Flip for Me

Gerard Way’s Point of View

I walked into Belleville Men’s Gymnastics, ready to practice. My coach, Patrick, was already there and waiting for me. Patrick was an excellent coach and an even better friend, but damn could he wear a man out.

“Gerard, you're late,” he told me as I set my turquoise blue duffel bag down.

“No, you're early,” I sassed.

He hated it when I did that. Patrick had little patience with people, even less with me. I don’t understand how he hasn’t given up on me completely yet.

“For that little remark, you can stretch and then give me five laps around the gym,” he smiled.

I groaned loudly, the sound of my voice echoing throughout the massive gym.

“That. That drama shit that you're doing right now is why you can't beat Frank Iero,” Patrick said.

I scowled at him, violently taking off my jacket and sweatpants, leaving me in spandex tights and a shirt, and went to the floor. I stretched myself thoroughly, feeling Patrick’s glaring eyes on me the entire time.

That’s why you can't beat Frank Iero.

How dare he say that!

“Enough stretching. Run,” Patrick said.

I was still very angry at his choice of words. Maybe running could help me calm down a little bit.

I, Gerard Way, was becoming a mockery of my fellow gymnasts. I was twenty-five, and I couldn’t beat him. Frank fucking Iero has always beaten me. He’s ruining all of my effort and devotion that I put into being a gymnast.

I've shown interest in the sport since I was five. After seven months of tumbling around in my room on my floor, my parents enrolled me in my first class when I was six and soon became very supportive of me. They finally let me begin my dreams. That was the happiest day of my young life. I was, and still am, a quick learner.

I have always been a very limber person, so the moves and techniques came quite easily. I spent the majority of my childhood training. I wanted to be the best there was, and that’s what pushed me the most.

When I turned sixteen, I was finally able to compete. Even though fifteen is the real age to compete at, my coach said that he didn’t think I was ready. He really wasn’t that great of a coach to begin with.

The night before the competition, I got food poisoning. I was unable to compete the next day, and became depressed because of it. I gave up on gymnastics for the next two years.

During the summer after my eighteenth birthday, I got back into the sport that I loved the most. It was then that I got Patrick as my coach. I was going to compete in a winter competition that was being held during the first week of December. I was so pumped up about it, but could you blame me?

I entered the gym where the competition was being held. My sprits were high. Even after not doing anything relatively athletic and gaining around twenty pounds, I was still pretty damn good – better than anyone else I saw. Then, his name was called. I could’ve sworn they said Frank Eerie or something like that at the time.

He went to the center of the mat. He was so small and scrawny, and still is for that matter. I didn’t think he'd be worth watching, so I went into the changing rooms to further prep myself mentally. By the time I came back out, he was finished and his scores were on the board. Out of five judges, he got two seventeen’s, one sixteen point eight, a sixteen point one, and a sixteen even. One could only imagine how mad I was.

When it was my turn, I did my routine, thinking that I would definitely beat Iero. But no, as my luck has it, I didn’t even get above sixteen point five. I came in second, winning a silver medal, and Frank took home gold. I've hated him since, and at each and every competition, I've come in second, except one, but he didn’t compete in that event. The loser had a broken toe. I was determined to take home gold this year. Nothing was going to stop me.