Winning Balance

by Nancy French

  “I want to do it,” I said. “I want to be the best, and the Karolyis train the best.” Martha’s input was critical for up-and-coming gymnasts. As national team coordinator for USA Gymnastics, she selected athletes for competitions, determined lineups at the top meets, and made recommendations about skills and the composition of routines.

  Once they knew I was committed to advancing, my parents supported me totally, with one condition: that I follow my coaches’ rules out of respect for them. They’d never let me be disrespectful of Chow and Li; the same would be true of the Karolyis.

  Lesson I’ve Learned

  Life will be richer once you find your passion—but never lose sight of everything else. If one activity becomes everything to you, you may have nothing left if you lose it. To keep my life in balance, my parents didn’t want my schedule to be lopsided, too heavily weighted with one activity. They encouraged me to fill my time with the right amount of hobbies, schoolwork, and relationships—in the right proportion.

  Chapter 6

  Not Your Average Summer Camp

  Whatever your 100 percent looks like, give it.

  —Lance Armstrong

  IF THE ROAD TO ELITE competition had been long and winding, the drive from Houston to Karolyi’s Camp accurately symbolized that journey. After flying into Houston, Coach Chow and I met up with four other gymnasts. By the time we claimed our luggage and got into our rental van, I was completely wound up.

  “How long does it take to get there?” I asked.

  “About an hour,” our driver said.

  That didn’t keep me from asking over and over during the drive, “Are we almost there yet?”

  I wasn’t sure what to expect. I’d been to the Olympic Training Center, a sprawling, high-tech facility. Perhaps the camp was similar.

  No matter what it looked like, it had to be wonderful. The Karolyi ranch is where Olympic athletes are made. After the 2000 Sydney Olympics, where the American women won no medals, the Karolyis created a semi-centralized training system to help increase esprit de corps among our nation’s gymnasts. In the past, the American team would sometimes meet each other for the first time at the airport on the way to the competition, which is a tough way to build a sense of camaraderie. Members of the national team still live and train at home with their own coaches. However, every four weeks, they meet at the Karolyi ranch with the other girls on the team for training camps run by Martha. This allows gymnasts to know how they stack up against the other athletes—and Martha’s standards—while also fostering team unity.

  Would I be one of those girls who made the monthly trek to who-knows-where? The center, sixty miles north of Houston, is definitely off the beaten path. We drove on a two-lane road out to New Waverly, Texas—which has a population of less than one thousand. We made a pit stop at the local grocery store, which was evidently a tradition for every vanload of gymnasts and coaches coming from the airport.

  My anticipation was growing more with every passing mile. And it seemed like there were many, many miles. We passed cow pastures and barns, until the paved road eventually turned to gravel. And the camp was still nowhere in sight.

  “Are we there yet?” I continued asking about every ten minutes. I looked through the windows of the van. I couldn’t see any stores or houses. In fact, I noticed, there weren’t even light poles or telephone poles. Nothing. I just saw mile after mile of trees and cow pastures. Eventually, the two-lane gravel road became an old logging road, a narrow path in a forest. I sat in the back and prayed for dear life that another car wouldn’t come flying around the next bend and hit us head-on.

  Eventually, the one-lane road ended at the Karolyi ranch. We were welcomed by a yellow sign that read, “Welcome to Karolyi’s Waverly Hills Camp: Home of Olympic and World Champions.” When I read those words, I knew my career wouldn’t end in that steel building. It was just about to start.

  I was a little surprised at what I saw. The camp wasn’t high tech. I didn’t see much but several buildings, which I soon learned were the gym, the cafeteria, and one long cabin with twelve little dorm rooms that Bela had built. A little farther back were the cabins of the workers and the house where the Karolyis lived.

