Letters to a Young Gymnast by Nadia Comaneci Page B

number of repetitions of skills necessary; for example, Bela would tell me to do five dismounts from the beam, and I knew I only needed to do three. He started trusting me to know what my body needed. He knew I wasn’t being lazy, that I was being smart. He also began to let me teach some of the little ones their compulsory routines. I loved coaching. I was demanding but understanding. If the gymnasts were too tired to finish their last repetition, I’d say, “Okay, but you do two for me tomorrow,” and they always would. They came to me for counsel, and I really liked taking care of them and being helpful.
    My routine workouts changed. When I was younger, I had to learn skills and do countless repetitions because I needed to store lots of knowledge in my bag so I would have things to pull out and use during competitions. By 1979, all my skills were automatic. Whatever I needed was already in my bag, and so I just had to keep my body in shape. I did far fewer repetitions of strengthening skills such as sit-ups and only three hours of training, which included running; refining dance skills; practicing small sequences of my bar, beam, and floor exercises; and stretching. I spent about eighteen minutes a day of actual time on the apparatus plus conditioning. Think about it, a routine on the bars is only thirty-five seconds long, and then there’s a ten-minute recuperation. The same goes for each event. Changing my equipment and shoes cost a little bit of time. Plus, there’s warm-up and cool-down time.
    Whatever I did worked. Seven months after the Worlds, I won the all-around gold at the European Championships. I was tall, lean, and unbelievably powerful.
I was a new Nadia—transformed. Being a champion is about pushing yourself beyond the possible and believing in your abilities even when everyone around you says you aren’t capable. Over the hill? I wasn’t even close. I was back on top, and the only way I’d step down again was by my own volition.
    What did you mean, my friend, when you wrote that in return for accomplishing my goals, I sacrificed my childhood? Just when I think you’re starting to understand me! Never have I thought about gymnastics as a sacrifice. Never. You have been misled by the stories you’ve read in books, magazines, and newspapers about how emotionally devastating gymnastics can be and about the supposedly destructive relationships between young girls and their coaches, food, and pain. I am not saying that some gymnasts have not suffered. I do not know them and therefore can’t judge. And I am also not saying that all coaches are good or that many young girls don’t face eating disorders or lapses in judgment in relation to dealing with physical problems and pain. I’m just saying that I never had those experiences.
    Gymnastics was never a torture for me. Even as a child, I knew that everyone did something for a living. You can sacrifice your time to travel to a job or spend countless hours at a desk . . . for what? Maybe it’s to make a better jingle for a laundry detergent. Maybe you’ll choose to stand on a factory line and build a car, or perhaps you’ll sell real estate. Why is that better or worse than what I chose? Life is full of sacrifices, but I loved what I was doing, which is more than can be said for most people. Do you love your life? If so, why are you seeking answers from others? Your letters are not just filled with questions about tabloid fodder, they are
deep and real and probing because you are searching for something more in your own life. I don’t know if I have any answers for you, but I’m willing to share my experiences.
    I thrived at the gym, where it smelled like mats and chalk and felt like a home away from home. There was no child abuse in my life. As children at the experimental school in Onesti, we had everything done for us. Our rooms were warm and always cleaned, there was more than enough