I Got This

by Laurie Hernandez

  All the gymnasts had practice sessions in the morning and afternoon, and we had lots of fun in between, too. I met girls from everywhere in the country, and we slept in bunk beds in dorms that looked like log cabins. In Huntsville I was also surrounded by nature, and I encountered so many different types of animals. It’s where I saw my first armadillo! I felt like I was growing by leaps and bounds, inside and out—just like a gymnast is supposed to.

  That’s also when homeschooling began. It became necessary because I was traveling so much between home and Texas. People often ask me if it was hard leaving my New Jersey classmates behind, but what they don’t realize is that I started homeschooling when I was only two weeks into third grade. So it wasn’t as if I was leaving lifelong friends. Not to mention that I was in the gym all day, doing what I loved most! And there were still lots of kids in my neighborhood in New Jersey I enjoyed playing with. Our community was unusually close, and each year we celebrated major holidays with the same group of family friends. My favorite get-together was our annual New Year’s Eve party, where we’d have a formal dinner with lots of music. It wasn’t only the parents who got up to dance—all the kids would be twirling around and having a ball, too. And then there were my best friends, Shannon and Paloma Rodriguez, who are like sisters to me. My mom and their mom, Anna, met in the military and became super close. By some crazy coincidence, my mom also knew their father, Juan, when the two of them were growing up in New York. Anna and Juan are literally my parents’ best friends in the world. They’re Marcus’s godparents, and my mom and dad are both Shannon’s and Paloma’s godparents. They live nearby, too, so we see them all the time—we’ve even vacationed together. That’s how much like a tight-knit family we are! So between Shannon and Paloma, all my cool neighbors, and my gym friends, I was never lonely.

  And, to tell you the truth, I actually liked homeschooling. The particular distance-learning program I used is called A Beka Academy. It’s a Christian-based curriculum accredited for kindergarten all the way through twelfth grade. So my parents knew that once I got used to it, it would be something I could follow consistently until I graduated. It came with a series of CDs and videos, and the CDs connected me to a teacher, while the videos featured whatever book I was using. And my mom had a manual that outlined what the assignments were for a given day. There were a couple of marking periods where I had to take different tests for each subject, and there were quizzes and reports I had to do. Then we’d pack up all my work in an envelope and send it to Florida, where it was reviewed, and a few weeks later I’d get a report card. The best part was that the program was designed to help you learn at your own pace, which was helpful given my crazy schedule.

  I’m a pretty good student who’s always liked writing, and as I’ve gotten older, I’ve also started to appreciate history more and more. I see it as a form of storytelling that gets your imagination going. In one lesson, I remember learning about the voyages of Christopher Columbus. We have the technology to fly everywhere now, but back then they had to sail on these rickety wooden boats. There was no GPS, just maps, charts, and night-sky readings that weren’t very accurate—and somehow they still made it. If you think about how Columbus and his crew pushed themselves physically, mentally, and emotionally to overcome all kinds of challenges and to survive the dangers of the sea, it’s mind-blowing.

  As more of my teammates started homeschooling, too, we would sit and do our work together, which made it feel less isolating. We were all at different grade levels, so we’d help each other if someone was struggling with a subject we’d already covered. The older kids deserved an A for taking care of the younger ones. Sometimes it felt like we went to our own private school—albeit one where everyone took advanced placement phys ed. What we liked most about homeschooling was that it left so much more room in the day for practice. At that time, I was doing gymnastics roughly thirty-five hours a week. Later, as I began to compete more, my practice hours grew even longer. I was typically in the gym from eight thirty a.m. to one p.m. and from three thirty to five thirty p.m., six days a week. In between all that, I also managed to fit in meals, homework, and sleep. And over time I added physical therapy, special stretching sessions, and massages to my schedule. Some of you probably think massages are a luxury, but when you’re an athlete who’s constantly conditioning, they are legitimately necessary. Marta taught us that rehabilitation and taking care of our bodies is the fifth event: there’s vault, bars, beam, floor, and then there’s caring for ourselves. She considered self-care as important an event as all the others. It was something you couldn’t skip—it’s a very big part of the sport. I would add that it’s also a very big part of life. It sounds funny, but sometimes you just need a relaxing massage or a mani-pedi. Other times you need to curl up with a good book and escape. When we drive ourselves as hard as we do—whether it’s in our sports, our schoolwork, or our jobs—we can forget to take care of ourselves. Remembering to treat yourself well doesn’t just apply to gymnastics. Everyone needs to take time out to rest and recharge. It really is okay to pamper yourself! It helps revive you and helps you do better when you return to the more challenging things you do every day. We should all tell our minds and bodies that we appreciate their role in making us achieve our goals. Between my intensive training schedule, my self-care regimen, and the kind of education I was getting through A Beka, I definitely got good at taking care of myself: mind, body, and spirit.