  The first day of training, I walked into the gym and was surprised at how no-frills it was. Huge garage doors were opened on days with good weather to provide light and circulation. This wood-paneled place had gotten a lot of use. This was where Mary Lou Retton and Kerri Strug had trained, and the whole gym was filled with posters and autographed photos of athletes who had trained there. There was a poster of Dominique Dawes, a member of the gold medal–winning “Magnificent Seven” at the ’96 Olympic Games. There were photos of Bela and Mary Lou, posing at the center, with her thousand-watt smile in full force. There was a framed photograph of Bela carrying the injured Kerri to the podium at the 1996 Olympics. It was signed, “Bela, I really appreciate all you’ve done for me. I’ll always be grateful. Love, Kerri.” There were also numerous trophies, posters, and other memorabilia to commemorate the world and Olympic competitors from the United States who have been shaped by Bela and Martha.

  At the camp, there was literally nothing to do but gymnastics. We ate and slept gymnastics, since we weren’t allowed to leave the camp and nobody was allowed to come in. (Not that they could have found it!) Spending a week concentrating solely on gymnastics was very helpful and instructive, but it was not easy.

  Six days of the week (and sometimes seven) we got up early and did a complete training workout. I remember all of us doing the same movements in unison under Martha’s watchful eye—squatting every few steps, jumping into a half turn, leaping into a full turn, shuffling our feet, pointing our toes. The exercises looked simple at first but progressed into more and more complicated movements. We ran around the square mat; we kicked our legs out to one side and then the other; we did crunches and sits-ups. After we moved from the mats, we did jumps on the vault, repeatedly. We hung from the high bars and did sit-ups. We did pull-ups with our arms in different positions to work out different muscles. Then we’d break up and work on our routines—floor, bars, and beam—with our coaches from home.

  Martha and her national team staff walked among the groups, letting us know if our toes weren’t pointed in precisely the right way or if our arms were not extended perfectly. At the end of each session, we would all line up according to height, arms behind our backs, and say in unison: “Thank you, Martha, coaches, and national staff! Good-bye.”

  After our morning session, we broke for lunch to eat meals like salad and chicken in the cafeteria. It wasn’t very glamorous, and we were convinced they injected everything with fiber.

  Practice resumed in the afternoons, when we’d try to perfect our routines and learn new moves. During these practices we really tried to push ourselves further than we’d ever gone. We’d break for dinner around seven. After that, our team doctor would send a trainer so we could receive a massage at the end of the night. By nine, we were done for the day.

  As intense as the training was, I loved being able to relax with my gymnastics friends after practice. We’d do one another’s nails, makeup, and hair. We’d get on the Internet and listen to music or watch movies in our rooms. Of course, by nighttime we were exhausted and were aware that the next day’s practice would begin early, so we never got too crazy.

  Bela didn’t come to the gym very often. Instead, he spent most of his time managing the ranch facilities. I’ll never forget the first time I saw him.

  It was during one of our weekly formal competitions. Even if we weren’t in competition shape, we’d prepare our routines and compete against each other. Not only did it allow us to compare ourselves to each other, it also helped us get into the competition mind-set.

  I was preparing to go up on the beam when I saw the door open, and Bela strolled in. He was bigger than I expected, and I tried not to be distracted by him. Apparently Martha had told Bela about me, because he sat down to watch our competition. As the
other gymnasts noticed his presence, everyone got even more serious about their routines. The energy in the room skyrocketed, though the gymnasts pretended not to realize he was watching.

  I jumped up on the beam and did my routine. I can’t remember how I did, though I’m sure if you’d asked me at the time I would have told you I nailed it. When I finished, I heard Bela cheering for me in his thick Romanian accent.

  Wow, I thought. Bela Karolyi just yelled for me. I was on top of the world and felt invincible.

  Apparently Bela has always loved animals, so his camp is like one big zoo. Huge peacocks roamed around in the field right outside our dorms, mingling with groups of turkeys. There were also mules, camels, donkeys, chickens, and geese. Oh, and to make things more interesting, there were snakes everywhere. Bela told us to make sure we closed the toilet at night because snakes sometimes crawl up the plumbing.

