Off Balance

by Dominique Moceanu

  Tata’s inability to listen to others and compromise was probably his downfall in a lot of ways, and eventually it was the demise of the gym. Managing a gym and all its staff of coaches and employees requires diplomatic skills, something Tata certainly lacked. He had a heart of gold at times, but he also had a heart of coal when his temper flared and he made rash decisions in anger. When someone rubbed Tata the wrong way, he’d act out of raw emotion without thinking twice about who he was hurting in the process. Words of venom would just spew out of him. It was only a matter of time until that temper would flare at the wrong time and start to destroy the gym.

  Meanwhile, Mama and Tata were still searching to find me a new coach. I’d been through a long list of coaches, trying to find the right fit, and nothing seemed to work. I began to feel like my gymnastics skills might be slipping a bit and was concerned that we’d never find anyone. Bela’s warnings that I wouldn’t “be able to keep up the training” and that I was “done” kept flashing through my mind.

  Then, like a godsend, Luminita Miscenco arrived in January 1998. She apparently had been coaching the junior national team in Romania and eagerly accepted my parents’ offer to come to the United States to coach me. Tata had met with her during a trip to Romania and managed to obtain a work visa for her. She was a sight for sore eyes in the coaching department—she had a light, positive air about her, and it didn’t hurt that she was youthful (only nine years older than me), with shoulder-length dark brown hair, fair skin, and brown eyes. You could tell she’d been a gymnast herself by her fit, petite physique.

  I loved her right away. I had gotten out of shape and knew that I had my work cut out for me, but my motivation and enthusiasm returned under Luminita. Luminita was serious, focused, and demanding, but she also trained with compassion and care. I was shocked that she actually asked for my input in training and would read my body language to gauge my energy or exhaustion. As a gymnast herself, she understood the physical demands of our sport. There is an unspoken understanding between most gymnasts, and this aspect of our relationship brought us closer. I responded to her training style and felt alive again in the gym. It was also the first time I was coached entirely in Romanian; Luminita didn’t speak English. It was almost like a new start and I was invigorated.

  Training went relatively smoothly the first eight months. Luminita worked me back into top gymnastics shape with one-on-one training sessions from January to July 1998. I had my heart set on competing at the Goodwill Games in New York in July of that year. The support of Luminita, my family, friends, and fans motivated me to keep pressing forward to reach that goal. There certainly were low points, when I was full of tears and doubted myself in the gym, but as months passed, I kept pushing myself. Luminita taught me new skills that I’d never attempted before, increasing my difficulty and helping me gain a new confidence. At the Goodwill Games, I planned to debut a new vault—a front handspring on the vaulting horse into a front layout position with a 180-degree twist. I’d also perform new routines on bars, beam, and floor exercise highlighting my newer, more mature style of gymnastics. The hunger to win the Goodwill Games grew more with each passing month.

  “I foresee the competition ending with you in first place, standing between two Romanians,” Luminita said to me weeks before the Goodwill Games. The fact that she had so much confidence in me and the fact that she was telling me how good she thought I was, even at times applauding my practice sessions, was something new to me and a tremendous breath of fresh air. It also meant that Luminita believed I was good enough to beat those “two Romanians,” who happened to be two of the most accomplished gymnasts in the world at that time. Olympic and World champion Simona Amânar, who’d go on to have an impressive career, being a seven-time Olympic medalist and a ten-time World medalist, was target number one. She was a fierce competitor with outstanding difficulty and consistency. Obstacle number two was then-current European champion, Maria Olaru, who’d go on to become the World champion in 1999 and Olympic champion in 2000. The roster for competition also included Russian gymnastics legend Svetlana Khorkina. To have the chance to compete—and win—against this incredible group would prove to myself that I could do anything I set my mind to.