  SWEATY PALMS, PRAYERS, AND PEPPERMINT OIL

  CHAPTER 4

  AT COMPETITIONS EVEN TO THIS DAY, BEFORE I get on the equipment, I usually feel like I’m going to have a heart attack. Those moments are still the worst for me, and the jitters are my least favorite part of competing. I don’t know why my heart beats so fast—it’s almost like I can hear it—and my palms get all sweaty. But once I start moving, I’m okay, especially on floor: as the music begins playing, I feel extremely calm and comfortable; by mid-routine, I realize how much fun I’m having; and by the time I’m flipping or dancing, I’ve left all my worries behind. I can hear the crowd clapping to the music and yet I can still focus at the same time. The difference in how I feel before and during my floor routines never ceases to amaze me.

  When I was younger, it was a bit different with the other events. Whenever I’d do beam routines, I’d be the most nervous, and it was written all over my face. I would be thinking, Wow, I’m really scared—so scared that once I sit on the beam, I’ll feel as if I can’t stand up. I remember my first Level 4 competition like it was yesterday. The meets always include events on the uneven bars, the balance beam, the vault, and floor exercise, and we refer to them simply as bars, beam, vault, and floor. At the Level 4 competition I was freaking out because I’d forgotten my beam routine and then I needed a spot on bars, which is when someone assists you in landing safely. But finally, I did floor and got a 9.5! I thought that part was the craziest thing.

  There was another day I’ll never forget. I was struggling hard with overcoming my nervousness, so my coach, Maggie, decided to shut off the music in the gym. There was nothing but dead silence. Then she made the whole class—kids, parents, and staff—sit on the floor and watch me do a beam routine. She made me do it over and over and over again until I felt comfortable. I hated it, but after that, the pressure of competing wasn’t so bad.

  Basically, I think it’s the music that makes doing floor routines less stressful than doing bars or beam. With floor, you have to multitask and dance to the beat at the same time. Because you’re concentrating so much on that, there’s no room for being nervous. That’s probably why it’s one of my favorite events. By contrast, when the music is off for bars and beam, it’s just you, your thoughts, and the equipment. The skills you have to execute are so complex, it’s easy for the thought of falling to creep into your head. Purposely turning off the music trained me to think only about the task at hand.

  In addition to training hard, I do have two little tricks that help ease my nerves. A long time ago
someone introduced me to peppermint oil. Whenever I’m feeling stressed before a competition, or whenever I get frustrated in practice, I’ll take a minute or two away and just smell the oil. I feel like it clears my head. I started taking it to all my meets and telling everyone about it. When I joined Dancing with the Stars, the show bought me some, which I thought was kind of funny. I also have this little calming ritual I do once I’m on the beam, and it’s practically involuntary at this point. I put my hand over my stomach, close my eyes, inhale, pause, and then exhale. As I feel my belly expand and contract with those breaths, the anxiety and adrenaline usually melt away. It’s more than a habit now—it’s almost like a part of my routine. A lot of people commented on it during the Olympics!

