Letters to a Young Gymnast

by Nadia Comaneci

  I am not saying that my eating regimen during those first few weeks was right for anyone trying to get in shape or lose weight. You have to remember that I’d had years of healthy eating that had made my bones and body strong. A few weeks of lighter food couldn’t hurt me. I realize that body misperceptions and eating disorders are an enormous problem for young girls, but I don’t believe that depriving a body of the protein and fats it needs will help anyone achieve overall health. I am not a doctor, so I can’t give much advice on this subject except to say that eating a balanced diet and getting exercise is the only way I know to maintain a healthy mind and body. Once Bela and Marta had gotten me back on track with my eating, I was permitted to live at home with my mother and brother, and I resumed following a well-balanced diet.

  You asked if there were moments when I was ready to give up. Yes, there were, but Bela wouldn’t let me. I had made a commitment to him and to myself, and he would see that I met it. Slowly, I started to dream more of my glory days, the Olympics, and other competitions. I began to dream about skills and realized that I missed being a great gymnast. I’d tried a “regular” life, and it wasn’t for me. I wasn’t happy being like everyone else. I missed the thing that made me special. When I moved to Bucharest, I’d never officially decided to retire; there was no big celebration for me or a huge reward. Instead, I’d halfheartedly continued training and disappeared through the back door. It was not a style that became me.

  After the first few weeks of training, I wanted to be back on top. But as you pointed out in your last letter, it’s easier said than done. Training, especially as an elite gymnast, is repetitive and at times boring, and it can be painful and frustrating. Mostly, it’s a solitary endeavor. No matter how much support you’re given from family, friends, and coaches, ultimately you have to succeed on your own. The only things that are concrete come from each individual. The power to make it to the top and stay there comes from within alone. I like challenges, the harder the better. I love being told something is impossible because I want to do what no one has ever done before. I long to be the groundbreaker.

  My goals when I moved to Deva were clear. I wanted to get back to where I was before. It wasn’t about the Worlds or the European Championships or the next Olympics. It was about proving that I could accomplish what the media and world thought was not possible. If I wanted to retire later, fine. But for the moment, I wanted to be the best again, period. So, 1978 was my year to return to reality, and it was a tough adjustment. I wasn’t ready at the World Championships and struggled to finish my floor routine. Five weeks was not enough time to make up for a year without discipline. Bela believed that the competition would wake me up, motivate me, and show me the process I needed to complete to get back on top. He was right. The floor and bars were the worst because I simply couldn’t carry any extra weight and be as good as I had been. It’s hard enough to propel yourself through the air or hang from your arms when you’re in perfect condition, but if you add pounds, tough skills become almost impossible because your timing and strength are off.

  There were glimmers of the past, particularly on the beam, where I won a gold medal. The beam is an event that requires leg strength more than arm strength, and I still had the lower-body power. But I tasted humility at that competition and couldn’t wait to get out of the arena. It was an experience I was determined to erase from my memory the moment it was over. I recognized that it was nobody’s fault but mine; I’d created the situation with my own hands, and I would just have to live through it. That’s the way I look at every episode in my life. The negatives are fleeting. Nothing is big enough to damage me. You’ve asked me how I could get through the tough spots, and my only answer is that I did it by imposing a perspective on the situation.

  At the Worlds, Bela was pleased with the younger girls, who’d won four medals, and with my efforts. We heard that Ceausescu was very disappointed with the results of the competition (we didn’t win) and by my own performance. It is so strange to think that the leader of my country watched gymnastics—let alone me—or that he cared how I did. Stranger still is to comprehend that he believed my abilities reflected on our system of government. After the Worlds, the media wrote that I was done and over the hill. I chose not to listen to them. It would have been a waste of time. Listening to negative feedback does nothing for anyone. There are so many people in the world ready to find fault. I don’t believe in giving them power by paying attention to them. I believe in being your own biggest supporter because that means you will always have someone in your corner.

