pretty quickly.” I wore a back brace to sleep and tried not to cry at night when throbbing pain from lying on the hard plastic shell of the brace kept me awake. Plus, I was not able to move around or stretch. It felt like I was in a straitjacket, but I had to wear it 24/7, only taking it off to shower. I had physical therapy once a week and exercises to do three times a day. Heating or icing it didn’t help, but I kept telling myself it was just a temporary setback and kept on training. I didn’t want to lose my momentum.
I ignored the signs and didn’t listen to my body telling me it was too much. Then, one day, I was doing floor and could no longer complete my leap pass, which is when you jump up in the air, do the splits, and land with your feet together. This was one of my favorite skills to perform, but getting my legs out and off the ground at the same time was impossible. I felt intense pain in my lower back, right where the fracture was. Eventually, I had to sit out practices and meets because it was too excruciating. It was also pretty obvious to everyone, including me, that my range of motion was becoming limited. I went to competitions to support my teammates, but while I cheered them on, I saw my dreams slipping away.
The gym was willing to let me keep training at a slower pace. I thought that if an elite or Olympic career was out of the question, at least I could compete on the bars at a college level. I didn’t have to do all the events; I could just do what my body could handle. But that plan fell apart pretty quickly too. After about three months, my doctor—a sports medicine specialist—had to sit me down and deliver the bad news I knew was coming: it was over. My back would never recover enough for me to compete again. The only way it could completely heal—and not permanently impact my health—was if I stopped gymnastics, did my physical therapy, and waited it out for six months or more. It wasn’t just, “Take a little break and then you can go back.” I knew I would lose most of my high-level skills and I would have to start all over. I was getting too close to graduation and was afraid I wouldn’t have the skills I needed to get a college scholarship. So it was time to hang it up.
I remember hearing the words my doctor said, but not completely processing them. I started to cry while I was in her office, and I could tell my mom was tearing up, too. I was feeling so many emotions, but all I could latch on to was numbness. More than denial, I was in shock. Gymnastics had been so much more than a sport for me. It was where I could release my anger and frustration; it was truly my outlet and my therapy. If I couldn’t do it anymore, I would be completely lost. Adding to this agony was the fact that I also felt guilty for all the time and money my family had poured into my training—what a waste! What about my coaches who had worked so hard to prepare me? My teammates who counted on me? I couldn’t bear the thought of letting everyone down. How could I ever face them? What would I say? “Sorry I ruined everything, but hey, it was great while it lasted”?
My mom said I had to go through the stages of grief and mourn the loss of gymnastics before I could move on. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and finally, acceptance. It was frighteningly accurate. I spent time in each stage—first in a trance, then furious at everything and everyone. Next, I tried rationalizing, “This isn’t so bad… is it?” and tried to convince myself that everything was going to be okay. Then came the giant wave of what I can only describe as wallowing. I just wanted to be left alone to feel very, very bad for myself. Self-pity and “woe is me” wrapped up into one giant ball of sadness. Wow, I was a mess. It makes sense to me now, but at the time, it was like someone had pressed the pause button on my life. What I remember most is bawling my eyes out—and we all know puffy raccoon eyes are not pretty on anyone.
My family tried to comfort me, even though it was very hard for them as well. For twelve years, they lived gymnastics with me. To this day, they can’t watch an old gymnastics video of me without crying. Regardless of how much they tried to comfort me, I was devastated. Dad likes to compare everything to football: “Think of Peyton Manning or Brett Favre, all those greats who had to hang up their shoulder pads. They transitioned, as hard as it was.” All I kept hearing from everyone around me was, “You’re sixteen. You have your whole life ahead of you.” But it didn’t feel that way. It felt like my life was over, and I wanted to scream, “Please don’t try and tell me it’s not, you don’t know what I’m going through!” Loss is very personal. It’s different for everyone, and it doesn’t come with a set schedule. You’re gonna feel what you’re gonna feel when you feel it. No deadlines, no way to keep it neat and tidy or tuck it away for a while. Grief will stick around as long as it needs to, as long as you let it.
It was my mom’s little tough love lecture that finally got through to me. She came into my room and sat down beside me. I was in my usual spot in bed with the covers pulled over my head. I curled myself up in a ball even tighter. I knew what was coming.
“Voni, we’ve got to try and rethink this now, right? What you thought was going to be your life is not that anymore.”
I shook my head. Not helping, Mom. Go away.
“You can sit here and mope or find something new to do,” she continued. “Your decision.”
My decision? Was she kidding? It wasn’t my decision to kiss my career goodbye; the doctors and coaches and you guys made it for me. It also wasn’t my decision to feel this miserable, it was the only way I knew how to react to the worst thing that had ever happened to me.
“It’s time to get over it.”
