Winning Balance

by Nancy French

  Everyone except Taylor.

  “Want to sit down?” he asked. We were in the lobby of my hotel, but he led me up to the hospitality room on the first floor where we could sit and talk. I was so thankful to finally have some time alone with him. Our late-night balcony-to-balcony chats were sometimes the only thing that had kept me going. Though I was sad that he had a girlfriend back home, I respected that he was not a cheater.

  And so we talked. And talked. We covered a million topics—including our hometowns and our lives outside Olympic training. We moved past the “getting to know you” topics into the deeper questions of life. I’m not sure why I felt so comfortable with Taylor, but I did open up to him about things that I’m normally too shy to share.

  He told me things about his life as well. “I broke up with my girlfriend,” he blurted out.

  I tried to keep my face from breaking into a smile. Instead, I gave him a concerned look and said simply, “I’m sorry for what you must be going through.”

  Just then, we were interrupted by a hotel staffer who was trying to clean up. “I have to service this area,” he said, pointing to the clock. “It’s late.”

  He was right. By this time it was nearly two o’clock in the morning, but there was no way I wanted this night to end! I didn’t think staying out longer would be a problem. After all, I’d been living in the Olympic Village without real adult supervision—other than coaches who made sure we didn’t pig out at the free food line. I had gotten used to setting my own schedule and figuring out when it was appropriate to arrive and when it was appropriate to go. I’d been forced to grow up a bit and start taking care of my own laundry, money, food, and living areas.

  “Do you need to go?” Taylor asked me.

  “Let’s talk a bit more,” I suggested, figuring it was okay. Because I was sharing a room with Sheryl, I didn’t think my parents would be worried about where I might be. Plus, they had allowed me to go to the Oakley party, which ended pretty late.

  “Okay,” he said, taking my hand. “Follow me.” Not having anywhere to go, we walked around the hotel until we found an area on the second floor that had a huge sofa stretching along the entire wall below a gigantic window. We made ourselves comfortable and kept talking. My back was to the staircase, and Taylor was facing the stairs. The area was separated from the rest of the room by a curtain, so although it was public, we weren’t bothering anyone and no one was bothering us.

  That’s where we kissed.

  What a magically romantic moment! Though we’d known each other for only a few weeks, we’d gone through an extremely intense experience together. As a result, we had become close friends in a short period of time. We were at the Olympics . . . at the Olympics . . . enjoying the last few hours we had in China.

  “What are we doing?” he asked me. He was holding my hand.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, where is this going?” he said. “You and me.”

  “Well, you live in Colorado, and I live in Iowa,” I said.

  The kiss created a whole new depth of conversation. Would we try to stay a couple when we went back home? Were we even “a couple”? If he went to college, how could we see each other?

  Even though it was a tough conversation, I was having the time of my life. I was heady with the romance, intoxicated by his company, and thrilled by the long-awaited kiss.

  I remember what happened next very vividly.

  Because Taylor was facing the stairs, he saw them coming first. A look of absolute panic crossed his face. My mom and dad were marching down the staircase, looking disheveled and furious.

  “What do you think you are doing?” they asked us. “Do you even know what time it is?”

  I completely lost my ability to speak. I’d never been more humiliated in my life. There I was, planning out my romantic future with Taylor, only to have my mommy and daddy come downstairs to tell me I’d missed curfew. If I could have disappeared, I would have. Taylor jumped to his feet and apologized.

  I figured my dad would kill him, but he simply said, “Let me call you a cab.”

  We said a hasty good-bye, my face hot with embarrassment and anger. Dad walked Taylor out the door and hailed a taxi.

  “What were you doing?” my mom asked me as we walked back upstairs. “You are only sixteen.”

  “I’ve been living without you for a month!”

  “You scared us silly! We’re in a foreign country, and all of a sudden we realize we have no idea where you are in the middle of the night!”

  The most romantic night of my life had ended with me feeling like a sixth grader.

