1
T raci Winchell stood motionless on the balance beam, four feet above the mat-covered gym floor. Gracefully, she bent forward,
laid her hands on the beam, and kicked up into a handstand. She held it a few seconds before slowly lowering her feet to the
beam again.
Traci prepared for her dismount, a series of moves including a cartwheel, a flip, and a forward somersault off the beam. If
she did it right, she would land on her feet, motionless.
She didn’t do it right. The cartwheel was okay, but Traci’s balance went off in the flip. When she hit the mat, she stumbled
forward a few steps. Worse, she felt sharp pain in her knees from the force of the landing. Her knees had been giving her
trouble recently. She flexed each in turn, scowling.
For many people, just walking on a balance beam without falling would be a challenge. For twelve-year-old Traci, it was as
easy as walking on a sidewalk. She had been taking gymnastics classes since she was four. She was good in all the other events
in girls’ gymnastics—vault, floor exercise, uneven parallel bars—but the balance beam was her favorite. Lately, however, she
was having trouble and wasn’t sure why.
As she bent to examine her knees, Traci noticed a stranger in the gym, a tall woman with graying blond hair, walking toward
her. The woman seemed to be studying her. Traci straightened up.
“Your knees are bothering you.” The woman spoke in a matter-of-fact way, without any introduction. “Have you thought about
whether gymnastics is really your sport?”
“What?” Traci couldn’t believe her ears. “What are you talking about?”
The woman didn’t smile, nor did she give a clue as to who she was or what she was doing there. Traci was pretty sure she wasn’t
anyone’s mom, because she’d met all the moms.
The woman said, “I bet you’ve grown at least three inches in the last year. And put on a lot of weight—mostly muscle.”
Traci blinked. The woman was right about that. Traci had grown
four
inches, and, while she was still thin, she’d added a good deal of muscle, especially in her arms and legs.
The woman turned and gestured to the other girls in the gym. “Look around,” she said. “You’re the tallest, heaviest girl here.
You must have noticed. I’ll bet that some girls who weren’t as good as you have caught up, maybe gotten better. Like the one
who did that vault.”
The woman pointed to a slender, dark-haired girl who happened to be Traci’s best friend, Valerie Ling. Valerie was the most
gifted athlete in class. Because she lived near Traci, the two girls spent a lot of time together.
“The reason your knees are giving you trouble,” the woman went on before Traci could think of anything to say, “is that gymnastics
is a high-impact sport. It’s rough on the knees and ankles. It could get worse, especially if you grow more. Your joints
and
your gymnastic performance are likely to get worse. You should think about that before real problems develop.”
Traci finally found her voice. “Is that so? What should I do, then? Quit? Give up on being an athlete? Is that what you think?”
The woman shook her head. “Not at all. I think you should think about giving up
this
sport and try a new one.”
“Oh, really?” Traci said, not bothering to keep some sarcasm out of her voice.
The woman didn’t react. “I was thinking of diving,” she said. “Diving doesn’t put as much strain on the knees and ankles.
And the same athletic skills that made you a promising gymnast—balance, coordination, and strength—will also help to make
you a very good diver, if you’re willing to work hard at it.”
“Diving,” Traci repeated. “You think I should try diving.”
“I do,” the woman replied. “I happen to coach divers, and I know talent when I see it. You’re a good prospect, which is why
I’m here.”
“Trace?” Traci’s gymnastics coach, Jeff, was hurrying over. Traci loved Jeff
T raci Winchell stood motionless on the balance beam, four feet above the mat-covered gym floor. Gracefully, she bent forward,
laid her hands on the beam, and kicked up into a handstand. She held it a few seconds before slowly lowering her feet to the
beam again.
Traci prepared for her dismount, a series of moves including a cartwheel, a flip, and a forward somersault off the beam. If
she did it right, she would land on her feet, motionless.
She didn’t do it right. The cartwheel was okay, but Traci’s balance went off in the flip. When she hit the mat, she stumbled
forward a few steps. Worse, she felt sharp pain in her knees from the force of the landing. Her knees had been giving her
trouble recently. She flexed each in turn, scowling.
For many people, just walking on a balance beam without falling would be a challenge. For twelve-year-old Traci, it was as
easy as walking on a sidewalk. She had been taking gymnastics classes since she was four. She was good in all the other events
in girls’ gymnastics—vault, floor exercise, uneven parallel bars—but the balance beam was her favorite. Lately, however, she
was having trouble and wasn’t sure why.
As she bent to examine her knees, Traci noticed a stranger in the gym, a tall woman with graying blond hair, walking toward
her. The woman seemed to be studying her. Traci straightened up.
“Your knees are bothering you.” The woman spoke in a matter-of-fact way, without any introduction. “Have you thought about
whether gymnastics is really your sport?”
“What?” Traci couldn’t believe her ears. “What are you talking about?”
The woman didn’t smile, nor did she give a clue as to who she was or what she was doing there. Traci was pretty sure she wasn’t
anyone’s mom, because she’d met all the moms.
The woman said, “I bet you’ve grown at least three inches in the last year. And put on a lot of weight—mostly muscle.”
Traci blinked. The woman was right about that. Traci had grown
four
inches, and, while she was still thin, she’d added a good deal of muscle, especially in her arms and legs.
The woman turned and gestured to the other girls in the gym. “Look around,” she said. “You’re the tallest, heaviest girl here.
You must have noticed. I’ll bet that some girls who weren’t as good as you have caught up, maybe gotten better. Like the one
who did that vault.”
The woman pointed to a slender, dark-haired girl who happened to be Traci’s best friend, Valerie Ling. Valerie was the most
gifted athlete in class. Because she lived near Traci, the two girls spent a lot of time together.
“The reason your knees are giving you trouble,” the woman went on before Traci could think of anything to say, “is that gymnastics
is a high-impact sport. It’s rough on the knees and ankles. It could get worse, especially if you grow more. Your joints
and
your gymnastic performance are likely to get worse. You should think about that before real problems develop.”
Traci finally found her voice. “Is that so? What should I do, then? Quit? Give up on being an athlete? Is that what you think?”
The woman shook her head. “Not at all. I think you should think about giving up
this
sport and try a new one.”
“Oh, really?” Traci said, not bothering to keep some sarcasm out of her voice.
The woman didn’t react. “I was thinking of diving,” she said. “Diving doesn’t put as much strain on the knees and ankles.
And the same athletic skills that made you a promising gymnast—balance, coordination, and strength—will also help to make
you a very good diver, if you’re willing to work hard at it.”
“Diving,” Traci repeated. “You think I should try diving.”
“I do,” the woman replied. “I happen to coach divers, and I know talent when I see it. You’re a good prospect, which is why
I’m here.”
“Trace?” Traci’s gymnastics coach, Jeff, was hurrying over. Traci loved Jeff
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