  You’d think that would be enough to keep you from going to the bathroom at night. But once I woke up in the middle of the night and really had to go. In my dorm, there were three beds and a little bathroom with a toilet and another bathroom with showers. The other girls were asleep, so I tiptoed through the dark and walked into the bathroom. Once the door was closed and I could turn on the light without waking my friends, I flipped on the switch.

  I almost wished I hadn’t.

  Because that’s when I saw the biggest cockroaches I’d ever seen, crawling on the wall right next to me. When they say everything is bigger in Texas, they’re serious. I started screaming my head off. I was rooming with Nastia Liukin at the time, so I ran out of the bathroom and jumped on top of her bed.

  “Are you okay?” she said, sitting straight up after being awakened so abruptly.

  “There are enormous cockroaches in there!” I screamed.

  Unfortunately, we were both terrified of bugs. Absolutely terrified. So we made our other roommate get up and kill them. There was no way we could go to bed thinking about those cockroaches crawling all over us.

  To prepare for my first elite competition, I began making monthly trips to the Karolyi ranch. While I was there, I worked even harder than I did at home because I got to see gymnasts from all over the country who were just as good as I was—or even better. Martha assessed our performance and gave us a list of things to focus on over the next month. Every time I left the camp, I had a new resolve to become a top gymnast.

  I knew how well I measured up at the ranch. But how would I compare to the rest of the world?

  Lesson I’ve Learned

  When it comes to your passion, set your sights high—higher than you think possible right now so you have something to work for. At the same time, you must believe you can achieve what you set out to do.

  Chapter 7

  “Who Is That Girl?”

  Go confidently in the direction of your dreams! Live the life you’ve imagined.

  —Henry David Thoreau

  IT DIDN’T TAKE ME LONG to find out how I ranked among other top gymnasts. Just a few months after returning home from Texas, I packed my bags and headed to Virginia Beach for the 2005 US Classic, which serves as the final qualifying event for the Visa National Championships. This was my first competition as an elite, and I couldn’t wait to make my debut. Perhaps it was good that Martha had already scrutinized every one of my movements in Texas, because when we arrived at the arena, cameras were everywhere.

  I felt a bit like a rock star! When I did my routine, a camera followed me and filmed my every move. Far from being intimidated, I was energized by the cameras. While I was naturally shy, I loved performing gymnastics. It was the one thing I was completely confident doing. I thought, Watch me, world!

  Of course, “the world” didn’t know who this “me” was. I was the new kid on the block, and nobody had ever seen me. I remember the other gymnasts and coaches looking at me with quizzical expressions. Who is that girl? they seemed to be thinking.

  Their reaction to me was understandable. To them, I had come out of nowhere. The gymnastics world is one large, extended family, and everyone usually knows everyone else . . . including where they came from, who their coach is, and what their talent level is. There is a typical progression to get to this level. Most aspiring gymnasts start out in TOPs, a talent search and educational program for promising young female gymnasts and their coaches. They begin going to a summer camp at the Karolyi ranch when they’re seven; then they compete at certain qualifiers. I hadn’t gone through those steps, so I’d never had the chance to interact with most of the elite gymnasts and their coaches until the Virginia Beach meet.

  I think they were a little surprised when I placed third in the all-around.

  It’s almost unheard of for an unknown to perform well and even place in an elite meet. It was so amazing to leave with a medal. I loved competing!

  Just a few weeks later, I was on my way to Indianapolis for my first Visa Championships. During the all-around competition, I fell from the beam. At that moment, I had to put much of Chow’s teaching into play: a mistake isn’t fatal unless you choose to dwell on it and let it distract you during the next event. In the end, I finished tenth, earning the final spot on USA Gymnastics’ junior national team.