  To this day, my parents and I disagree about the propriety of my decision to stay up with Taylor on our last night in Beijing. Of course, we all know that breaking away is a normal part of growing up and that we won’t always agree on what’s best.

  About six months later, though, my mom and I would learn what it’s like to deal with teenage separation issues on a very public stage.

  Lesson I’ve Learned

  All the way through the Olympics, I saw everyone around me as a competitor, so I closed myself off from letting anyone in. It took me a while to trust that people outside my family were not approaching me with an ulterior motive. Since then I’ve realized the importance of balancing caution with making yourself vulnerable. You need relationships as part of your life.

  Chapter 19

  Proud to Be an American

  The ache for home lives in all of us.

  —Maya Angelou

  BY AUGUST 24, the evening of the closing ceremonies, I was ready for my Olympic experience to come to an end. America had dominated, winning a total of 110 medals. That included thirty-six gold, thirty-eight silver, and thirty-six bronze. Four of those medals, I could barely believe, were mine.

  The ceremonies were being held in the National Stadium, also known as the Bird’s Nest because its exposed beams form a latticework pattern, making the building look like a gigantic nest. I joined other athletes at the Olympic Village, and we boarded buses that took us to the stadium. Once there, we gathered in an underground tunnel, where we prepared to walk into the closing ceremonies. My friend Steven Lopez pulled me up onto his shoulders so I could get a better view of my surroundings.

  As we were about to enter the stadium, I saw Taylor with some other US athletes. I dropped from Steven’s shoulders, thanked him for the lift, and began talking with Taylor.

  “Sorry about last night,” I said to him, though he waved it off.

  “I have parents too,” he said, laughing. “Who are you walking with?” Usually, athletes walk into the arena with their teams, but my team members had returned home, back to their normal lives. I was so exhausted by this point that “normal life” was beginning to look better and better.

  “Would you believe I don’t have a team anymore?”

  “Sure you do,” he said, putting his arm around my shoulder. (Despite his nickname “Mini Phinney,” Taylor is six-feet-five-inches tall, so I’m sure we made quite the pair.) “The cycling team can adopt you.”

  The closing ceremonies were amazing. Walking into the stadium as a member of the United States Olympic Team was one of the proudest moments of my life. From all corners of the stadium, athletes from the competing nations marched in under their flags. The Chinese delegation got a huge roar from the hometown crowd, which made me happy. Something about being there with Chow made me feel so much affection for the host country’s athletes.

  Many of the athletes took out their phones and video cameras and recorded themselves when they appeared on the giant screen. I tried to soak it all in—the fireworks, the singing, the dancing. In many ways, the Beijing Olympics were the most successful in Olympic history—a whopping thirty-nine world records were broken—and the elaborate but lighthearted closing ceremonies were a fitting way to end a wonderful competition.

  Soon after, I was heading to the airport with my parents and Sheryl. “I hear people are gathering at the a
irport at home,” Mom told us. I smiled at the thought of friends meeting me at Des Moines International Airport for the kind of warm celebration that can be spontaneously generated only in small towns. The thought of home—my own bed and my dog, Tucker—was so tantalizing, I could barely stand it.

  Then Sheryl’s phone rang. I had been invited to appear on the Late Show with David Letterman.

  “Why would they ask me?” I wondered.

  “Shawn, people back home love you. Some are calling you America’s sweetheart.”

  After figuring out the time differences and doing a bit of rescheduling, we decided we could probably make it to New York before the show.

  We left Beijing at 10:30 a.m., were in the air for twelve hours, and landed in Chicago at 10:15 a.m. on the same day we left. That blew my mind and wreaked havoc on my body’s internal clock. But there was no time for jet lag.

  Once we landed in Chicago, Sheryl and I would head immediately to another gate for a flight to New York, while Mom and Dad would fly home to Des Moines. We had one hour before our flight took off, which sounded like plenty of time.