  While peppermint oil and breathing techniques usually help ease my nerves and frustrations, unfortunately they don’t do anything to help cure the occasional disappointment I feel after a bad meet. I have to rely on some of my mother’s best advice for that. I remember this one awful competition after I’d moved up to the elite level. It was 2012 in St. Louis at the USA Gymnastics National Championships, which we all refer to as the P&G Championships, or the P&Gs for short. It was only the second big event I’d participated in in my life, and I came in twenty-first place that day. When the competition was all over, I started to cry. My coach seemed so disappointed in me, and of course, I was disappointed in myself. My mother came over and asked me what was wrong. When I told her, she said, “Do you know how many people in this world would love to be twenty-first at the P&Gs? Or how many people will never even get an opportunity to compete?” That was so like my mom; she firmly believes in the art of gratitude. Then she said, “Girl, we’re not going to cry, we’re going to celebrate!”

  I couldn’t believe it. Celebrate?

  But she was right. Not many people ever get to where I was. So she wiped away my tears and bought me some ice cream. As we sat on the grass eating, I heard this little girl whisper to her dad, “Look, there’s Laurie.” When they got closer, the girl asked me for my autograph, and we took a picture together. It was adorable to see how happy she was. Whoever those people were, they saw something in me, and in that moment, they helped restore some of my confidence. Now whenever I’m fangirling around people I admire, I think about that moment—you never know how much your appreciation can lift up someone else’s spirits.

  Later that afternoon my mom and I talked some more, and she reminded me that a lot of times disappointment is what helps you grow. It presents an opportunity to improve. She told me that if I’d done the best that I could in that moment, under those particular circumstances, then I was only responsible for my own reaction, because that’s the only thing I was really in control of. I cannot be responsible for the reactions of fans, teammates, judges, coaches, or anyone else—which is an important lesson all athletes need to learn at some point. You can tell that my mom is a wise and spiritual woman. There’s a lot of prayer and faith happening in my family. More than anything—even more than peppermint oil—that’s what keeps me calm and centered. I find it makes it much easier to deal with the kinds of mental and physical stresses I face.

  I have to admit that as rough as those first competitions were, they ended up being pretty positive experiences. Now I recover from disappointments more quickly and with more optimism, and when I find I’m nervous, I tell myself not to worry, because I’m right where I’m supposed to be. There’s no reason to be anxious. All I have to do is just chill and go with it.

  GO TIME!

  CHAPTER 5

  DURING THE STRETCH FROM 2009 TO 2012, I WAS working my way up the USA Gymnastics ranks to Level 10. Every so often, I’d look back and think, Oh, I’ve come so far, I can’t even believe I’m at this point right now. Then in 2012, after having passed Level 10, I was able to begin competing regularly at the junior elite level. I was twelve years old at the time (you can’t be a senior elite until the year you turn sixteen). All I can say is: when you finally step into those higher-level competitions and you see girls in your age group doing all these amazing skills, the reality hits you. You have a moment where you just take it all in and think, Wow, I’m a part of that.

  Now, before I tell you about all the competitions I started doing, let me explain how scoring works. To win an individual title on an apparatus in a competition, you have to have the best score of the meet on that apparatus (for example, to win the title for beam, you must place first on beam in the overall competition). To win the all-around, you have to have the best overall combined score of each apparatus event—the vault, bars, beam, and floor events—during that competition.

  Gymnastics scores are generally calculated on two basic components: how difficult the routine is and how well the routine is executed. To score for difficulty, the judges begin at zero and add points for how well you meet each of the required skills, how well you performed the most difficult skills in your routine, and how well you connected two of the tougher techniques together to form what we call a “combination.” To score for execution—basically, how well you did overall—the judges start at ten and subtract points for mistakes, such as faltering on a landing, not keeping your toes pointed, or separating your legs when they should be together. Each of the eight most difficult skills in your routine have assigned values according to the sport’s Code of Points, but the judges can award extra points when very difficult skills are combined well. The more fluid the connections between difficult skills, the higher the score you get—that is, unless you make a mistake. (For this reason, sometimes being too ambitious can cost you points!) To arrive at your final score, the difficulty and execution scores are added up, and then “neutral points”—points deducted for things like stepping out of bounds or taking too long to complete your routine—are subtracted. You’ll notice that there is no such thing as a perfect 10 anymore, because if you add enough difficulty to your routine, you can earn way more than ten points. In fact, at the Olympic level, it’s not unusual to see scores ranging between 13 and 16.

