Letters to a Young Gymnast

by Nadia Comaneci

  I don’t think Bart knew what he was getting into. We spoke with Adrian Nastase, then speaker of the House and now prime minister of Romania. He’s an incredibly charming, brilliant man, and he asked Bart who was going to be his nasu (godparent). In the Orthodox Church, a couple chooses a prominent person who is willing to act as a godparent to them and their children. That person also throws the wedding. It is a big responsibility, but most weddings in Romania are very simple affairs, so the financial cost is nominal. Bart asked Adrian and his wife to act as our godparents, and they happily agreed. Adrian’s wife was thrilled. She felt that the event had to be glamorous and beautiful, and she ran with the idea. So much for an inexpensive wedding!

  Bart and I sat back and decided that not only would we not try to exert any control over the planning but also that we’d just enjoy every minute of the event. We were incredibly busy with our jobs, and other than choosing a wedding dress that was made for me by Yumi Katsura, a designer in Japan, I did absolutely no work for what turned out to be anything but a “simple affair.” Adrian’s wife chose the venue for the wedding, a beautiful old Romanian Orthodox monastery, and arranged for the reception and party at the Parliamentary Palace, hosted by President Ion Iliescu. We invited fifteen hundred guests, including Juan Antonio Samaranch (head of the International Olympic Committee) and Arnold Schwarzenegger. Bart had been on the board of the Special Olympics for sixteen years, and at the time, Arnold was, too, and they’d become friends.

  You may not know this, friend, but Orthodox weddings are two-day events. On the first day, you get married in the mayor’s office in a civil ceremony. In the days of communism, people were discouraged from getting married in a church, and some of the old laws hadn’t been changed yet. So when it was time for our wedding, Bart and I flew back to Romania and went to the courthouse in business clothes. We were married on live television by a Romanian official so that all the people of the country could watch the event. Since the ceremony was in Romanian, I translated for Bart. At one point, the official paused and looked expectantly at Bart. “He wants to know if you want to marry me,” I whispered. Of course, the microphone picked up my voice, and I guess everyone in the country had a good laugh. People thought that was hysterical. Bart kept saying “Da,” which means “yes” in Romanian, over and over again to every question throughout the ceremony. We were both happy and relieved when it was over.

  When we left the government building, the square outside was packed with thousands of people who wanted to catch a glimpse of us. Bodyguards escorted us back to our hotel, and then we stood on the balcony and said a small speech to thank the people for coming to our wedding. Bart had his speech written out phonetically and thanked everyone for accepting him and said, “Today, I am half Romanian and half American.” The people thought he was wonderful, both because of what he said and because he struggled through the speech but kept on trying until he’d finished.

  It may be hard for you to understand why it mattered so much to my country that I was married with all the style and class that could be afforded. The people wanted to show the world the elegance and glamour of what Romania once was and could be again in the future. Over the course of thirty years, the people and culture had been virtually destroyed, and my wedding was a chance for everyone to fall in love with Romania again: I am not the only one with fierce pride in my country. I want to make it clear to you that though I left Romania, I never left the people and my roots—I left the system. I have always loved my country, and that’s why, to this day, I haven’t given up my citizenship. I am Romanian first and foremost, and Romania was where my wedding was meant to be. I knew that I could take my immediate family to a wedding in the United States, but I could not take the entire country. I needed to go to them.

  My formal wedding the day after the official one was the stuff of any little girl’s dreams. In addition to our Romanian guests, Bart and I invited eighty friends from America. All of us stayed at a hotel for one week; in fact, it was renamed “Hotel Nadia” from “Hotel Lido” because we took over the entire place. The day of the wedding, I wore a gorgeous gown with a 23-foot train covered with 10,000 pearls, carried by little Romanian gymnasts. Yumi Katsura, the designer, even sent someone to help me put the dress on because it was so complicated that I literally couldn’t have dressed myself!

  There were 10,000 people in the plaza outside the hotel waiting to see me before I left for the church. We couldn’t take any formal pictures before the wedding because once I stepped into the plaza, people were very excited to see me and it became too hard to set things up. As a result, all of the photographs from our wedding are snapshots from friends or the footage from ABC, which filmed the whole event. Half of the city of Bucharest was closed—stores, streets, everything. The procession to the wedding felt like something that would happen in England with princes and princesses. It was truly magical and filled with pomp and circumstance.

