Off Balance: A Memoir

by Dominique Moceanu

  This was typical Bela. It seemed to me that any time practice wasn’t going well at the gym, he’d try to blame it on my weight and threaten to call my parents (which really meant Tata), so Tata would then punish me for having eaten too much. I resented that Bela’s style was not to deal with me as an athlete and, like other coaches, help me work though the particular apparatus, maneuver, or routine that was giving me trouble at the time. Instead, if ever I struggled with something, it seemed that his quick solution was to tell me I had eaten too much and then proceed to rile up Tata, who he knew ruled our family with an iron fist. It didn’t take much to ignite Tata’s temper, and when Bela told him that I was slacking off, eating too much, or not doing as I was told in the gym, I would pay the price with a fierce thrashing or interrogation from Tata when I got home. Sometimes Bela looked almost giddy with anticipation when he was threatening to call Tata. I’d heard other athletes tell stories of how Bela would be abusive to young gymnasts back when he was coaching in Romania. This, obviously, was not something he could get away with as easily in America, but with me he had a connection to the old world. I sensed that Bela was aware that he could easily have me beaten with one phone call to my father, and I perceived that threat on many occasions. The unfairness of it all added to my anxiety and unhappiness—especially since Bela never shared my accomplishments with Tata. I can honestly say that the entire time I was at Karolyi’s gym, I gave gymnastics everything I had every day, never taking shortcuts, never slacking off, even when Bela wasn’t watching. His way of erasing human error was to tell Tata I was “being lazy again.” I wasn’t sure which was worse: Bela describing me as “lazy” or Tata believing that it was true.

  I imagine Bela’s threats to call the parents of the other gymnasts weren’t as effective because the more American and Americanized parents weren’t as likely to participate in fear and humiliation tactics victimizing their own children. Bela was, however, a threatening and intimidating force in the gym to all of the gymnasts. The difference was that he seemed to know to draw the line at the gym doors for most everyone else. My family, however, was easily manipulated. I could never stand up for myself at home or in the gym in these situations because no matter what I said, it seemed I was always wrong and “they” (Marta and Bela) were always right. There was no room for discussion or even an opinion on my part, and I discovered that the best way to limit trouble was to say nothing at all. As time went by, I feared Bela calling Tata to punish me at home. It got to the point that I began to worry more about the whole punishment cycle than about my gymnastics.

  When Bela weighed me in front of all my US teammates and coaches at Worlds after making me do my compulsory bar routine sixteen times, it was one of the most humiliating moments of my life. I couldn’t even look the other gymnasts, who were watching and waiting to see what Bela had in mind for me. I didn’t want to see their reactions as I stepped on the scale. I closed my eyes, waiting and praying that I hadn’t gained any weight. I knew that if I had gained even a fraction of a pound, Bela would explode with a barrage of insulting names and threats of calling my father.

  “Thirty-one kilos,” Bela called out loudly for the world to hear, or so it felt.

  Thirty-one kilos? What the heck does that mean? I thought to myself. I wasn’t familiar with the metric system, and I held my breath waiting for Bela’s reaction to see if 31 was good or bad. Bela didn’t explode and just sort of walked away, leaving me standing on the scale, so I figured 31 kilos was a good number. Once back in my hotel room, I got out a pen and paper to do the conversion and discovered that 31 kilograms is equivalent to 68.2 pounds.

  Ironically, this meant that I’d actually lost weight since Bela weighed me last. I had consistently weighed in at 70 pounds, and I was relieved that he couldn’t use my weight against me. I’d been sure to pack healthy snacks such as crackers and canned tuna in my suitcase because I knew that low-calorie food might be an issue in Japan considering the difference in language and limited access to foods. I ate almost all of my meals with the Karolyis, and sitting alone with them for breakfast, lunch, and dinner was always tough, especially because I was their only individual athlete competing for Team USA at the time. They watched my every bite, monitoring even the smallest of meals—while they ate whatever they wanted right in front of me. I remember drooling over the warm breads they would eat at lunch and dinner, but they made it clear that I was never allowed to even touch the bread basket. I never ate a single crumb of bread in front of them for the entire time I trained with them. That’s just the way it was. I wasn’t alone in this. I don’t remember seeing any other gymnast reach for the bread basket, either, but we’d all salivate for bread while Bela and Marta ate it. I loved food, and it only became more of an obsession when I wasn’t allowed to have it.

