We all stepped out of the plane and felt the warm, sticky, Florida air that we had been waiting for. We were no longer in  Michigan. It was game time, the moment we were preparing for a whole year had finally arrived. My teammates and I were hungry for a win and we were more determined than ever. Nothing was going to stop us, not even all the Disney parks that surrounded us. We were here to win.

The day had finally arrived, I glanced in the mirror, added my final makeup touches and placed the last bobby pin into my hair. All of the moms, running around backstage, acting like the crazy Dance Moms. They helped everyone stretch and got us ready  to perform every competition. They always brought mountains of pixie sticks, somehow wishing it would sprinkle magic dust on us, to point our feet and straighten our legs. The nerves crept into our bodies, one mistake, only one could cause us to lose. One wrong arm or hand in the wrong place, or at the wrong time could cost us a half of a point that could separate first place from second place. What if I mess up? What if one of my mistakes is the reason all of our hard work won’t pay off for a win? I cannot and will not let down my forty other teammates.

Standing backstage, in a huddle with our teacher in the middle and all of my teammates and I circled around her, we were ready. “You guys know this dance, just go out on stage and prove to these judges that you deserve it. This is our last chance to prove ourselves!” my teacher screamed. Nationals were the end of the road-- a long road-- that we weren’t ready to get off of. Our eyes started getting watery, and tears slowly rolled down our faces. This was the last time I would dance with some of my best friends, my big sisters.

The announcer called our name, as we stood up straight, pulled our shoulders back, lifted our chins, wiped away the tears and put our game faces on. It was time to win. My teammates and I entered the stage more confident than we had ever been. We stood in silence, strong as rocks, waiting for our music to start.

Sprinting off the stage, we did it, that was our final time performing that dance. The audience still screaming as we all collapsed to the floor backstage, breathing heavy. We had given it everything we had, and that's all we could have done. My dance teacher sprinted to us with a huge smile on her face, looking so proud and that's all we needed to win. She had always taught us that winning wasn't everything, if we gave it our best and worked the hardest we could, that's all that mattered. The win wasn’t as special if we didn't work hard to earn it. But we earned this win.

Three days later, we were all back on Michigan soil, and it was time to start training and preparing for next year’s nationals. The memories of the 2015 nationals I will never forget, as I pull out the shiny gold cup, with a black stone base, that makes a hollow noise when your fingernail touches it, the first place trophy. When I see my reflection, it reminds me of the reflection I saw when we won this: smiles on all forty of my teammates jumping up and down screaming, as if we were at a concert for our favorite band, except we were the ones on the stage just announced as the national champions. Holding the trophy now, still tasting the pride that we all felt on July 3rd, 2015. We worked hard. We danced. We won.

The trophy and title represented our teamwork. We never gave up, even at the long, tiring rehearsals at ten o'clock at night, when we wanted to give up, go home and conquer the many hours of homework we still had to do. But we never left, we stayed pushing ourselves to our limits. We had good rehearsals and bad, the ones when we got screamed at, left the studio in tears and the ones we walked out limping, we were always there with each other. All the hard work had paid off. My team and I still had days where we hated each other because we spent so much time together. I spent more time with my teammates and dance teachers than I did my own family. I spent more time in the studio than I did at my own house. My life revolved around dance, and that will be the case for only two more years. Two more nationals, two more solos and two more years with my dance family. After I stop dancing, I will remember  the lessons I have learned, and all the hard work I put into something that I loved and with my best friends.