  The actual wedding was gorgeous. Adrian’s wife had filled the monastery with flowers and music. Once again, Bart did his best to follow along with the Orthodox traditions, but this time, things were much more complicated than they’d been at the civil wedding, when he’d just needed to stand in one place and say “yes.” Everything in the church is done three times—for example, walking around the altar during the service. There’s also a lot of kissing of the priest’s hand, and the bride and groom wear crowns. It can be very confusing even if you’re familiar with the religion. People advise brides and grooms that the one who remembers a particular tradition first should step on the other person’s foot to warn or remind them. The bride or groom who does the bulk of the stepping, it is said, will be the one most in control of the marriage. I did all of the stepping on Bart’s foot. Unfortunately, I forgot to tell him about our “signal,” so the first time during the wedding that I stepped on his toes, he asked, “What was that for?” I told him I was going to stomp on his foot before we were supposed to do anything three times. He whispered that I could have told him before the ceremony. “It’s too late,” I whispered back with a smile, “I’m going to tower over this marriage.”

  The reception line after the wedding was one of the funnier parts of the day. There was Bart, an American kid from Chicago who was now living in Oklahoma, and he had to greet strange men who all wanted to kiss his cheeks. There was a gigantic lineup, and Bart just put on a smile and let everyone exfoliate his smooth cheeks with their beards. By the time his American friends got to him (these guys had never even hugged each other before), Bart grabbed each one and planted kisses on their cheeks! It was incredible to see him display so much affection, and to this day, they’re all closer for the time they spent in Romania. To be introduced to such strong, passionate people really changed their lives.

  My friend, I wish I could transport you to our reception so that you could live it for yourself. The food and wines were delicious, and the music ranged from ballroom pieces and opera to traditional folk songs. There were dancers, singers, and actors from all over Europe in addition to the group of friends we’d brought from America. Bart and I tasted all of the food, danced, and flitted from table to table talking with our guests. I have never smiled so much in my life—quite a contrast to the person who, as a child, was known for not smiling. I have heard that for your wedding, all of the stars align to make the day perfect. Though I still don’t believe in perfection, that day was as close as I think I’ll ever come to experiencing it.

  In the middle of the night, while everyone was drinking, dancing, and laughing, something wonderful and strange and unexpected happened. I was stolen away from my groom by a group of men. I am not pulling your leg. It is a Romanian tradition that if the groom loses sight of his bride on the night of their wedding reception, she may be stolen. The men (old and dear friends of mine) put me in a boat, and we motored out into the middle of a lake, where a yacht was waiting. Meanwhile, Bart was dancing with his mother when a security guard tapped him on the shoulder and asked, “Do you know whe
re your wife is?”

  Bart looked around and couldn’t see me. “I don’t know,” he replied. “Where is she?”

  “She’s been stolen,” the guard told him. “You should pay more attention to your bride, otherwise she’ll disappear.” The guard handed Bart a cell phone, and the man on the line joked, “If you want Nadia back, you’ll have to pay a ransom.” Bart offered $1,000. “That’s not enough,” the man exclaimed, “she’s worth more than that!”

  “How about $10,000 donated to the charity of your choice?” Bart asked.

  “It’s a deal.”

  The men motored me back to the dock, where Bart stood waiting. He gathered me in his arms and promised never to lose sight of me again. The party continued until five in the morning. Sometimes I’d stop dancing and look around, trying to take it all in and remember everything. It was hard to comprehend that all of it was for me and for Bart, that people were so generous with their time and feelings. There had been moments when I thought I was so jaded that nothing could ever surprise or delight me again. I am so fortunate that I was wrong.

  I feel as if I’ve lived the joy of a thousand lives. The difficulties seem like moments that barely touch the hours, days, and years of good times. I never forget that I need to share my good fortune with others. I’m involved in many charities, such as the Special Olympics, and I host the Jerry Lewis Telethon for the Muscular Dystrophy Association every year. I’m really proud to be a part of the Laureus World Sports Academy, where elite athletes raise money for great causes all over the world. I also do fund-raising for AIDS-related organizations, especially those involving children. In addition, I help Bart run the Bart Conner Gymnastics Academy in Norman, Oklahoma, and together, we help gymnasts get college athletic scholarships that, in my mind, are so much more valuable for most children than shooting for a handful of Olympic spots and medals.

