Letters to a Young Gymnast by Nadia Comaneci Read Free Book Online

notice athletes in order for those athletes to rate scores that will place them on the podium. Some coaches are just coaches. Other coaches, like Bela, are coaches, publicists, agents, and defenders all rolled into one. If an athlete is very talented and lucky enough to have a coach such as Bela, she has a better chance of thriving in the world of competitive athletics because she can focus on her sport and leave the politics to her coach.
    What did you mean in your last letter when you said that I “came into my own” in 1976? I did not materialize at age fourteen at the 1976 Games. Gymnasts don’t become great in a single year, just as actors never have “overnight successes” but instead work decades at their craft before their “big break.” I was already a great gymnast by 1976, but no one knew that in the United States or Canada. Bela understood that nobody knew me or the Romanian team. Everyone expected great things from the Soviet and German gymnasts—athletes such as Olga Korbut and Ludmila Tourischeva. We, however, were from a tiny country no one could even find on the map. So Bela devised a scheme to focus the world’s attention on his little girls.
    The podium workout is an opportunity for all gymnasts to perform their routines on the actual apparatus used in the Olympics and in the gym where the competition will be held. Each team is given twenty minutes per apparatus, and most gymnasts perform watered-down
routines so that they can avoid last-minute injuries brought on by nerves. The stands are filled with members of the media, fans, and judges. I have already told you that judges who do not recognize gymnasts tend to score them lower than the well-known girls. In 1976, the Romanian team was completely unknown, and Bela knew that had to change if we were to have a chance of winning.
    â€œNow entering the arena for the 1976 Olympics, the team from Romania.” I heard the loudspeakers blaring our country’s name again and again and a light smattering of polite applause. It was time to enter the gymnasium for our podium workout, but Bela held us in the tunnel that led to the arena, not allowing us to enter. We were all dressed alike and wearing ponytails. Bela instructed us to march into the arena like soldiers and to perform our full routines with no mistakes. The loudspeaker blared our country’s name again. “Mr. Professor, they’re calling us,” I ventured. Bela said to let them wait. When we finally entered the gym, the entire audience was watching the doors because we’d repeatedly failed to walk through them when called. The applause was a bit louder, and I could feel thousands of eyes watching us.
    We were a curiosity, if nothing else. We were really tiny compared to the other gymnasts (most were in their late teens and twenties) and wore matching leotards. Gymnasts from other countries wore mismatched clothing and moved casually from apparatus to apparatus. Not us. Without ever sitting down, we ran through our routines, and we were flawless. By the time I dismounted the beam, the coaches, other gymnasts, and official delegates were in an uproar. The next day, the previously unknown team from Romania had to hide from reporters.

    Friend, you wrote that I was an “automaton in ’76, a tiny robot doing what everyone else wished.” You are wrong. It is true that children do not choose their own paths at age six. What do they know? Parents clothe and feed them and decide when it is time for naps and bed. Parents pick their music, exercise, and outings. I was placed in a gym to play—that’s all it was in my mind—and if I hadn’t wanted to, I could have gone home. You cannot force a child to do anything as complex as gymnastics and to improve at the task unless that child wants to. I was given the chance to run, climb, jump, and soar, and I loved it from the moment I entered the gym. By age fourteen, when I reached the