  Due to bureaucracy, I almost didn’t get the chance. USA Gymnastics, the governing body for our sport, tried to bar me from competing at the Goodwill Games. Tata had to fight with USA Gymnastics Women’s Program vice president Kathy Kelly to allow me the chance to compete. As I had been kicked to the curb by the Karolyis after the Olympics, the powers-that-be in our sport didn’t think I was “worthy” of a competition slot. I had trained so hard, yet Tata had to fight for me and go head to head with Kathy to even get me an opportunity to make it onto the roster. The subjectivity and politics that surround USA Gymnastics is, in my mind, the sport’s worst enemy. After much battling by Tata, USA Gymnastics finally agreed to send a National team staff member, former Russian gymnast Arthur Akopyan, to evaluate me to determine if I was ready for competition. And with strong legs and stronger confidence, I was able to put on a demonstration for him that immediately showed I deserved a spot. He actually took a moment to tell me how impressed he was with my improvements and new routines. With a ticket to New York and the 1998 Goodwill Games, I felt I really had something to prove—to the world and to myself.

  I had a fever of 104 degrees the evening before the Goodwill Games All-Around competition. Luminita comforted me as I shivered like a leaf through the night in the hotel room we shared. I couldn’t believe how quickly these flulike symptoms came on after evening practice. I didn’t want anyone to know I was sick; I had worked too hard to give any of my competitors a mental edge. Sick or not, I wasn’t going to let this one slip away. Morning practice didn’t go well; I felt lethargic and my balance seemed off. I started to get frustrated and scared, but Luminita was there by my side and helped me by talking things out. The rest of my body was in great shape, she reminded me, probably the best shape of my career up to that point. I was here to win, regardless of the obstacles. When we went back to our hotel room to rest before the evening competition, my mind was racing. I was looking forward to catching a nap, because I was exhausted from being up all night with my fever. After morning practice, I passed out almost immediately. The hotel wake-up call startled me—I had slept for nearly three hours. Luminita, barely awake herself after sharing such a rough night, was leaning over me, asking me how I felt.

  “Better,” I said. Surprisingly, I felt reenergized. We smiled at each other and Luminita gave me that “let’s go win a medal” look of hers.

  I touched my head to make sure my ritualistic four dark brown hair clips I wore at every competition were in their rightful places—one on each side of my head, one on top, and one underneath my bun. I looked down at my leotard with rhinestones outlining the letters “USA” across my chest. Every shred of lean muscle I had earned over the past seven months showed through my tight, solid white leotard. I was ready. And this time, everything went right.

  On July, 19, 1998, I won the Goodwill Games Individual All-Around title, topping the scores of even my most competitive Romanian and Russian rivals. It was something of a historic achievement as well, as it was the first time a non-Russian female gymnast won the title. In the end, as Luminita had predicted, I stood tall proudly on the podium between two Romanian gymnasts, tears streaming down my face and a gold medal around my neck.

  I consider this competition to be one of my greatest. In seven months, I went from being an out-of-shape gymnast who’d struggled to find enthusiasm for the sport in December 1997, to upgrading the configuration of my routines from the Atlanta Olympics and competing among the best World and Olympic female gymnastics champions.

  In retrospect, the fact that USA Gymnastics tried to bar me from competing at the Goodwill Games, claiming I was not good enough to make the roster, made it that much sweeter. When I did win, I was too happy to be annoyed by Kathy Kelly—now clapping her hands and telling me she was proud
of me, as if she’d been my biggest cheerleader all along. I was thrilled to prove to all the naysayers that I not only could compete, but I could also still be a champion. Most important, I proved to myself that the Karolyis were wrong, that I wasn’t “finished” and that I could win again, at the highest level, and without them. My Goodwill Games All-Around gold medal is the only award I keep alongside my Olympic medal because it means that much to me.

  Before I left for the Goodwill Games, I weighed 43 kilos, or 94.6 pounds. I had a love/hate relationship with the scale—loved it when the numbers dropped, hated it when it showed I’d gained weight. In gymnastics, one’s balance, form, and technique are influenced by size and weight. It’s usually advantageous be smaller and lighter, hence the pressure on Elite gymnasts to be lean. The new routines I was working on with Luminita were challenging and required me to be as light as possible.

