Mary Langenfeld
Richie Terwilliger has stuck with twirling after college to help it “become a more prominent sport.”
Richie Terwilliger confidently strides from behind a black curtain on to the competition floor at the Veterans Memorial Coliseum. Seven silver trophy cups shimmer in the background. He’s vying in the Super Bowl of the sport: The U.S. Twirling Association National Championships.
The best twirlers in the country traveled long and far to Madison to compete for a national title in competitive baton twirling at the week-long tournament in early July.
Terwilliger is steely-eyed as he takes position in front of the judges’ table. He’s competing in 3-baton, one of 15 events. The veteran twirler holds two aluminum batons in his left hand, one in his right. They glint under the arena lights. The athlete’s feet are set, one in front of the other like he’s about to leap. His arms are extended to his sides like a hawk preparing to fly.
“I try to keep myself calm and let my mind go blank,” Terwilliger later explains. “I try not to think about all the tosses and catches and just let the training and the muscle memory kick in. There’s a lot of athleticism in the sport. It requires excellent hand-eye coordination. Flexibility and strength. Creativity. Above all, mental focus.”
Terwilliger, 25, twirled competitively through high school and college. After earning a mechanical engineering degree from Lehigh University, he took a job at the Department of Defense. When not twirling, he tests new technologies at the Naval Surface Warfare Center in Virginia.
“I tell [the Navy] exactly what’s happening and it’s been well received. They’ve even invited me to present at diversity fairs,” Terwilliger says. “I just say I’m going to nationals to try to place well and hopefully qualify to represent the U.S. at international competitions.”
In fact, Terwilliger (as well as his younger sister Kristina) qualified for the 2017 International Cup in Croatia during last year’s national championships in Mobile, Alabama. They went to Europe to compete immediately following this tournament.
“It’s one of two top-tier, international twirling competitions. The big leagues,” says Terwilliger with a humble smile.
In the States, baton twirling is dominated by women and competitions aren’t segregated by gender. At this tournament, most of Terwilliger’s rivals are women.
Of the 500 athletes competing in Madison, just 19 are men. “In other countries, the sport is much more gender-balanced. It’s about 50-50 men and women,” Terwilliger says.
The lack of “dudes” in the sport caused him to quit twirling more than once.
“But I guess I just really enjoy spinning things. I kept coming back to it because it seemed like an extension of martial arts, which I also did as a kid,” says Terwilliger. “Part of why I keep doing this, is that in order for twirling to become a more prominent sport, people my age need to keep competing after college. This is already happening in other parts of the world.”
Today, the Coliseum’s stands are filled with mostly coaches and parents of the competitors. The main floor is divided in two with a large curtain. On one side, dozens of twirlers get in some last-minute practice. Batons shoot into the air in every direction. The other half of the arena is where the official competition takes place. Four twirlers compete at one time.
In the 3-baton event, everyone competes to the same 90 seconds of music — a song commissioned by the U.S. Twirling Association exclusively for competitions. The upbeat, jazzy tune plays for hours, starting over and over and over again for each competitor.
The tune can drive some spectators batty, but Terwilliger says “I hardly even notice it anymore. But I can see why it drives some people a little crazy.”
Terwilliger opens his 3-baton routine by launching one of the batons high into the air, while keeping the other two batons whirling around him. The judges evaluate his technique and the complexity of his throws while tracking that he keeps the three batons moving at all times. Dropping a baton is equivalent to an ice skater falling.
Terwilliger bends his head down, as one of the batons effortlessly spins across his shoulders before he flings it high into the air. He tosses another baton high, then another. Suddenly, one of the batons falls to the ground. Terwilliger cringes, but he keeps going, getting back into rhythm with a few catches behind his back.
Finishing his routine, Terwilliger sends a baton soaring higher than ever. He spins, one leg flies over his head like a cartwheel and, without looking up, the rod drops squarely into his open hand.
Richie Terwilliger stats:
Typically practices around two hours daily during tournament season
One of just two men to compete for the U.S. at the 2016 World Baton Twirling Championship in Helsingborg, Sweden
World Titles: 1 gold medal, 2 bronze medals
National Titles: 3 gold medals,
7 silver medals, 5 bronze medals
Best result at the 2017 National Championships: 4th place in the 2-baton semi-finals
Twirling tidbits:
The origins of the sport date back to mace bearers (otherwise known as drum majors) twirling a rifle or baton while leading an army or band
The United States Twirling Association, a nonprofit, sanctions 200 local, state, regional and national twirling competitions and clinics each year
While not as popular in the Midwest, twirling is a sport offered by many middle and high schools on the east coast, in the South and in California
Ratio of female to male twirlers in the U.S.: 40 to 1