  I returned to Deva. Undaunted by my experiences at the Worlds, I continued to train. My relationship with Bela began to change. He started to treat me as an adult, to consult me on my own training and ideas. There were days when I disagreed with the number of repetitions of skills necessary; for example, Bela would tell me to do five dismounts from the beam, and I knew I only needed to do three. He started trusting me to know what my body needed. He knew I wasn’t being lazy, that I was being smart. He also began to let me teach some of the little ones their compulsory routines. I loved coaching. I was demanding but understanding. If the gymnasts were too tired to finish their last repetition, I’d say, “Okay, but you do two for me tomorrow,” and they always would. They came to me for counsel, and I really liked taking care of them and being helpful.

  My routine workouts changed. When I was younger, I had to learn skills and do countless repetitions because I needed to store lots of knowledge in my bag so I would have things to pull out and use during competitions. By 1979, all my skills were automatic. Whatever I needed was already in my bag, and so I just had to keep my body in shape. I did far fewer repetitions of strengthening skills such as sit-ups and only three hours of training, which included running; refining dance skills; practicing small sequences of my bar, beam, and floor exercises; and stretching. I spent about eighteen minutes a day of actual time on the apparatus plus conditioning. Think about it, a routine on the bars is only thirty-five seconds long, and then there’s a ten-minute recuperation. The same goes for each event. Changing my equipment and shoes cost a little bit of time. Plus, there’s warm-up and cool-down time.

  Whatever I did worked. Seven months after the Worlds, I won the all-around gold at the European Championships. I was tall, lean, and unbelievably powerful. I was a new Nadia—transformed. Being a champion is about pushing yourself beyond the possible and believing in your abilities even when everyone around you says you aren’t capable. Over the hill? I wasn’t even close. I was back on top, and the only way I’d step down again was by my own volition.

  What did you mean, my friend, when you wrote that in return for accomplishing my goals, I sacrificed my childhood? Just when I think you’re starting to understand me! Never have I thought about gymnastics as a sacrifice. Never. You have been misled by the stories you’ve read in books, magazines, and newspapers about how emotionally devastating gymnastics can be and about the supposedly destructive relationships between young girls and their coaches, food, and pain. I am not saying that some gymnasts have not suffered. I do not know them and therefore can’t judge. And I am also not saying that all coaches are good or that many young girls don’t face eating disorders or lapses in judgment in relation to dealing with physical problems and pain. I’m just saying that I never had those experiences.

  Gymnastics was never a torture for me. Even as a child, I knew that everyone did something for a living. You can sacrifice your time to travel to a job or spend countless hours at a desk . . . for what? Maybe it’s to make a better jingle for a laundry detergent. Maybe you’ll choose to stand on a factory line and build a car, or perhaps you’ll sell real estate. Why is that better or worse than what I chose? Life is full of sacrifices, but I loved what I was doing, which is more than can be said for most people. Do you love your life? If so, why are you seeking answers from others? Your letters are not just filled with questions about tabloid fodder, they are deep and real and probing because you are searc
hing for something more in your own life. I don’t know if I have any answers for you, but I’m willing to share my experiences.

  I thrived at the gym, where it smelled like mats and chalk and felt like a home away from home. There was no child abuse in my life. As children at the experimental school in Onesti, we had everything done for us. Our rooms were warm and always cleaned, there was more than enough food, and the cooking and dishes were always done for us. The only thing we had to do was gymnastics, and no one forced us. Meanwhile, people in Romania were literally starving at the time. Maybe that’s why I find the idea that I sacrificed my childhood so bizarre. For gymnasts in Communist countries, the sport gave us more than it could ever take away. Yes, there were tragic accidents, but considering what we were doing, it’s actually impressive there were so few.