Get over it? That would mean getting up, and I was determined not to budge from my bed. Avani’s not here, leave a message! That’s when Mom pulled the covers off. That was her not-so-subtle way of telling me that enough was enough. I couldn’t go on like this. I had to find something that made me happy again, something to fill the void. Ugh.
Of course, Mom being Mom, she was full of suggestions, since I couldn’t see them through all my angst. Her best advice? Makeup and acting had always been a fun sideline, but now they could be front and center if I made the effort to get off my butt. Luckily for me, when I was forced to rest out all my injuries, I would stay up late, do my makeup, and post on Musical.ly, before it became TikTok. I enjoyed expressing myself through makeup and acting, but I never once saw it as a possible career. My mom insisted there was more to me than just gymnastics. On some level, I knew that was true. But it required me to rethink everything I had hung my hopes on. It required me to switch gears. I had always been so strong, but right now, all I felt w
as shattered. “You can pick up the pieces,” Mom said, patting me on the back. “I believe in you.” Maybe I just needed to hear it so I could believe in myself. Maybe I could be me again—just Me 2.0.
I know it might sound a bit dramatic, but social media saved me. It gave me a plan B. It also taught me how to bounce back. Here’s the thing: you discover who you really are and what you’re made of when you’re face-to-face with uncertainty. Loss sucks. I’m not going to sugarcoat it. Having the rug pulled out from under you is the worst, but you can stand up and find your balance again. That goes for careers, relationships, college admissions, and more. The pain might feel so intense that you can’t imagine ever getting past it. But you will. You will survive, I pinky swear. It takes a little faith and imagination to see the excitement and possibility in the unknown. Can you trust the universe just a little bit and see where it takes you?
If you’re shaking your head no, I totally get it. If you had told me I would one day find something that made me feel happier and more fulfilled than gymnastics, I would have called you crazy. Gymnastics was my do or die. But now, I see that I had to go through that tremendous loss to come out on the other side. I’m gonna be straight with you: life isn’t fair. Things don’t always work out the way you plan, and you can’t always get what you want. Disappointment is kind of inevitable. One day, you’re going to be blindsided and pissed beyond belief that what you thought was a given is gone, gone, gone and it’s not coming back. But think about it: loss isn’t what defines us, it’s the way we handle it that counts. That’s one of Dad’s oldie-but-goodie pieces of advice (I told you, sometimes they stick!). So yeah, I had to train my brain to bounce back, and it was a serious workout. I had to struggle and stretch to see the possibilities. But guess what? I’m a stronger person because of it. I’m more willing to take risks and more open to new opportunities that might come my way because I’ve seen that I’m capable of change. Maybe I deserve a gold medal for that?
During the pandemic, so many people talked about needing to “pivot” because life didn’t look the same anymore. We didn’t have a choice. We had to go about our lives in a strange new way and be cool with masks, social distancing, and Zoom classes. Like Dua Lipa says, sometimes you gotta do “a full 180.” TBH, I used to get queasy on those thrill rides at amusement parks. But 180s don’t scare me or even make me dizzy anymore. In fact, I kind of welcome the chance to challenge myself. Sometimes you grow when you let it go. To this day, I still say I’m a gymnast. I’ll be a gymnast forever. I just added a few more lines to my bio, so I’m that much more fabulous.
I may have suffered a loss, but I gained so much. I found a new tribe in social media circles. I found my beb. I found new interests and so many things that make me excited to wake up in the morning and kick off those covers (don’t worry, Mom, I’ll make my bed!). Do I occasionally feel a pang of longing for my old life? Sure. But the more time passes, the less I miss it. I may never entirely “get over” something that was my everything, but that’s okay. I won’t let that loss stand in the way of new dreams. And that’s the point, isn’t it? You’re capable of so much more than you could ever imagine. I firmly believe that everything happens for a reason. If I was still competing in gymnastics, I would not have moved to LA; met any of my friends; won a Shorty Award; graced the cover of Seventeen; gotten brand sponsorships with Doritos, Fila, L’Oréal, Morphe, and Louis Vuitton; played Gemma on Brat TV’s Chicken Girls; been chosen for Forbes 30 Under 30; or had my own show, Here For It with Avani Gregg on Messenger Watch Together. You get the point. If I was still in gymnastics, I would have missed out on all these amazing opportunities to build my “empire,” as my dad put it. Hey, I wouldn’t even be writing this book or getting to connect with you! I can’t believe how things have changed so radically in such a short period of time. My transformation didn’t start off easy. I was determined to hold on to the grief. But because of my loss, I gained more than I ever thought possible.