  By the time Worlds opened later that day, I felt worn out, both physically and emotionally. Instead of being warmed up and motivated, I felt exhausted and beaten down. I couldn’t understand why Bela made me work so hard prior to the competition. I was especially nervous for the compulsory bars, which included a challenging element—a handstand half pirouette to free hip and half pirouette in one connection attempt. I ended up making an error on this skill in the competition, causing me to lose critical points that I needed to medal in the All-Around. I was frustrated because I knew I was more than capable and ready to medal at this competition. I felt afraid the entire time I was in Japan, and I couldn’t go to my coaches for support because it was Marta and Bela I feared most.

  What little I saw of Japan was beautiful. Of course, we spent most of our time in the gym and hotel room, and my every move was monitored by the Karolyis, more than any other gymnast. They treated me differently, and by differently, I don’t mean special—though it may have seemed like preferential treatment to some of the other gymnasts. I wasn’t allowed to sit with the rest of my teammates, even on the bus, as Marta always reserved a seat for me in the front row, next to her, for every trip to and from the gym and competition arena. On those trips she barely spoke to me. It was a sad and lonely experience to sit there with Marta as all of the other Team USA gymnasts passed by and worked their way to sit together in the back of the bus and chat like normal teenagers.

  My parents thought the Karolyis knew what was best for me as a world-class gymnast and put all of their trust in them. This left no room at home to voice my concerns about what happened during training. Mama and Tata had given everything to get me to this point to train with the Karolyis, and I just couldn’t dash their dreams by telling them how miserable I was. I still wanted to be a champion of the sport I treasured—that never changed—but I didn’t know how to cope with the fear and anxiety I felt during my training with the Karolyis.

  At night, as I went to bed, I prayed to have a good attitude and to not let my fear show on my face before I entered the gym daily. I prayed to have near-perfect routines every day, so I wouldn’t get into trouble for being “lazy.”

  During this time, Mama became more involved with the Karolyis and the gym in general. She offered her help any chance she could. She figured that if she was helpful to the Karolyis, they would treat me well. If Mama had been right, I should’ve been treated like a queen for the amount of work she did for them. Running errands, picking up groceries, helping clean—Mama bent over backward to please them in any way she could, almost behaving like a servant at times, which I hated. Mama even spent time helping at the Karolyis’ ranch house in New Waverly, Texas, from time to time. Mama made herself available to help with chores, errands, anything they needed.

  The Karolyi ranch actually holds some of my darkest memories. Every so often, Bela held mandatory training sessions at the ranch. (It is where the current US National Team Training Center is located.) The older gymnasts dreaded going to the ranch, which was about an hour outside of Houston in New Waverly, the middle of nowhere. They had warned me about the terrible equipment, especially the vault runway and the floor exercise mat. Considering the run-down equipm
ent we had at the regular gym, it was hard to imagine anything worse. They also told me about the extra-long workout sessions and Bela’s refusal to turn on the air-conditioning during the unbearable hot and humid Texas summers.

  What they didn’t warn me about was the food, or should I say lack of food, which I learned the hard way during my first “ranch” experience in 1991, shortly after I joined Karolyi’s gym. I knew it was going to be a very long weekend as soon as I saw the other gymnasts carrying bags of food alongside their luggage. Bags of food? No one told me that we had to bring our own food. No one ever told me or Mama that they didn’t serve food at the ranch. I was ten years old, for crying out loud! If Mama had known, I’m sure she would have cooked up a batch of Romanian favorites for me to bring. Instead I showed up with my lime green school lunch box and the one sandwich Mama made as an emergency snack in case I got hungry before our first meal. Mama was floored to later learn that, as a rule, the Karolyis did not provide food to their gymnasts, even when we’d be at the ranch for days. I was too embarrassed to ask the Karolyis for food, so I figured I would divide my sandwich into four pieces and try to hold out as long as I could.