  I never liked the process of cutting weight. It always brought me back to the horrible tension I felt with the Karolyis, how they’d humiliate me if they suspected I’d gained any weight. I was made to feel worthy only when I was skinny, and that certainly wasn’t healthy. Although I still didn’t enjoy cutting weight, I was trying to approach it with a healthier mind-set, to shed old habits and develop a better self-image, but it was difficult to change. I still had plenty of emotional scars and a warped perspective of my body. I’d look in the mirror and no matter how thin I was, I’d always manage to find a piece of skin to pull away from my body, which I thought of as fat even if it was skin. I always thought I could be skinnier.

  I had a major growth spurt of nearly eight inches after the Olympics. I went from being the smallest member of Team USA at 4' 4" and 70 pounds, to 5' and 98 pounds, which may still sound small, but it was considered pretty tall for a gymnast back then. I’ve often wondered if that growth spurt was a result, in part, of finally being able to eat. From the age of ten through fourteen, my caloric intake was extremely limited even though I spent the majority of my days working out in the gym. The Karolyis always seemed to think the less food, the better. I can’t help but think that my growth was stunted to some degree during that period from malnourishment and, now, my body was making up for lost time. I also allowed myself to eat some of the forbidden foods that I had always craved, like bread, sweets, and even pizza on occasion. I was never educated about counting calories or understanding the difference between and function of carbohydrates and proteins, so I never approached my weight or weight loss in a healthy way.

  When I started gaining weight, I tried to make myself purge on a few occasions, but, thankfully, I was never any good at it. Instead of bingeing and purging, I found myself in a cycle of bingeing and starving, especially when training for the Goodwill Games. I’d eat freely on the weekends, most often overdoing it until I was uncomfortably stuffed, and then I’d starve myself during the week. Sometimes, I wouldn’t eat any dinner even though I was doing two long training sessions per day. I’d often run a few miles at the track after the last training session to make sure to burn off everything I’d binged on the past weekend. When Friday evening came, I’d start the bingeing cycle all over again. I didn’t realize at the time how unhealthy this was for my body and my mind.

  I was obsessed with seeing the numbers drop on the scale, but I had my weak moments like when I’d go through the Dairy Queen drive-through on my way home from morning practice and gorge on a burger and fries, sometimes even an ice cream cone. I’d feel horrible afterward and would work out extra hard at the afternoon session and wouldn’t eat anything the rest of the day. Other times, I’d buy Gummi Bears and snacks at the gas station on the way home from the gym and keep them as a secret stash in my car. When Christina and I begged Mama, she would sometimes give in and allow us to indulge in a low-fat frozen yogurt at TCBY. Aunt Janice was the only adult who didn’t monitor my food constantly and because of that, she was the only adult I felt I could eat freely in front of. She was the first to let me try mac and cheese when I was a teenager, which I loved. In the end, I’d be disgusted with myself when the scale would show I’d gained weight, and I’d be angry and frustrated for being stuck in this unhealthy cycle.

  When my daily weigh-in showed I’d gained a pound, Luminita would take me to the track to run and burn some extra calories after my afternoon training. One day, as we drove to the track, she discovered my secret stash of treats in the car. She was angry and disappointed with me and made sure that I knew I’d be running extra miles that night and probably the rest of the week. It put me in a bad mood, and I got more annoyed when Luminita phoned Mama to come join us at the track. I didn’t like mixing my training with family time, and it bothered me when Mama would come run with us, which was becoming more frequent. Mama loved any opportunity to exercise, and she got such joy from walking and running around the track. I usually had to sit there and wait because Mama always wanted to do “extra” laps no matter how many we’d already done. Other times, I’d get too impatient and go home, leaving Mama alone at the track for hours—she was a runner at heart. I understand now that the exercise helped her decompress and balance the stress at home; it was her only outlet to release the tension, and I should have been more understanding, since she was kept on such a very tight leash by Tata and rarely allowed to go off to exercise by herself. Tata controlled her even more than he controlled me, yet she was a grown woman. Looking back, I still don’t know how she dealt with that kind of control in a marriage. I promised myself I’d never marry someone who wanted that type of control over me.

