Winning Balance

by Nancy French

  My bodyguard hadn’t been exaggerating when he told me he’d be right with me at all times. “Call me Brother Dave,” he said, trying to make his presence less intimidating.

  I could have just as easily called him Shadow because he followed me everywhere. It took a little getting used to. I remember going to a farmer’s market and feeling so odd having a gigantic, muscular man following me as I picked out some asparagus. I soon found out that although Dave looked tough, he was actually a big softy. I grew to appreciate the care and competence he showed while watching after me, and we became good friends.

  Over the next few days, life was hard. I met with the Los Angeles police department, attorneys, detectives, and bodyguards. All this, while trying to remain competitive on one of America’s top reality TV shows. I went to rehearsal and tried to concentrate on my next dance, something called the Lindy Hop. During practice, I was able to force the fear out of my mind long enough to try to figure out my dance moves.

  One day in the studio, however, all of a sudden my phone started buzzing with texts and calls.

  “I heard what happened,” a friend from Iowa texted.

  “Do you want me to come up there?” asked another.

  More details of my stalker had hit the mainstream media, and my friends, family, and fans were all finding out things I hadn’t learned yet. Apparently my stalker’s name was Robert. He had at one time been training for the Olympic rowing team, but a back injury shattered his athletic dreams and he became very depressed. He’d been attending the University of Florida, where he studied engineering. When he saw me on TV, he felt he was telepathically communicating with me through the TV set. In his mind, he concocted a full, complex relationship with me, even though we’d never spoken. Once our “relationship” had progressed far enough in his mind, he decided he would come to Los Angeles, where he knew I was appearing on Dancing with the Stars every week.

  As this information seeped out to the public, I became even more frightened. One detail was particularly odd. Apparently the guy had been stopped by an Alabama police officer for a traffic violation on his way from Florida to California. But rather than trying to hide his mission, he told the cop all about how he was going to marry me. “I know it sounds a little bit crazy, but my intuition tells me that we’re going to have a beautiful relationship together.”

  The paparazzi, who had already been pretty attentive to me at DWTS, swarmed ABC searching for me. When I came to and from rehearsal, reporters stuck microphones in my face.

  “Are you scared?”

  “Will you stay on the show?”

  “What contact have you had with your stalker?”

  Even if I managed to put the guy out of my mind for a few minutes, I couldn’t escape the constant reminders at every turn. I didn’t like suddenly being a “victim.” I smiled on the outside, but on the inside, I was in knots.

  One day on the set after the news broke, one of the other women on the show pulled me aside. “Hey,” she said, “I wanted to talk to you.” She had a very serious look on her face. All of my DWTS friends had been so kind, offering to stay with me or talk with me whenever I looked worried. I thought she was going to give me a hug and tell me she was sorry for what I was going through.

  I was wrong.

  “That was a brilliant move,” she said to me in a low voice. “I was thinking of doing the same thing.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Of hiring someone to stalk me!” she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You beat me to it!”

  I looked around to see if I had a witness to this conversation, because I couldn’t believe my ears. “You were thinking of doing what?”

  “Look, I’m not judging you. You’re getting great publicity,” she said. “It’s a smart move because I’m sure you’ll get a lot of sympathy votes. I just wish I’d done it first!”

  She was actually jealous I had a stalker. She thought we’d planted him and set up the whole story. The more people who heard about my situation, she figured, the more votes I’d get. In her mind, because she didn’t have a stalker, she was at a serious disadvantage.

  You’re twisted, I thought, but I simply smiled and walked away. I realized that I just didn’t understand this new world. In athletics, you spend countless hours in a gym, day in and day out, to gain skills and earn respect. If your name is known in the gymnastics world, you know it’s deserved. But in Hollywood, some people are known for the drama, scandal, bad decisions, or (ideally) a combination of all three in their lives. Whoever sparks the most drama, after all, gets the most attention from the media. And that can translate into Hollywood’s definition of success: fame and fortune.

  I began to miss the gymnastics world even more. Los Angeles . . . well, it was about as far from elite gymnastics or West Des Moines as it could be. And even though I was doing well on DWTS, I began to get depressed, longing for time on a balance beam instead of on the dance floor.

  It didn’t help that everyone was expecting Mark and me to do an amazing Lindy Hop, since this dance involves all kinds of tricks and flips. Though the producers stressed that my gymnastics career wasn’t a benefit to me in the normal course of the competition, the Lindy Hop was supposed to be different because it emphasizes physical strength and agility more than elegance. And so we went into rehearsals knowing that we had a good chance to get ahead of the rest of the pack—but also realizing we were facing a lot of pressure.

  I tried to look at this challenge as a good distraction from the ongoing questions about my stalker.

  Not only was I struggling with fear, but I was also lonely. While my parents had always been there for me—and I appreciated their concern more than ever during this scary time—I felt suffocated by my mom’s constant (court-ordered) presence. I also felt awkward about the gigantic bodyguard conscientiously following my every move. I needed my space and a true friend who understood exactly what I was going through. It was like I had both too much and not enough company.

