“Oh yeah, I did,” she said without hesitation. “I am very fortunate. I could’ve been somewhere horrible, but it was pretty much a miracle. My parents called in specifically for me at the right time. I was adopted at three months old, but it was official at one year. The social worker said she’d never seen a couple call in for a specific child and get her in such a short time.”
Jennifer went on to say that her parents never treated her like she was adopted and certainly never treated her like she was disabled. They taught her that she could do anything. She said they raised her “well” and that she had a great childhood, and I could tell she genuinely meant it.
“We missed out on a lot of years of our lives together,” I said. “My sister Christina and I have a special bond and are so close. To know that I had another sister that I could’ve been an older sister to years ago, that would’ve been very nice, but now it’s not too late. We still have the rest of our lives to get to know each other and to build that relationship. I am glad that we still have time to make it right … that’s the positive part.”
“Definitely, I agree, I mean we’re all still so young,” she said. Her positivity was contagious, and I couldn’t help but smile.
With that, Jennifer said she had to get ready for work but looked forward to talking again soon. I glanced at the clock and was surprised to see that we’d been talking for an hour. I had to laugh at myself for being so nervous to call in the first place—that was, hands down, the fastest one-hour phone call I’d ever had. Jennifer was warm, outgoing, and friendly, and certainly very easy to talk to even under the circumstances. And, when I asked where she worked, her reply somehow didn’t surprise me at all.
“Disney World,” she said.
The happiest place on earth, I said to myself.
Chapter 5
TINY DANCER
Never could I have been prepared for what I was about to go through when I moved to Houston to begin training with Bela and Marta Karolyi at the age of ten.
In Tampa, LaFleur’s gym had been a haven—my home away from home. I loved it there. Loved the atmosphere, my fellow athletes, the gym friends and extended family I’d made, and most of all, I loved my coaches. Jeff LaFleur was the first coach, and really the first person outside of my family, who had believed in me. He told me that I could achieve great things in gymnastics. For an eight-year-old giving it all she’s got, that goes a long, long way. I was excelling as an athlete, and my confidence both in and out of the gym was higher than ever during my training with Jeff. It was one of the happiest times of my childhood, the first time I was comfortable in my own skin. I felt strong, ready for anything.
The move to Texas happened so quickly. In the spring of my third-grade year, my parents announced that I was going to Houston to be evaluated by Bela and Marta Karolyi, and if they accepted me as one of their gymnasts, our entire family would move to Texas for my training.
Apparently, Tata had contacted Bela Karolyi a few years prior, when I was very little, around five years old. In typical Tata fashion, he told Bela how talented I was and that one day I’d be a great Olympian. Bela was a world-famous coach and no doubt had received many, many calls from parents just like Tata.
“She’s too young right now. Let her get some training in and bring her for an evaluation when she’s nine or ten,” Tata remembered Bela saying.
Not surprisingly, Tata followed through and called Bela from Tampa when I was nine years old to tell him I was “ready” to be evaluated, and that was that.
I wasn’t involved in any decision making in our family, and it was no different with my gymnastics. Mama and Tata took care of all of the planning, phone calls, and arrangements. I didn’t know anything about Texas except that it was far away from Tampa and LaFleur’s gym. As far as the Karolyis, I only knew what I saw on television—the big teddy-bear-looking man with dark brown hair with hints of gray and a thick mustache who gave big bear hugs to his gymnasts after they nailed a performance. I remember feeling a sense of familiarity and comfort when I heard his thick Romanian accent during his interviews. His wife, Marta, had very tanned skin and a stern pout, and I remember noticing that she always stood straight and tall, with her chin pushed up in the air. She had short dark brown hair with blondish frosty tips. She never really smiled and actually looked a bit scary to me, even through the television. I remember thinking Bela would be the nicer of the two.
I was glued to the TV whenever gymnastics was on, and I’d watch the Karolyis interact with their gymnasts, especially when an athlete came off the floor after a performance. I knew exactly how it felt finishing an event and walking to my coach to either celebrate or be comforted if I hadn’t done as well as expected. It looked like the Karolyis cared about their gymnasts; they’d give them a hug or pat. As a viewer, I, like most, was clueless as to what actually happened behind closed doors of the Karolyi gym.