  Luckily, I was rescued by my teammate Betty Okino, who noticed my little lunch box. She and my other teammates saved my life that weekend by all pitching in and sharing pieces of their food with me.

  Leading up to the Olympics in 1996, Kerri Strug and I spent the entire summer living and training at the Karolyi ranch. I learned my lesson from previous years about bringing food, so I was prepared heavily for this long summer stay. Bela and Marta ran their annual gymnastics summer camps and trained us at the same time. The campers would come in to watch our training every now and then. On Saturday evenings, Bela and Marta would have Kerri and me demonstrate routines and conduct mock meets for their campers. It was fun at first, but became draining week after week because the performances took place during what were supposed to be our “rest” periods, and I began to feel fatigued. I also missed my home, but I was focused on this final push to the Olympic Games later that summer.

  My dearest friend and my most trusted confidante to this day is Janice Ward. Janice came into my life like an angel when I was ten years old. I call her my “adopted aunt.” When I met her, I needed her more than I realized. She worked as a masseuse and physical therapist at the chiropractor’s office less than half a mile from Karolyi’s gym near highways FM 1960 and I-45. I had regular appointments with Janice to keep my aches and pains to a minimum, but what she provided me with was infinitely more valuable than my physical therapy sessions. She was one of the few outsiders my parents trusted, and she quickly became part of my family. She was our slice of American pie, introducing and explaining to my family aspects of American culture and traditions that we never understood or even knew about. Janice was also the only adult in my life at the time who seemed to recognize that, despite my serious training and Olympic goals, I was still a small child. She tells me now that it broke her heart to see a young girl not experiencing any of the joys of childhood. As her relationship grew with me and my family, she did everything she could to bring me some aspects of normalcy. She would talk to me about things other than gymnastics, do arts and crafts with me and my sister Christina, and she would take us to Chuck E. Cheese’s every once in a while.

  During that summer before the Olympics when I was living on the ranch, Janice decided to make me a life-size patriotic teddy bear. She nicknamed it “Georgia,” referencing the upcoming Olympics in Atlanta, Georgia. Janice was very creative … she cut a hole in the bottom of the teddy bear and used it as a secret place to stash little sweets for me to enjoy while at the ranch. She had added a Velcro trapdoor to keep the goodies tucked into the teddy bear and out of sight so Marta or Bela wouldn’t find out. She sent me off to the ranch with this cute teddy stuffed with chewing gum, flavored Mentos, and a few Twizzlers (my favorite!). The gum was a life saver and would help me pass time when I was hungry. I wasn’t allowed to eat the foods I craved, so the gum (and Mentos or Twizzler every once in a while) helped satisfy my cravings. I would go through several packs of gum a week—and Janice always smuggled in more for me in the secret teddy chamber or my gym bag when I ran out!

  I loved that Janice understood my need to be a kid even when I was stressed to the limit and training for the biggest competition of my life, the Olympics. She knew how much I wanted to be an Olympic champion and was always supportive. I also admire her for not allowing herself to be bullied by the Karolyis and even standing up to Marta a few times when she disagreed with the way Marta was treating me. It was no surprise that Marta and Bela did not like Janice. I don’t think they knew how to deal with a strong woman who didn’t take their word as gospel. They did not want her around me, but by the time they realized this, it was too late—we had already become friends for life.

  I will always be grateful to Janice for providing me the unconditional love I desperately needed when I hit some low points and doubted myself. She has always been there for me for more than twenty years. I don’t think I could have made it through the brutal summer leading up to the Olympics without her support.

  My low point during that summer came one afternoon during nap time when Tata burst through the door of the cabin I shared with Kerri. I was shocked to even see Tata at the ranch, especially in the middle of the day. I was frozen because I recognized that anger and rage in his face. Kerri sat up in her bunk, surprised and frightened.