  After my successful performance at the Goodwill Games, I immediately started training for US Senior Nationals in Indianapolis the following month. No flu this time, but I broke out in hives all over my face the week before the competition, probably from the stress of a hyperextended knee that occurred during vault practice one afternoon. I had to stay off the knee for a couple of days and did what I could to allow it to heal, but there just wasn’t much time. At Nationals, I made errors on my bar routine both days that put me out of contention to win the All-Around. Luckily, even with my wobbly bar performances, I managed to place third in the All-Around, and I won two golds—for balance beam and vault in the individual event finals.

  By the time we came home from Nationals, we desperately needed a rest. It took some heavy convincing from Mama, Luminita, and me, but Tata miraculously agreed to let the three of us go to Cancun for a few days. Tata agreed that it would be good for me to have some time to rest and figured I’d come back rejuvenated and ready to train. An actual vacation? I was beyond excited. Those were the fastest days of my life. Being near the beach, having downtime, really served us all well, including Mama, who I rarely saw sit down, let alone relax at home.

  Training went well the month following Cancun. Since I had no major meets on the horizon, we took things slowly and trained in the pits on the soft surface. I should have known that things wouldn’t stay calm for long. In mid-October 1998, Tata and Luminita got into a huge argument that would be the turning point in my relationship with both of them. During practice one afternoon, Tata came to my private training area in the back of the gym. Tata enjoyed watching me train, and he’d stop by now and then, so at first I thought nothing of this particular visit. He knew it distracted me when he stayed too long, so he usually watched for a short bit, then shoved off. This time, Tata stayed.

  I cringed as a few comments flew back and forth between Tata and Luminita. It was never good when they talked during my training; it distracted all of us and it sometimes turned into Tata listing one thing after another of what I was doing wrong. The topic of conversation that day, however, was not me, which made things even worse. Within a few minutes, their discussion got heated, and by the middle of my vaulting session, it was a full-blown argument. They had recently begun butting heads, mostly about money. From what I understood, Luminita had been asking for a raise for some time. I heard rumblings from Tata at home about how Luminita was getting “greedy” and “too demanding.” It was awkward
hearing from both sides and being caught in the middle. I was having my own issues with Tata trying to control me and my finances, so I could appreciate Luminita’s perspective, but I also saw how much my parents had helped Luminita. So I tried to stay out of it, but that was nearly impossible.

  I stood frozen by the end of the vault runway watching this argument escalate. Soon they were both yelling uncontrollably. Tata, face red and arms waving, kept shouting that he did too much for Luminita, that she wasn’t appreciative. I’m not sure what else he said to her, but something clicked in Luminita and she lost it. She let it rip, giving Tata a piece of her mind, holding nothing back. This was bad. I finally had a stable, positive coaching situation and then this. All the security we had established in my training the past year began to crumble before my eyes. I felt sick to my stomach.

  “Okay, you’re fired! Get your things and leave!” Tata barked. Enraged, he also yelled something about having her deported and sent back to Romania. Tata always hit below the belt when he was in the heat of an argument, and people never knew whether he was serious about his threats. I knew Tata was fed up with Luminita and he meant what he said. He’d felt for some time that she was ungrateful for all that he and Mama had done for her—they had completed all the paperwork and paid the expenses for her to get her visa and come to the United States, moved her into a house with other coaches, given her a car and a job coaching me, among other things. When Luminita asked for more money, Tata told her the arrangement was fair for now.