  Being picked last for a team is sometimes terrible, like being the last person standing against the wall when the fourth grade class is selecting dodgeball teams. However, in 2005, I’d already qualified as an elite, gone to Karolyi’s Camp, and been selected to compete at the nationals. And now I’d made it onto the national team!

  My parents and I attended our first national team meeting the very next morning, where we received general instructions about expectations and scheduling. At the end of the breakfast meeting, the officials handed out international assignments for meets held all over the globe. After handing out the big competitions to the seniors, they said, “Okay, we have two assignments for juniors.”

  I couldn’t believe my ears. I’d barely made the team, and now I might have the chance to travel for my country? They handed the first assignment to the top juniors, and then they said they had a second meet in Belgium. “This one is for you,” they said as they handed the assignment to my teammate Ivana Hong. And then . . . “This one is for you, Shawn.”

  My parents looked stunned. I didn’t even have a passport! I could see the concern in my mom’s eyes. Though she didn’t say a word, I could hear her voice in my head saying, My baby’s going to Belgium? Yet USA Gymnastics knows that low-profile international meets like this one are good places to throw newbies like me. I could either bomb without major repercussions or I could do great while gaining valuable experience and confidence.

  I could barely contain my joy. As I waited for the day to come when I’d go to the airport and head overseas, I wrote in my journal every single day about the same topic: my uniform. “I have a week and two days before I go to Belgium. I’m so excited but am also really scared, too. I wonder where I’ll be staying, and I wonder what my leotard will look like. It should come in the mail within two days.”

  The next day I wrote more of the same: “I can’t believe I’ve made it this far. Sometimes, I wish I was still just rec, when there was less pressure, but I love everything that has come with this success. I’ve been having dreams about what my leotard is going to look like, but my stuff still hasn’t arrived. In my dream, the leotard didn’t look very good, so I was disappointed. I hope that doesn’t really happen in real life.”

  Now that I was traveling with the national team, we thought it was the right time to set up a website for me. I felt like I’d finally arrived when I saw it online for the first time. One little girl had already sent me an e-mail.

  “Dear Shawn,” she wrote. “I am having trouble with my back handspring. Can you give me some pointers?”

  Does this technically qualify as fan mail? I wondered. I counted it as one, but I didn’t know how to advise her by e-mail when a back handspring really needs to be tweaked in person. I didn’t write back, and I felt horrible about t
hat. I wrote in my journal, “I hope she isn’t mad.”

  Finally, two days before I was scheduled to leave, the box with my uniform arrived. I nearly tore it out of my mom’s hands.

  “Let me see!” I cried as I ripped it open, leaving packing remnants on the living room floor. The box contained three pairs of pants, three pairs of shorts, two pairs of shoes (tennis shoes and sandals), two pairs of underwear, three pairs of socks, four T-shirts, a silky shirt, a long-sleeved shirt, a winter vest, a gym bag, and seven leotards (four for warm-up and three for competition). I was elated.

  I was thirteen years old and had been given the honor of wearing a leotard emblazoned with “USA.” When I put it on in my bedroom and looked in the mirror, I felt a tremendous sense of pride in my country.

  The day before we left for the Top Gym meet in Belgium, I had my first interview with a gymnastics magazine. I couldn’t believe that the editors wanted to talk to me, but I enjoyed every second of the exchange. My interviewer asked me a few questions about what it was like to be on the national team. Though I can’t quite remember what I told her, I probably said that traveling internationally for the junior national team was one of the biggest honors of my life.

  I felt a little strange getting on the airplane with my coaches and teammates but without Mom and Dad. That didn’t mean they wouldn’t see me compete, however. Normally, parents don’t attend the international meets; in fact, because many coaches see them as a distraction, they’re often discouraged from attending. However, my parents were not going to allow me to travel to a different country while they stayed home. They got their own airline tickets, booked their own hotel across town, and bought tickets for the meet. So while I nestled into my seat on the airplane, I was comforted to know they’d be in the stands for my first international competition. I hoped I’d be able to spot them.