The crowd watches the flyer fall like a feather in my arms; her sparkling blue uniform catching the light effortlessly to match the steady smile spread across her glowing face. Her form is perfect as she successfully returns safely to the ground, leaving nothing left awry not even her satin bow. The landing looks soft and silent, as everyone intently watches. The crowd erupts, ecstatic with cheerful remarks and joyful faces, oblivious to what lies behind the bow.

The bow. The infamous token granted only to cheerleaders. A mandatory part of the uniform, the one piece that ties everything together. Most are unaware that they have been earned through summer practices in the Florida heat and weekly video submissions. The audience’s judgements are built upon our outside appearances. Our uniforms are mere shells used to make us easily identifiable and a distinct unit when together. Our bows are no more than folds of fabric and glitter placed in our hair. Our smiles are forced projections of performance. They do not see the girls underneath, battling through their own walks of life.

I met Coach Joy when I began my cheerleading journey this year. Nothing could prepare me for everything that is cheerleading. My lack of experience was no excuse for my coaches. If anything, it motivated them to push me even more. The art of stunting was something I never imagined myself being able to do. The idea of supporting a human being and throwing them in the air with my own hands was intangible and wildly out of reach. I was my own worst enemy when it came to overthinking and limiting myself. Coach Joy didn’t let me overthink. She simply would tell me I was joining a stunt. I quickly learned that whenever the coach said, “Let’s put this up one more time”, it was never just one more time. It was exhausting. My thoughts intruded, “Why are we doing this again? What’s the point?”, but she simply stood, focused in her stance, with a blue ribbon bow proudly perched upon her ponytail. She knew we were tired, but she also knew that determination was the only way we would ever improve.

For someone who knew so little about me, Coach Joy always had my best interest in mind. It was a drive home from a basketball game where I saw her in an entirely different light. Previously, we had only conversed over crowded gym bleachers or dewy grass fields, but this was different.

She spoke and flashed back to April of 2010 when she was diagnosed with Stage 2 Invasive Ductal Carcinoma. Her eyes flickered as they traced the road before us. There she was back in that restaurant with her daughter and cheer coaches when she heard the results. She told me that her initial thought was to get through it. At the time, she was coaching a cheer team of very young girls looking up to her at every second. She spoke –  her voice rich with the fortitude and passion only a survivor can know. Coaching with cancer had a significant impact on Coach Joy; enough of an impact to lead her to writing her own article documenting her journey.

While she is considered to be a survivor to me, she has done far more than survive. She has thrived in such a way I can only aspire. Through my eyes, she exceeds the traditional duties of a coach. She has instilled the concept of perseverance in our team as well as its purpose in all aspects of life. It is waking up with a cold and running the New York Marathon. It is starting a 192 mile bike ride in five hours of pouring rain and pedaling through the storm. It is hitting the mat after a fall and standing back up – ready to do it all over again. It is bruises, tears, and bandages. It is everything my coach stands for. She tells our team that perseverance is “a combination of grit and resilience”. It is not instant gratification. It is not a new uniform or even a shimmering bow. It is putting in the work and pushing through every obstacle. It is all behind her bow.