  What did I do? What did I do?! I kept asking myself. I was frightened and stunned and could barely react as he lunged forward, face bright red with fury, grabbed my ear, and literally pulled me out of bed with one powerful tug. My mind was racing. I was mute and in shock.

  “Why aren’t you working hard, Dominique? I’ll show you” was the first thing I remember Tata saying in his stern Romanian. I still didn’t know why this was happening. Tata shoved me out the cabin door and said we had to go to Marta and Bela’s main house. Tata grabbed my ear again and dragged me a couple hundred yards across the compound toward the Karolyi house. It was close to three in the afternoon, an hour before training at four. I wondered where Mama was, hoping she was nearby so maybe she could save me. I hustled to keep up with Tata, and the mystery of what I had done wrong eclipsed the sharp pain on the side of my head where Tata had an iron grip of my ear.

  “What did I do?” I cried out to Tata in Romanian. No answer.

  The next thing I knew, we were at the front of the Karolyi house. I remember looking over at Bela’s huge guard dog that he kept on a chain. I was always scared when I walked by because he would growl and bark at me. I would try to stay to the far left of the driveway as far away from the dog as possible, but today, I was hoping that Tata would walk toward the doghouse so the dog might bite Tata’s leg and I could escape. It was a terrible thought, but I was scared and desperate to get away. How was I going to handle both Bela and Tata?

  As I entered the Karolyi house, my heart sank. Mama, staring mournfully at the floor, was waiting quietly with Marta and Bela in Bela’s den. It was clear Mama wasn’t going to be saving me. The room was musty and still. I had been in Bela’s den before, and I called it the Room of Death. The walls were covered with the heads of all sorts of animals Bela had hunted and then had stuffed. Lots of deer heads and the scariest wildcat I’d ever seen with his mouth agape and sharp teeth snarling. I looked down at the green carpet to avoid eye contact with the dead animals and awaited my fate.

  Everything felt as if it were moving in slow motion and then Tata’s booming voice trumped everything.

  “Why do you have food!?!?” Tata snapped in Romanian.

  Then he started saying that the Karolyis had called him up to the ranch because I was not “working hard.” I just stood there completely frozen. I felt like I was in a dream and I thought if I didn’t move, maybe they wouldn’t see me. I was scared to death. I feared that this was all because of the Mentos and gum.

  The Karolyis were standing directly behind
Tata, smugly shaking their heads. I hated the look of satisfaction on their faces as Tata scolded me. I looked to Mama, who was standing to Tata’s right. She looked sad and powerless.

  “Why are you here if you’re not going to work hard?” he continued before I could even process his first question.

  “Why are you eating what you’re not supposed to eat?” And with that, I figured out what this was all about.

  Oh, I said to myself, the candy. I suspected this meeting had been motivated by the food found in my teddy bear or my gym bag. Other gymnasts had suspected that the Karolyis would search luggage, the rooms, and the fridge in the cabin house where gymnasts stayed, looking for hidden food or other things they considered a distraction. I never found out how they knew about the teddy bear, but I didn’t answer Tata as he kept getting angrier and angrier. Mama’s eyes were sad, which only made me feel worse.

  “Why are you eating what you are not supposed to?” Tata blurted one last time before hitting me across my right cheek so hard that it made my whole body jerk back. The blow made a loud noise and I grabbed my cheek with my right hand to try to stop the stinging. It didn’t help.

  At that moment I despised the Karolyis for calling Tata and hated Tata for humiliating me in this way for eating a handful of Mentos and a few Twizzlers. I rarely had chocolate or high-fat food, only a few low-fat treats that I ate sparingly.

  I remember refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing me cry, but somehow I still felt tears flooding down my face.

  I lost all respect for Marta and Bela at that moment as the two of them stood there seeming to gloat and nodding as if their mission were complete. I couldn’t bear to look at them anymore. Nobody, including Mama, reacted to the wallop across my face. I figured they all knew it was coming—God knows, Mama was expecting it since she’d seen Tata lose control and get physical countless times before.