  With that taken care of, let’s move on to the action!

  My first Level 10 event was the Secret US Classic—which we refer to as the Secret Classic. I remember I wore a hot-pink leotard that day (I love that color!), and the lights were really bright, and being on a podium frightened me a little. When you have a large crowd like that, the equipment is put on a raised platform roughly three feet off the ground so the audience can see better. I had never been at a competition big enough to require a podium, but there were a lot of people at this meet. The whole thing was a little intimidating until I got used to it and just focused on my routines.

  I actually fell on bars that day, which scared me at first. But in order to move on from there, I had to pretend that nothing had happened. I took a deep breath and told myself, You know what, we still have the rest of the competition. This is your first time here. Just give it your all. And I did.

  Although that fall on bars got me off to a rough start, it all came down to vault. I needed a 13.45 in order to qualify for the P&Gs in St. Louis, and that’s the exact score I got! It was insane. And I also ended up placing eleventh all-around in the junior division.

  It was around this time that I made another big leap: I was asked to train at the USA Gymnastics National Team Training Camp. As you might remember, this camp is also located at Karolyi Ranch in Texas, just like the developmental camp I’d been going to for years. Although it was the same exact place, the National Team practices were held at different times with a different group of girls, and the vibe was totally different, too (i.e., much more serious). The developmental camp works with up-and-coming junior elites, while the National Team Training Camp is where all the highest-level gymnasts go to train—essentially, the girls working toward international competitions and the Olympics.

  As soon as I arrived at the National Team camp, I was surrounded by the best of the best. It was very intimidating. I asked myself, Am I supposed to be here? I watched the other girls both inside and outside
the gym. I observed the way they were doing a certain skill, how they put on their grips, what they did to keep their hands from hurting or ripping on bars. And since we roomed together, I got to know them all well, too. I saw how they managed their time and how they relaxed. And it was cool because we all became friends.

  GETTING OUT OF THE COUNTRY

  CHAPTER 6

  MY FIRST MEET OF 2013 WAS THE WORLD OLYMPIC Gymnastics Academy Classic, known as the WOGA Classic. I placed second in the all-around and felt great. I’d done super well on every single one of my events across the board!

  Later, in July of that same year, I competed in the American Classic in Huntsville, Texas, where I placed first on floor, second in the all-around, and third on both beam and vault. It turned out that Jordyn Wieber, one of the gymnasts who went to the 2012 Olympics, was also staying in my hotel. When I saw her walking around one night, I snuck out and got a picture with her—she was someone I’d really looked up to, which made it even cooler.

  After my thirteenth birthday, I was added to the USA Gymnastics Junior National Team. The National Team is usually chosen in June, sometimes in August, and you get to stay on the team for a year. It’s made up of eleven or twelve American girls who have qualified because of their high scores at competitions, and it’s only the National Team members who get to compete internationally. I felt such a sense of accomplishment having been chosen, and the whole rest of the summer was so exciting! I went to Chicago for the Secret Classic again, and this time I placed sixth all-around and won the floor exercise title. But what was most memorable for me was returning to the P&G Championships in St. Louis, where I felt I’d done so poorly the year before. By this point, with enough competitions under my belt, neither the bright lights, nor the crowds, nor being on a podium could bother me. It was a two-day competition, and I remember hitting all my events. (“Hitting,” by the way, means that I killed it, doing all the skills in my routine super well.) I placed second on bars and floor and tied for third on beam with the very talented Alexis Vasquez. But the real highlight was winning the silver medal in the junior all-around competition, with a total score of 116.650. I came in behind Bailie Key, who is not only one of the best junior gymnasts in the world, but also one of the people I admire most in the sport. She was an awesome teammate and someone I was hoping to emulate, so it amazed me when I scored almost as well as her that day. It took me a minute to process what an accomplishment that was!