  Everyone else on the show seemed to have a “significant other.” Mark was dating someone very seriously; Chuck Wicks was dating his dance partner, Julianne Hough; and Ty Murray was married to Jewel, who was always watching him adoringly from the audience. During this dark time, I wondered if I’d ever find the right guy who would be there for me when I needed him.

  One night when I was sitting all alone in my new, extravagant hotel room, I evaluated my life. Sure, I’d managed to accomplish a great deal in my short seventeen years. But what did my future hold? I sat down with a pen and paper and made a list of goals:

  Gain independence

  Find clarity on whether to go back to gymnastics or not

  Go back to high school and earn my diploma

  Become a happier, healthier person

  Stay in contact with my friends more

  Write more poetry

  Always give 150 percent

  There was something about putting my thoughts on paper that made me feel like I was more in control of my destiny. I shut the journal, turned out the light, and closed my eyes. Eventually, thoughts of my stalker subsided long enough for me to sleep.

  When it came time to go out there and perform the Lindy Hop, I was determined to give it my all. Mark and I had chosen terribly cheesy outfits that we had thought looked good earlier in the week when we met with the designers. When we pulled them out on performance night, I had my doubts.

  “What were we thinking?” I said to Mark, holding up my blue shorts and top, which had “Shark” written on it. Mark’s costume was much worse—red shorts, complete with knee-high socks, a headband, and nerdy glasses.

  “Come on,” he said. “We’re going retro!”

  Retro or not, I felt ridiculous. And pressured. People who’d seen us rehearse earlier that week said we might pull off the best Lindy Hop of all time. And so, after we were announced, we danced with everything we had. We incorporated a lot of gymnastics into the routine, and the audience loved
it. When we finished, they jumped to their feet and applauded!

  Too bad the judges were less enthused about all the tricks. We dropped to fourth place. Apparently, however, the fans called in and voted for Team Shark, because we survived to dance another week.

  Little did I know I was about to be scrutinized for a lot more than my two-step.

  Lesson I’ve Learned

  Be cautious when necessary, but don’t allow anything to get in the way of your goals. Let them be your direction. After the stalker incident, so many people asked me, “Are you going to go home?” That would have been letting the stalker win, and I would have had to give up my dream. I refused to do that.

  Chapter 24

  Little Bullets

  True beauty in a woman is reflected in her soul. It is the caring that she lovingly gives, the passion that she shows.

  —Sam Levenson

  LIVING IN CALIFORNIA and appearing on a reality TV show was a fun diversion after years of competitive gymnastics.

  Even when Mark and I didn’t score as well as we’d hoped, I was still having the time of my life. DWTS was filmed across the hall from American Idol, so we got to see a lot of celebrities. I remember meeting Idol judges Paula Abdul and Randy Jackson one night.

  In early April, my friend Mitchel Musso invited me to go with him to the Hannah Montana movie premiere. Mom and I jumped in the car, happy to have an excuse to hit the local shops, which were a lot more fun (and expensive) than my hometown Target. There were racks and racks of gorgeous dresses, and I tried them on one after the other.

  “Mom,” I said, frowning as I looked in the mirror, “nothing fits well.”

  Eventually, though, I found the perfect one.

  “Here it is!” I said to my mom as I came out of the dressing room. I twirled around in the bright yellow dress and felt like a movie star. I still felt that way when a limousine came to pick me up on the night of the premiere.

  “Hey, guys!” I said, giving Mitchel a hug before he introduced me to his entire family . . . who were all dressed completely in black. It was like a Johnny Cash convention, and I showed up as Little Miss Sunshine. I looked a bit silly standing next to them in my bright yellow dress, but we all laughed about it.

  Not long after, I settled into my seat to watch the movie, in which Miley Cyrus’s character, Miley Stewart, has to choose between embracing her small-town roots or being totally swept up in her secret pop-star persona, Hannah Montana. As I sat there in the dark, I couldn’t help but identify with her struggle.

  I was just a Midwestern girl from a relatively small town in Iowa. Yet my life had become a whirlwind of hairspray, Spanx, gravity-defying shoes, and custom-made costumes. Gradually, I felt myself becoming more and more enamored with the lifestyle, the glitz, and the glamour. It was all so exhilarating—to be young and in Los Angeles and on TV. Plus, I was still enjoying my new freedom from endless training and dietary restrictions. Life was unimaginably fun.

  But there was one little, nagging issue that I kept trying to push to the back of my mind. When I went shopping for a dress that day with my mom, those outfits didn’t fit as well as they should have. And when I looked in the mirror, the reason was too obvious to ignore.

  I had gained weight.

  What was happening? I’d never been the person to ask, “Do these jeans make me look fat?” The advantage of being in gymnastics from age three on is that I never had to worry about my weight or staying healthy. Well, that’s not quite true.

  I’ve always been strong and very muscular, and my solidly built body was eventually honed into the perfect little bullet—one that could shoot through the air quickly and easily. Unencumbered by excess fat, I could turn, flip, and vault my way into America’s living rooms and right into people’s hearts. I’d been in great shape my entire life. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t worry about my weight. In fact, I thought about it all the time.