  As soon as we got off the plane, Sheryl said, “Okay, let’s say our good-byes, because we have to go through customs, baggage claim, rebooking, and other sorts of hoops associated with international travel.” I hugged Mom and Dad and started running through the airport, towing a little suitcase. We thought we’d made it until we emerged from all of the rebooking and looked up at the terminal signs.

  “Oh no,” Sheryl said, looking at our tickets. “Our plane’s at the very end of a totally different terminal!”

  We were completely deflated, but fortunately Sheryl was used to solving problems.

  She explained the situation to a security guard, who nodded and said, “Follow me.”

  The last time we’d obeyed that command, we ended up in a strange Chinese purse warehouse. But knowing we had little choice, Sheryl and I followed him into the lower level of the airport where baggage is kept.

  A van was waiting for us, and we jumped in just before it sped off. I mean, it flew through the bowels of the airport and out onto the tarmac. I felt like I was in some sort of action movie. We were dodging airplanes and crossing runways until the driver pulled up right next to our plane. We walked straight onto the plane and settled into our seats. If our flight took off immediately, as it was scheduled to do, we’d be able to get to the set just in time for the taping.

  “I can’t believe we made it,” I said to Sheryl. “Those guards were amazing!” I buckled my seat belt and exhaled in relief. Finally, I’d reached the end of all the drama.

  Suddenly, the pilot got on the intercom and made a very strange announcement.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, “I’m sorry, but our flight is going to be delayed while we wait for another copilot.” He explained that the scheduled copilot had been injured and needed medical treatment.

  I looked at Sheryl and couldn’t help but laugh. We had done everything we could to get to New York on time. Perhaps it simply wasn’t meant to be. My interview was scheduled for only about three minutes. I wasn’t sure the effort was worth it.

  “Everything happens for a reason,” I said as we sat on the tarmac.

  However, I had no idea that the reason was me!

  A few minutes later, the pilot came back to our seats and gave us the real story. Apparently the original copilot was a big fan of mine. When he heard he would be flying me to New York, he was so excited he actually jumped up and hit his head, hard.

  I felt bad for the guy. Despite the delay, we made it to the Letterman studio in time. After so many hours of traveling, I looked terrible. Yet when our black Escalade SUV pulled up to the studio, a line of paparazzi was waiting for me.

  “Wow!” I said once we made it inside. “I feel like a rock star!” I knew I’d been getting a lot of attention in Beijing. But in New York? The Olympics were over, after all.

  Thankfully, the hair and makeup artists were miracle workers, and after putting on a cute black dress, I felt ready for the cameras.

  Backstage, I got to meet actor and comedian Tracy Morgan. “I hope my six-year-old daughter grows up to be the next Shawn Johnson,” he said. He hugged me, and I felt so touched by all the warmth that people—both celebrities and everyday folks—had been showing me.

  By the time I walked out onto the stage—to the tune “Fields of Gold,” no less—I felt like a million bucks. David Letterman was so funny and kind. (He did joke that cameras in Beijing had caught the Chinese gymnasts sucking on pacifiers between routines, which made everyone laugh.) He made me feel so comfortable that I wasn’t intimidated at all about being on his show. After being on Chinese TV, where I couldn’t understand one word of my interviewer’s questions, David Letterman was a piece of cake.

  The interview went well—except that the studio’s temperature is kept at 54 degrees! I was freezing in my little black dress. Letterman must have enjoyed my interview time, too, because my three-minute segment stretched into a piece that ran over ten minutes. All the effort to get to the show was totally worth it.

  Once again, I was ready to go home. Family friend Donna Tweeten of Hy-Vee had flown to New York to help me get back to Iowa. Sheryl lived in New York, so she planned to head home after we grabbed a bite to eat. I changed into something more comfortable for travel and headed out to a waiting car—only to find an enormous number of fans and media waiting outside for me. I shook hands, posed for photos, and signed autographs until I really had to leave. Some poor guy chased our car all the way down the street. After a few stoplights, he caught up to us, so I rolled down the window and signed a piece of paper for him.