Mama and Tata made their first trip to Houston in May 1991, leaving Christina and me at home in Florida with Maia and Papu. They wanted to get a feel for Houston, scout out the location of the gym, talk to Marta and Bela in person, and possibly look at potential neighborhoods to live. It still seemed unreal to me, and I didn’t think we would actually leave Tampa.
When they returned from Houston, Mama and Tata laid out the plan: if all went well, trip number two to Houston would be my audition with the Karolyis, and trip number three would be our family’s official move to Texas. We didn’t have money for plane tickets, so each of these journeys would be by car—a whopping 1,500 miles round trip from Tampa to Houston.
Before trip number two a few weeks later, Mama and Tata met with Jeff LaFleur to deliver our good news, which was bad news for him. Tata told him the decision had been made; I was leaving LaFleur’s to go train for the Olympics with the Karolyis in Houston. Tata had our plan mapped out and said we owed it to Jeff to be up front from the start. I was confused but afraid to ask too many questions. I hadn’t even met the Karolyis yet, much less been evaluated by them, so, at the time, I couldn’t figure out why my parents were already planning our move to Houston. What if the Karolyis didn’t think I was good enough to train with them? In hindsight, I realize that alongside my hard work, it was my parents’ unwavering confidence in me, year after year, that propelled my success and allowed me to reach my goals. It’s a trait that I see in myself as a parent today—believing in my children and supporting their efforts 100 percent in whatever they do is one of the greatest gifts I can provide. My parents believed I was good enough to train with the best at the Karolyis’ gym, so that’s where they were taking me.
During our last few months in Tampa, Mama had found a part-time job as a cashier in a small cafeteria. She tells a story of when she told a coworker that she was planning to move to Houston to support her daughter to train for the Olympics. The woman literally laughed in Mama’s face and said Mama was crazy to pick up her entire life and move the family just for a daughter’s pipe dream. The woman did have a valid point. I mean, how many child athletes actually make it? The slots are very few. The woman wished Mama good luck but warned her, “It’s not going to happen.” Mama felt embarrassed and kept to herself after that incident, feeling ashamed that this woman laughed at her. Nonetheless, it didn’t make Mama doubt the decision to move to Houston in the least. I’m eternally thankful to them for their complete support.
“He was very saddened by the news,” Mama told me after the meeting with Jeff. “I could see it in his eyes, but he was a gentleman about it and was very kind to us. He was not mad at us. He understood our reasons. He has good character and has always been very kind to us.”
I wasn’t at the meeting with Jeff, but I can only imagine that the news must have felt like a dagger through his heart. I felt some of that dagger in my own heart. Jeff had taught me almost everything I knew, and we had built such a special coach-athlete relationship. We were close, and I depended on Jeff for so much. He told my parents he’d really enjoyed working with me and was very s
ad to see me go. It was startling to me that things could change so quickly, that one day I was picturing myself going to the Olympics with Jeff, and next I was in a new gym with new coaches and new teammates.
In my parents’ minds, Bela and Marta had the experience and power to bring their young American gymnasts to the Olympics—they had a history of doing so, and this is why they assumed it would be the best place for me to train. At the time, it was the place Elite gymnasts of my generation strived to learn if they dreamed of making it to the Olympics—that is, if they could get accepted into the gym and if they could survive the training.
It was the summer of 1991 when Mama, Tata, and I piled into our van for trip number two to Houston to see if I was “promising” enough and had the makings of a future Olympian in the eyes of the Karolyis. I was nervous, excited, and still pretty confused. I’d never been to an audition or evaluation of any kind and didn’t really know what to expect. I kept asking Mama and Tata what I’d be doing at the audition and hung on every word. Tata described it as a day of training with the highest level in the gym—the Senior Elite gymnasts (those training for a shot at the 1992 Olympic games). The Karolyis would probably watch me and assess my skills, Tata surmised, then they would decide which training group I would be placed in. I could certainly handle that, I thought, and felt a wave of relief as I stared out the car window at the houses and buildings and broken-down cars on the side of the highway. I pictured myself wowing the Karolyis with a big smile on my face.