  Why would someone so fit think about her weight so much? Gymnastics is all about pushing a body beyond its natural limitations in beautiful and sometimes unimaginable ways. The thrill of the sport comes when you break through expectations . . . when the crowd gasps . . . when your feet thud onto the mat in a perfect dismount. The less I weighed, of course, the higher I could push myself off the beam, off the vault, and through the air. It was just basic physics.

  But beyond the simple science of motion is the art of perception. We weren’t ranked based on who crossed the finish line first or who threw a discus the farthest. We were evaluated according to the judges’ preferences. Did they like the long, lean lines of Eastern Europeans? Did they prefer shorter, stockier builds? As a gymnast, I knew that my appearance actually influenced the perceptions of the judges and, consequently, my scores.

  It’s no surprise that elite gymnasts have become significantly younger and smaller over the decades. At the 1964 Olympics, twenty-six-year-old Vera Caslavska won the all-around title. She was five-three and 121 pounds. Four years later, thirteen-year-old Olga Korbut showed up on the scene. She was four-eleven and weighed a mere 85 pounds. Gymnastics would never be the same. In 1976, the average size of a woman on the US Gymnastics team was five-three and 105 pounds. In 1992, it was four-nine and 88 pounds.

  The smaller-is-better stereotype of the gymnast is a generalization that will never go away. But there’s one problem: when a preschooler walks into a gym for the first time, holding her mom’s hand, no one knows how tall she will grow to be. Slowly, the coaches and the competitions weed out the girls who grow too fast to compete with the smaller girls, but this takes time. That’s why the sport is so fickle. For years, a young gymnast will practice and perfect her skills. But when her body hits puberty, she’s likely to lose her competitive edge, and her gymnastics career may be over. That’s one reason Chow has always said there is no way to look at a six-year-old—even a very nimble, flexible, and determined one—and predict how far she will go in the sport.

  Still, gymnasts are taught that one way to turn their bodies into little bullets that will shoot through the air is by remaining thin.

  My entire life, various people had said the same thing:

  “You need to lose a few pounds,” I was told.

  “You shouldn’t be eating,” I heard constantly.

  “Step on the scales,” I was instructed.

  The lighter I was, the happier everyone was with me.

  So when I looked in the mirror at that Los Angeles shop, it wasn’t the first time I’d looked at my body critically. It was the millionth time. When you’re told as a young child that you are not quite light enough, it takes a toll on you in a way I doubt I’ll ever truly be able to escape.

  For example, I remember being convinced I was overweight at the Olympics. Maybe it was because I was around so many high-achieving athletes, or maybe it was the pressure of the competition. However, I think it probably had something to do with the messages all advancing gymnasts are exposed to.

  Now when I look at pictures of myself during those Games, I think, Wow! I look anorexic! After all, I weighed less than ninety pounds and had only 6 percent body fat.

  But in Los Angeles, my critical eye was no longer looking at imagined weight gain or the illusion of cellulite. Instead, I was looking at real pounds. Real weight. A real problem.

  What happened?

  Several things. First, when I was training, my coaches severely limited the amount of calories I could eat. For years, I was conscious of every piece of food I placed in my mouth. Whenever I “cheated”—by sneaking those dinner rolls and candy bars—I felt guilty and worried that it might hurt my next performance. When I was finally free from such hyper-regulation, and in a place like Los Angeles that has so much great food, it took me a while to figure out what a reasonable amount to eat looked like. Second, my activity level dropped considerably. Many times, celebrities go on DWTS because of the heavily touted weight-loss benefits. Over the course of the show many stars have dropped pounds like they were hot coals, commenting in their
postshow interviews, “Well, I may have lost the mirror ball trophy, but I can see my waist again!” This is due largely to the fact that their sedentary lifestyles were jolted by the new activity regimen. We rehearsed several hours a day, which is a big increase from most people’s level of activity.

  As an Olympic athlete, I was used to so much physical conditioning per day that DWTS took my activity level down a few notches. When some of the celebrities arrived in Los Angeles and saw the training schedule, they groaned at how much we were expected to do. I, on the other hand, joked to my mom, “I think I might be the only person to go on the show and actually gain weight!”

  Much to my dismay, my lighthearted comment was beginning to come true. In my journal one night I wrote, “I feel fat, out of shape, and down on myself. I want to know how to lose weight and lose it fast, but I don’t know how. It’s just frustrating when I feel and look bigger than everyone else on the show.”

  Hollywood, of course, is all about physical appearances. Women aspire to the ideal body type of Taylor Swift or Angelina Jolie, even though for most women that look is difficult or even impossible to achieve. Add to that the reality that the camera adds ten pounds, and it’s easy to understand the emphasis that is put on body weight.

  Finally, and perhaps most significantly, I went through puberty right before filming began. Yes, I was seventeen. Yes, this is later than the average girl. However, athletic girls tend to go through puberty later than nonathletic girls. Some gymnasts even try to delay puberty as long as they can by eating as few calories as possible. Low weight and low body fat can artificially stave off puberty, perhaps extending an already short career.