Losing something or someone you love with all your heart is so, so hard, but it makes you stronger. Maybe you’re in a place where you can’t or won’t see that right now, and that’s perfectly fine. Take the time you need to be in your feels and sort things through. Wallow away like I did because it’s your right. But one day, I promise you’ll look back at what I wrote here and be like, “Damn! Avani called it!” I told you so. I’ve been there, done that, and I guarantee I will do it again. But I hope I won’t be such a wreck next time something or someone blindsides me. Because now I know that doing a 180 is all part of growing up, finding your way, and figuring out your passion and purpose. For me, it was a major breakthrough just putting these words down on the page and seeing the progress I’ve made. My back might not have healed the way it was supposed to, but my heart is definitely getting there.
Run It Back: How to Bounce
I used to love jumping on a trampoline in the gym—that feeling of falling and immediately bouncing right back into the air, higher and higher each time. I wish it was that easy to rebound from loss, failure, or disappointment, but practice makes perfect.
Think positive. Making your brain go to a happy place when you’re down is tough, but optimism can help you see things more clearly. My mom laid it all out for me and helped me take stock of everything I had going for me. She reminded me of what I loved, what I was good at, and how bright my future was. Hope heals, just sayin’.
Expect the unexpected. That way, when it shows up on your doorstep, you’re not totally overwhelmed and unable to cope. The world is full of change, especially these days, so it can’t hurt to mentally prepare yourself to pivot.
You’ve got the power. By this, I mean you can choose what comes next. You can sit in bed bawling your eyes out or you can decide to move forward, make plans, and morph into a new person capable of greatness. I’d go with that…
Ask for help, especially if you’re feeling as sad and adrift as I was. There is no shame or blame if you can’t dig your way out by yourself. Loss will knock you on your butt. Reach out to people who love you for support, advice, and cheerleading. Lean on them until you feel strong enough to stand on your own two feet.
Say thank you. I mean it. Be grateful and appreciative of everything you have in your daily life. One loss, even if it’s a biggie, does not negate all the good stuff. Gratitude helps you keep things in perspective. Vacation plans canceled? They forgot the sauce for your chicken nuggets? Don’t freak the freak out; you’ve got so much going for you.
On Avani
My gymnastics coach Eric Philabaum says:
I first met Avani in August 2015, when she was thirteen or fourteen. It was clear that she was very talented and an extremely hard worker. She would make things look effortless because she wouldn’t be satisfied until they did. She was a great teammate—always encouraging, always cheering for everyone. She was a great example to younger kids at the gym and showed them how to approach gymnastics: with hard work and perseverance. Make it look good, put your own spin on it to stand out, and make the judges notice you. I coached Avani on bars and vault, where her strongest skills were her bail to handstand and toe shoot catch on the high bar. A bail is a skill that the gymnast does to transition from the high bar to the low. What Avani could do was do a handstand on the low bar, grab the low bar with her toes, and then swing around, shoot up, and grab onto the high bar. She was always pushing the envelope and she had flair in everything she did, which made her the center of attention even though she wasn’t trying to be. She has a kind heart and a great personality. Her teammates just loved being around her.
It was devastating when Avani had to quit. You could see the fire leaving her eyes. It was heartbreaking when she told her coaches and teammates that she had to be done. I give credit to her family and her friends for helping her through it. Social media and schoolwork helped Avani keep busy. But I understand that she still misses gymnastics. Once a gymnast, always a gymnast.
chapter four Clown Girl
A lot of
interviewers ask me how I got into “all this,” meaning social media. Most kids fool around on the apps and don’t take it too seriously. I didn’t either at first. I was twelve and just goofing around on Musical.ly. Funny story (isn’t there always?): I would be nowhere in social media without sign language. When I was in seventh grade, I became interested in American Sign Language (ASL). I thought it was so cool to be able to communicate without using your voice, so I marched into the guidance office and requested to take sign language instead of Spanish. Just one small problem: ASL wasn’t offered at my school. Fine, I thought, be that way. I’ll figure it out on my own. I threw myself into it, following and duetting all kinds of ASL creators on the app. Eventually I transferred to online schooling and found out that ASL was being offered as an online class. Well, you guessed it: Sign me up, please! I loved being able to communicate with the deaf community. At first, I had maybe two hundred followers, and I would do these Boomerang videos: “That’s the sign of the day, everyone!” Then I saw an ASL TikTok challenge and decided to give it a shot. I signed to a song that was trending, and guess what? I won! The prize was a duet with one of the ASL creators. That was the first time I felt “known.”
I had been on the app for six years and I found all the little trends that were going, adding my own twists to them. I was pretty analytical about it: I would research what was popular, then ask myself, “What have I not shown that people would like?” I posted my artwork, gymnastics skills, and funny videos. I was going live a lot, too, so I could talk to followers and ask them how they were doing. I wanted them to know I was real and they could trust me. I guess I was doing something right, because my videos started blowing up.