When we arrived at the Karolyi gym midday, I couldn’t wait to get inside. Had I blinked when we pulled into the gym parking lot, I never would have known that we’d arrived. A lone sign reading “Karolyi’s Gymnastics” in black letters hung to the left of a long, old warehouse. It didn’t look like a gym at all; the sign was the only indication that we were in the right place.
The front door was glass, similar to my old gym, but once I stepped inside, everything was different. The lobby was deserted and all the lights were off, which felt odd to me because at LaFleur’s there was always some combination of gymnasts, family members, or staff in the common areas. Here, the air felt cold and untouched—definitely not the warm, fuzzy atmosphere I was used to. The only light came from an office off to the right. Looking through a viewing window in the lobby, I could see that the main gymnasium was also empty and dark, so I figured everyone was either on their lunch break or at home resting from morning practice. Mama and Tata headed toward the office with the light, but I stayed behind trying to get a closer look at the gym through the darkness. I was dying to see the legendary spot where Olympians trained.
I saw Marta Karolyi walk out of the lighted office, so I quickly ran to catch up to my parents. We followed Marta into her office, where we exchanged brief hellos and were immediately joined by Bela Karolyi. Marta, in black tights and a “Karolyi’s Gymnastics” T-shirt with a sweater draped over her shoulders, looked just like I had remembered from television—short, dark hair with blond frosted tips and very, very tanned. Bela, standing beside me, was even bigger than he had appeared on television, and I had to tilt my head all the way back to see his face as he stood in front of me.
Marta looked directly into my eyes.
“Hi, Dominique, how you doing? You ready for workout?” She spoke with a thick Romanian accent. I nodded and smiled.
Bela looked down at me, then gave me a big, welcoming bear hug. I disappeared into his arms. I remember smelling his cologne—a strong European scent that smelled familiar but I couldn’t quite place.
“Hello, Dominique. You ready to show us what you can do? All right, then!” He patted my head and turned to talk to my parents, explaining to them, in Romanian, that they should bring me for the “evaluation” workout the next morning at seven sharp.
We arrived early at the gym that next morning. I was able to get situated and tuck my athletic bag into one of the empty cubbies in the Elite’s locker room before the other gymnasts arrived. I sat there, taking in my surroundings and waiting for practice to begin. The other gymnasts started to trickle into the surprisingly tiny locker room as it drew closer to seven. They were milling around, exchanging hellos and doing final prep for training. The girls seemed pretty friendly, but it was hard for me to focus on small talk when I was anxious for my evaluation. I didn’t say much. The last few minutes seemed like an eternity, sitting there waiting for the clock to hit seven before stepping out of the locker room and onto the floor.
On the hour, and not a second past, I followed the older gymnasts out the locker room door and onto the floor in a single-file line, tallest to smallest. We lined up on the floor exercise mat for the morning running. Almost as soon as I stepped onto the gym floor, the coaches and staff placed me with the “1992 hopeful” group—meaning, I was a hopeful for the 1996 Olympics. That I was working out with this Elite group of gymnasts made me smile on the inside. I figured my prospects looked good to be taken under the Karolyis’ wing.
The Senior Elite “1992 hopefuls” included Kim Zmeskal, Betty Okino, Hilary Grivich, and Kerri Strug, with Jennie Thompson and me as the “1996 hopefuls.” I was still pretty nervous and knew I looked a bit lost next to the other gymnasts in my cluster who already knew the drill and exactly what to expect. I could tell that most of the girls knew one another well, especially Betty, Kim, Kerri, and Hilary, who chatted during our free moments. Jennie was the only one who appeared a bit unsure, like me, and I wanted to talk with her, but I didn’t get the chance. The girls were welcoming and kind to me, but I was definitely the newbie, the outsider—something I hadn’t felt inside a gym for a very long time.
