Letters to a Young Gymnast by Nadia Comaneci Page A

special. When I moved to Bucharest, I’d never officially decided to retire; there was no big celebration for me or a huge reward. Instead, I’d halfheartedly continued training and disappeared through the back door. It was not a style that became me.

    After the first few weeks of training, I wanted to be back on top. But as you pointed out in your last letter, it’s easier said than done. Training, especially as an elite gymnast, is repetitive and at times boring, and it can be painful and frustrating. Mostly, it’s a solitary endeavor. No matter how much support you’re given from family, friends, and coaches, ultimately you have to succeed on your own. The only things that are concrete come from each individual. The power to make it to the top and stay there comes from within alone. I like challenges, the harder the better. I love being told something is impossible because I want to do what no one has ever done before. I long to be the groundbreaker.
    My goals when I moved to Deva were clear. I wanted to get back to where I was before. It wasn’t about the Worlds or the European Championships or the next Olympics. It was about proving that I could accomplish what the media and world thought was not possible. If I wanted to retire later, fine. But for the moment, I wanted to be the best again, period. So, 1978 was my year to return to reality, and it was a tough adjustment. I wasn’t ready at the World Championships and struggled to finish my floor routine. Five weeks was not enough time to make up for a year without discipline. Bela believed that the competition would wake me up, motivate me, and show me the process I needed to complete to get back on top. He was right. The floor and bars were the worst because I simply couldn’t carry any extra weight and be as good as I had been. It’s hard enough to propel yourself through the air or hang from your arms when you’re in perfect condition, but if you add pounds, tough skills become almost impossible because your timing and strength are off.

    There were glimmers of the past, particularly on the beam, where I won a gold medal. The beam is an event that requires leg strength more than arm strength, and I still had the lower-body power. But I tasted humility at that competition and couldn’t wait to get out of the arena. It was an experience I was determined to erase from my memory the moment it was over. I recognized that it was nobody’s fault but mine; I’d created the situation with my own hands, and I would just have to live through it. That’s the way I look at every episode in my life. The negatives are fleeting. Nothing is big enough to damage me. You’ve asked me how I could get through the tough spots, and my only answer is that I did it by imposing a perspective on the situation.
    At the Worlds, Bela was pleased with the younger girls, who’d won four medals, and with my efforts. We heard that Ceausescu was very disappointed with the results of the competition (we didn’t win) and by my own performance. It is so strange to think that the leader of my country watched gymnastics—let alone me—or that he cared how I did. Stranger still is to comprehend that he believed my abilities reflected on our system of government. After the Worlds, the media wrote that I was done and over the hill. I chose not to listen to them. It would have been a waste of time. Listening to negative feedback does nothing for anyone. There are so many people in the world ready to find fault. I don’t believe in giving them power by paying attention to them. I believe in being your own biggest supporter because that means you will always have someone in your corner.
    I returned to Deva. Undaunted by my experiences at the Worlds, I continued to train. My relationship with Bela began to change. He started to treat me as an adult,
to consult me on my own training and ideas. There were days when I disagreed with the