  What did I miss, then? Going to the mall and hanging out? Dating boys before I was emotionally ready for a relationship? Video games? We didn’t have those! I didn’t even know what a VCR was. In Onesti, all there was to do was walk around the village. I was a gymnast for such a small period of time, yet it gave me so much. What does a kid really do between the age of six and sixteen that’s so valuable? Today, I’d be a forty-something nobody if I hadn’t been a gymnast. Even if I hadn’t become number one in my field, I’d still be more than I would have been without goals and accomplishments. I’ve done something with my life and learned about strength, determination, and drive.

  You may think that it’s easy for me to write this because I succeeded in my sport, but there were years when I did not succeed. Life wasn’t handed to me on a plate of gold. Nothing fell into my lap. I went for things, and sometimes I got them and sometimes I didn’t. Hard work will always get you somewhere. If you have a little talent and work very hard, then you have a shot at being a big winner. And if you have a lucky star in your hand, then you may just accomplish your goals. Above all else, you have to be hungry to do something unbelievable.

  I’ve read that Bela once said about gymnasts, “These girls are like little scorpions. You put them all in a bottle, and one scorpion will come out alive. That scorpion will be champion.” I was always a survivor, and perhaps that eventually made me a champion. Regardless, gymnastics gave me a sense of myself and made me stronger, both mentally and physically. Devastated is a word I don’t even know. Everything in life can be fixed somehow.

  Don’t you see that for me, sacrifice and gymnastics are not synonymous. The concepts exist at two different poles on two different planets in two different universes. I look at gymnasts today and think they have it much better than I did. Maybe that’s just about being an adult and looking at children. But for one, the equipment is much safer. Our beam was made of wood, and now it’s a softer and more forgiving material. The floors are much springier, so gymnasts can go higher and do skills with more safety. I wish I’d had a chance to play on those when I was ten years old. And young gymnasts have so many more options in their lives these days.

  Kids today are also savvier than we were back then. There are computers and television and a host of other educational and sports-related opportunities. But no child, no matter where he is born, sacrifices time if he doesn’t like what he’s doing. Sure, there are some disturbed parents and children out there, and for them, I’m sorry that any given sport is unhealthy. And there have always been bad coaches, though today, it’s simple to research their backgrounds and make an educated decision about who is best for your child.

  You’ve asked, “What of the pressure?” Well, again, I have only my own opinion. Mostly, it’s people in the United States who contend that young athletes experience too much pressure. Personally, I don’t think that children have any pressure. Adults have pressure, but what does a kid know about it except what she puts on her own shoulders? Maybe it’s different now. When I was young, at least before the 1976 Olympics, no one expected anything from me. There was no media pressure. There was nothing to lose. What was my mother going to do—put me out on the street if I didn’t succeed as a gymnast?

  My mother never got involved with my sport. That is not the case with everyone. Sometimes I see parents getting too involved. They should be doing their own thing, while still supporting their kids’ efforts. Too much involvement changes a child’s perceptions of what he is doing and why. Goals get clouded, on both the adult and the child’s sides. That’s when problems occur. To the parents, I say that in the United States, there are approximately 4 million kids doing some level of gymnastics, and only six of them will actually make it to the Olympics. Those are steep odds, to say the least.

  In the United States, there are so many gymnastics programs, many of them free, that any child can see if she enjoys the sport. From that point on, a level of personal and financial commitment will grow if it’s meant to be. In Romania, you had to move away from your family, live in a sports complex, and train with a specific coach to succeed. In the United States, there are a lot of good coaches, and though some children and their families move as a result of their dedication to gymnastics, it doesn’t have to be that way. I don’t know if that’s better or worse, just different.

  You want to know what I think? Let a child have the chance to find out what sport she loves and to see what she’s good at. If she doesn’t like it, fine, let her do something else. But keep her active because it’s good for her body and mind. Kids shouldn’t be obligated to do a sport just because they show promise. No matter how much a parent wants it, the child has to want it more.

  Of course, it may be possible for a talented child to eventually win Olympic medals, but most kids change their minds about what they want to do within weeks, months, or a few years. Even if they don’t, so few young gymnasts are actually good at all four events, and to be a successful elite gymnast, you have to be great at each and astoundingly consistent. So you can bet that most kids just aren’t going to make it, and that’s okay. What’s important is to develop a healthy sense of self-esteem.

