Courage to Soar: Chapters 1–8

Now, as I watched the mega screen where the roster of names would appear, I felt, deep down, that I could’ve done better.

Actually, I first called them “Hamma” and “Hampaw” because I was only three years old and couldn’t enunciate my gs.

In the mornings when Ashley and Tevin got dropped off at school and us younger ones got dropped off at day care, my baby sister would cry inconsolably.

Her family prayed the rosary together every day, led by her father, and they attended church every Sunday.

I let loose, going from one apparatus to the other, trying to copy skills I saw the older gymnasts practicing in the gym.

Now, suddenly, Mom realized that recreational gymnastics might be the perfect outlet for her daughters—especially for me, her little bouncing bean who jumped and climbed on everything nonstop.

“Mooom,” Aimee said, sounding exasperated.

Adam remembers that I clambered up that rope and got to the required height of ten feet really fast—and then I looked around and kept climbing!

Levels four, five, and six were the compulsory levels.

“Simone has incredible air balance,” Aimee told my mom. “She can feel exactly where she is in space while flipping and twisting, and she knows instinctively just how to bring her feet down so that she lands upright. That’s something no coach can teach.”

Little did we know Adam was using that song to instill pride in us, since most of the children we went to school and gym with looked different from us.

Back then, our family lived on a street called Shady Arbor Way, and our house was at the end of a cul-de-sac.

The silver lining was that Adria and I grew up as close as two sisters could be.

All afternoon, we hiked up and down the street, and when we got tired of riding our bikes, we just skipped back and forth to the stop sign, relishing our new freedom.

One of Momma Biles’s ironclad rules was that no matter where we were or what we were doing, once the streetlights came on, it was time to head home.

I hate to admit it, but we flat-out lied, shaking our heads vigorously from left to right.

"Love begins by taking care of the closest ones—the ones at home."
—Mother Teresa, Catholic missionary

Mom explained that she had pulmonary fibrosis, and it was getting worse, but I was seven years old, and pulmonary fibrosis were two big, grown-up words I didn’t understand.

Feeling suddenly flustered, I quickly scrawled “Yes” on the note and passed it back, but after class I ran out of the room before he could say anything.

She was as hyper as I was and super flexible as a gymnast, and her playful antics during practice made me laugh.

I was glad it wasn’t me, because this man’s voice was such a slow, monotonous drawl that I’d spent the entire class trying not to fall asleep.

I was glad it wasn’t me, because this man’s voice was such a slow, monotonous drawl that I’d spent the entire class trying not to fall asleep.

I remember the year because I turned ten shortly after, and as soon as I did, Caitlyn dubbed me the “double digit midget.”

We were competing for the glory of our team, and all the major accolades went to our gyms.

“Do you know the skills she needs? Because I’m not going to mince words here, Aimee. You’re a rookie at the elite level. But we all started out on this journey together, so if you think you’re up to the challenge, then I’ll take a chance and put my daughter in your hands.”