I was tagging along, following our leader, Kim. I was at the end of the line bouncing nonstop like a little kangaroo and trying to keep up with the extensive running drills, which were difficult for me. I was nervous to let them see me huffing and puffing. I had a growing side cramp that was killing me, but I kept my mouth shut and just kept breathing like everyone else. We ran backward, forward, kicked our knees up as high as they would go, jumped from side to side with legs together, and I tried to give every move my best effort.
I wanted to impress Bela. I’d never done this kind of running for such a long period before, so I tried my best to keep up even though every now and then I’d fall behind slightly. Bela didn’t say much to me during the evaluation. He mostly watched both me and Jennie Thompson closely, while barking orders in his deep voice at the group in general. He definitely was serious in the gym, not at all a teddy bear, and that frightened me somewhat because he seemed completely different from the man who gave me the bear hug the day before. I just did my best to follow the other girls like a good little soldier, looking to please and get praise from Bela, so my parents would be proud of me.
After the running and sprinting sessions, which lasted about forty-five minutes, we moved on to conditioning, which lasted another forty-five minutes. All I could think was When is this going to be over? The cramp in my side was still aching, and now my legs were starting to cramp and grow tired as well, but I didn’t want to let it show on my face that I was struggling. I was terrified of looking bad, so I kept pushing myself to keep up with the older, more experienced girls. I reached deep and, fortunately, my competitive streak carried me through the rest of the conditioning session. I was 100 percent determined to give a solid impression, as if my life depended on it.
I had been looking forward to doing the uneven bars and was happy when Bela finally signaled that we were moving on to that apparatus. I was worried that I was already a bit worn down from all the running, conditioning, floor drills, and vault before I even had a chance to show Bela what I could do on bars.
I remember prepping for bars during the few minutes after the vaulting session—thinking over and over in my mind which dismount I should demonstrate. I originally thought I’d impress Bela with my full-out dismount (two saltos in a tucked position with a 360-degree twist on the second salto), but I hadn’t perfected it on a hard landing surface yet. I�
�d always used a soft landing pit at LaFleur’s to cushion my landings in practice. But at Karolyi’s there was no pit in sight. I couldn’t believe it! I’d never been inside any gym that didn’t have a soft pit. I knew from what I’d read and seen on television that the highest-level Elite gymnasts also used soft pits to practice new maneuvers and landings. Where was it?
I took a good look around the gym to see what else was missing. I had been so eager to see where world-class gymnasts trained, yet all I saw was old, worn, beat-up equipment. There wasn’t a single item that appeared new or semi-new. With continual hard training, gym equipment takes a beating and needs to be replaced from time to time in order to provide the support and safety for which it was intended. Even the floor beneath my feet felt fuzzy and a little lumpy, but I sure as heck wasn’t going to complain. I figured maybe that was what helped the Karolyi gymnasts get tougher.
I decided to nix my hardest element on the bars. I was a bit nervous and didn’t feel safe landing without the soft pit, so I didn’t even mention it to Bela. I momentarily reconsidered at the last minute while I was over the chalk tray, but I was ultimately too afraid and thought it better to play it safe for now. I had plenty of difficulty in my routines and figured I should just nail the things I knew instead of trying a riskier maneuver.
I remember being taken aback at the fact that Jennie Thompson was right up there with me in terms of level of difficulty in her routines. It was the first time I had seen someone my age who could do some of the same skills as me. Jennie was a rock-solid gymnast and immediately had my attention. With her blond hair, blue eyes, and tiny stature, she looked like the all-American gymnast. She was super light in weight and looked like a feather on the bars, moving from one release to another so gracefully. Her gymnastics skills were much “prettier” and more elegant than mine at the time. I hadn’t developed much finesse to my skills at that point, relying primarily on raw talent and the skills I had learned from Jeff. Jennie was also more flexible than I was and had nicer lines. It was a rude awakening to be working out with another “tiny pixie” who could do what I could do—and in some ways, better. She was a reminder of what I needed to work on. From the very beginning, it was clear that Jennie would be my main competition at Karolyi’s. She was extremely talented, and I knew I had my work cut out for me if I wanted to keep up with her. I clearly wasn’t the best in the group, but I felt that I had the potential to be.
Off Balance Page 7