  You want to know what I’d do if a child came to me at age seven and told me that she was going to shoot for the moon? I would never say that she’s lost her mind. Things are possible, and I’d never clip somebody’s wings. Yes, you can do that, I’d say, but it’s going to be very hard. I’m here to help because I know what happens when you miss a skill like a back handspring on the beam and get frustrated or have fear. I’ve been in your shoes. To her parents, I might say that the moon is far away and very high and that it can be a lonely place. I’d say to be careful of letting their child attempt to visit the moon unless they are ready to catch her if she falls and to deal with the consequences. Not every child is meant to be a Nadia. Sometimes I am amazed that I never got broken.

  As a result of my experiences and those of my husband, Bart Conner, the gymnasium and programs we run at the Bart Conner Gymnastics Academy in Norman, Oklahoma, aren’t designed only for those elite gymnasts who want to go to the Olympics. We love to coach and watch kids—both the gifted ones and those just enjoying themselves—learn new skills and gain strength and self-confidence. Our biggest focus is on getting our gymnasts scholarships to good colleges. We like the idea that we make the sport more accessible and help kids who couldn’t pay for an education to get one through their athletic talents.

  But back to your question, my friend, about the physical toll of gymnastics. I never blame a sport for things that happen in life. There are accidents, but I believe they only happen when a gymnast is either incredibly unlucky or unprepared. Of course, there is always a physical price to pay in my sport. I have pains here and there from my time as a gymnast. It’s pretty normal wear and tear, considering what I was doing with my body. I made decisions for myself back then. In a world where everything is bad for you in excess, I chose to listen to my body and take care of it. There was only one time, in Fort Worth, Texas, when I ignored my body’s pain signals.

  I’m not naive. Just like you, I’ve read that U.S. gymnast Betty Okino refused to stop training when she was diagnosed with
a stress fracture in her right elbow. Eventually, her arm broke. She also ripped the tendon from the bone below her knee while running toward a vault and had stress fractures in her back and ultimately shattered several vertebrae. Okino, like countless other elite gymnasts, was willing to risk her health to be in the Olympics. Kelly Garrison had more than twenty stress fractures in her back from years of competitions, and Brandy Johnson, one of the top U.S. gymnasts, competed at the 1989 Worlds with a fractured foot. I don’t know any of their personal reasons or if adults in their lives should have stopped them. I refuse to be anyone’s judge.

  All elite athletes deal with pain. Some of their bodies are unable to handle the intense training. I have been through the pain of conditioning, but while I was competing, I never suffered torn tendons, broken bones, or shattered vertebrae. If I had, I don’t know what I would have done. It’s hard to balance intense desire with injuries and to know whether the threat of disappointment would have overshadowed common sense. Some gymnasts pop ibuprofen every day. Others are willing to numb the pain of fractures with injections before competitions and deal with the consequences later. Is it right? No. Did I do it to a lesser extent during my career? Yes. Did anyone force me? No way. But then, I was a kid, and some would point out that I didn’t know any better.

  And what about the emotional toll? You wrote me that you’ve read about the devastation some gymnasts experience when they don’t accomplish their goals. I can sympathize but not empathize with them because that is not what happened to me. I had tough times, but I always fought my way back to the top, and what I came to understand through that process was priceless. Gymnastics is a difficult sport, but life is tougher. What I learned about ignoring my detractors, focusing on my goals, and overcoming seemingly impossible challenges during my gymnastics career has helped me. I don’t know if I could have left my family, risked my life by defecting from my homeland, or found a new life in a foreign country if I had not struggled to overcome challenges in the past. What you learn as a child and teen and the life skills that come out of difficult situations are vital tools for adulthood. It doesn’t matter whether you win gold medals. What matters is that you strive to be your best and then struggle to be even better.