  I could list all of the additional charities I help and the other work I do, but that would take away from the reason I do it all in the first place. It’s not for acclaim or for medals; it’s because I want to give back. I’ve discovered that doing for others is much more fulfilling than standing alone on a podium while crowds cheer your individual accomplishments. I’m part of a bigger plan now, and joining hands with people from around the globe who understand that giving and sharing can change the world is exactly where I choose to be.

  Friend, you started writing to me because you wanted to know how I came to be Nadia Comaneci. You wanted to find out the secrets that made me tick; understand all of my experiences; figure out the effects of Romania, communism, Ceausescu’s rule, defection, and love upon my life. Do you know more about me now than when we began? I think I do . . . but I am a mysterious and complex human being, and like everyone else, I constantly evolve. I’ve always achieved more in life than I had in mind. But I know that I can be more, do a better job, and contribute a greater amount to society.

  I thank you for your letters and for wanting to know about me because as a result of looking back, I have cleaned house; I have cleared away the cobwebs and old cardboard boxes holding tattered pictures, medals, broken dreams, disappointments, fears, past glories, and childhood wishes. There’s more room to breathe now and to open some windows and locked doors and let a clean breeze sweep through closed up spaces. And now there’s fresh air and light.

  ■ About the Author

  At the 1976 Olympics in Montreal, Canada, a fourteen-year-old Romanian dynamo captured the hearts and minds of the world with her daring and perfection. We came to know her simply as “Nadia.”

  By the time the 1976 Olympics ended, Comaneci had earned seven perfect 10s, three gold medals, one bronze, one silver, and countless fans. She appeared on the covers of Time, Newsweek, and Sports Illustrated, all in the same week, and returned home to Romania to a heroine’s welcome.

  Four years later, at the 1980 Moscow Olympics, Comaneci earned two more gold medals and two silver to bring her Olympic total to nine medals (five gold, three silver, one bronze). In 1996, she was inducted into the International Gymnastics Hall of Fame.

  In April of that same year, Comaneci married American gymnast Bart Conner, himself an Olympic champion, in a Romanian state wedding. Comaneci now divides her time among appearances, commercial endorsements for major companies, speaking engagements, and charity events.

  Currently, Nadia and Bart are partners with their manager, Paul Ziert, in the Bart Conner Gymnastics Academy, International Gymnast magazine, Perfect 10 Productions, Inc. (a TV production company), and Grips, Etc. (a gymnastics manufacturing company).

  In 1999, Comaneci was honored by ABC News and Ladies Home Journal as one of the “100 Most Important Women of the 20th Century.” Comaneci, who is also fluent in French and English, continues to travel the world pursuing her various interests. Her charity work includes her positions as vice chair of the Board of Directors of Special Olympics International, vice president of the Muscular Dystrophy Association, and board member of the Laureus Sports for Good Foundation.

  She and Bart live in Norman, Oklahoma.

  Copyright © 2004 by Nadia Comaneci

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information, address Basic Books, 387 Park Avenue South, New York, NY 10016.

  The text includes excerpts form Feel No Fear: The Power, Passion, and Politics of a Life in Gymnastics, by Bela Karolyi and Nancy Anne Richardson. New York: Hyperion, 1994.

  Books published by Basic Books are available at special discounts for bulk purchases in the United States by corporations, institutions, and other organizations. For more information, please contact the Special Markets Department at the Perseus Books Group, 2300 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, PA 19103, or call (800) 810-4145, ext. 5000, or e-mail specialmarkets@perseusbooks.com.

  Comaneci, Nadia, 1961–

  Letters to a young gymnast / Nadia Comaneci.

  p. cm.

  eISBN : 978-0-786-72865-7

  1. Comaneci, Nadia, 1961–. 2. Gymnasts—Romania—Biography. 3. Gymnastics. I. Title.

  GV460.2.C65A3 2003

  796.42’092—dc22

  2003017268