  It was a little thrilling and a little disconcerting. I was surprised that even jaded New Yorkers seemed to notice me in the Manhattan restaurant where we stopped to eat.

  Donna just laughed. “You better get used to it,” she said.

  When we finally arrived in Des Moines at 2 a.m., there was no welcome party to cheer me off the plane, just a couple of reporters and a camera crew. Apparently four thousand people had gathered earlier to meet me, but they left when they heard I’d gone to New York. I was thankful for the chance to simply go back to my house, my parents, Tucker, and our cats, Max and Vern.

  When we reached my neighborhood, I saw balloons tied on all my neighbors’ mailboxes and signs dotting the streets welcoming me home. Someone had even decorated my driveway with chalk.

  Finally, I thought. A normal life.

  I had no idea how much my hometown had supported me until the next evening, when a white limousine showed up at my house and drove me to the Wells Fargo Arena. Three police officers (two in uniform and one undercover) met me there, along with Chow and Li. We waited around in the greenroom, wondering who would possibly take time out of their day to see us.

  Imagine my surprise when I walked out on stage and saw over six thousand cheering fans! My parents, along with Coach Chow and Coach Li, were already on the stage. In the front row, my cousin Tori was crying her eyes out.

  The Valley High School choir was there, along with all of Chow’s gymnasts. I got to see just about every teacher I’ve ever had, as well as an awesome band called The Nadas, who wrote and performed a song just for me. The city proclaimed that September would be Shawn Johnson Month. I also got to shoot about twenty T-shirts out of a T-shirt cannon into the crowd, which was more fun than it should have been.

  The audience was going crazy, in particular one teenage guy who’d made a sign that read, “Marry Me, Shawn?” I looked at him and smiled at the joke. But when I saw his eyes, I realized it was no joke. He seemed to be serious.

  This homecoming was one of the best moments of my life. It’s one thing to be recognized on the streets of New York or Beijing. It’s quite another to come back and realize that your hometown has been behind you the entire way. Thank you, West Des Moines.

  I wasn’t able to stay home for long. After just two days, I headed to the Democratic National Conven
tion.

  At the height of Mary Lou Retton’s popularity, she was a supporter of Ronald Reagan and appeared in a variety of televised ads supporting him. Later she delivered the Pledge of Allegiance with 1996 Olympic medalist Kerri Strug at the 2004 Republican National Convention.

  I, however, was not eager to come out of the Olympics and into the political arena. I’m not into politics at all. Even though there was a huge presidential contest going on in 2008, it’s hard to perfect your backflip with a full twist on the beam while keeping up with the debates. But in spite of that, people started trying to discern my innermost thoughts on the government.

  Their main evidence?

  A T-shirt.

  Yes, I’d shown up at an event wearing a shirt that had a peace symbol on it, and people started saying I was making an antiwar statement. Also, on one of my interviews with Bob Costas I wore peace earrings, which set the Internet abuzz. Was I trying to secretly endorse Obama? Was I opposing the troops? Did I think it was time to pull out of Iraq?

  Well, it’s not an interesting story. I just bought the T-shirt because I liked the way it looked. (I got it at my local Target, where there were racks of these tees.) Plus, at the Olympics, the peace sign was everywhere. Since we had to overcome so many language barriers with other athletes, we gestured to communicate. Perhaps in the 1960s, putting two fingers up was some sort of countercultural political statement. But at the Olympic Village in 2008, it was simply a way to say good-bye, an acknowledgment that we were leaving each other with good wishes. Instead of “peace,” we’d say “peace out,” or “deuces” (because we held up two fingers).

  Having said that, I was honored to be invited to the Democratic National Convention to lead the Pledge of Allegiance. I didn’t look at it as a chance to come out and support a candidate for the White House. Rather, I saw it as a patriotic privilege, a way to be a part of history. Barack Obama was being officially selected as the Democratic nominee for president, and I would get to be there.