Letters to a Young Gymnast by Nadia Comaneci Page A

younger gymnasts depended on me to set an example. If I could do it, they could, too. Going into the optionals, we were five-tenths of a point behind the Russians. Despite our poor health, we had a chance to win the team gold, but I had an additional problem I’d been ignoring that was going to threaten our chances and my own ability to compete.
    I had scratched myself with the buckle of my hand guards during practice toward the end of our stay in Mexico, and I think that chalk, friction, sweat, and dirt caused an infection. A small, red bump began to form. It grew bigger and bigger and started to get inflamed. I thought I should massage it—which only made it worse. It became more and more difficult to bend my arm. By the time I entered the arena for the optional portion of the competition, my wrist was red and very swollen, and I was in considerable pain.
    When Bela saw my injury, he instructed me to see what I could do on each apparatus during the warm-up period. I tried to do my bar routine, but my wrist was too swollen, and I had no range of motion or strength. Bela told me to just touch each apparatus when I was called for every event so that I could remain in the competition. (If I didn’t present myself to the judges and touch the equipment, I would have been disqualified.) When the rest of the team saw my inability to perform, they fell apart. They’d lost their leader, and all of their inexperience and fears overwhelmed them. But a huge smile lit Bela’s face, and he gave one of his famous pep talks.

    â€œYou can win the floor, beam, bars, and vault. You can win the individual all-around as well as the team all-around title. Go for it, dammit! If you want to prove that you’ve been working hard, preparing hard, then go out there and eat them up. Are you afraid of those suckers! . . . I guarantee you that nobody, nobody worked harder for this competition than you have.... Do your best. Can we do it?!”
    The team was fired up. And it is a fact that their scores were high and that they were poised to beat the Russians. At the start of every event, I presented myself to the judges and touched each apparatus, then sat back down. My compulsory scores from the previous day (which were carried over to the optionals and added to the gymnast’s total score) were so high that had I performed, I could have fallen a couple of times and probably still won. But there was no need for me to compete until the beam, when one of our gymnasts fell. Suddenly, my score was necessary for the win.
    Bela recalls turning to me and asking, “Nadia, did you ever think that you had any obligations to your team members? I have to tell you that you do have obligations,’cause all of these little guys carried all the hard parts of your victories. These are the ones who built your scores for so many years. These are the ones who have never been recognized for that. These are the silent soldiers who carried the hard part of your glory. . . . Did you ever think that you owed me or Marta anything for what has happened over the years? If you truly feel that for all our work and consideration you owe us something, then walk up right now and do a beautiful thing . . . do your beam routine.”

    Of that moment when I talked to Bela before attempting my beam routine, I only vaguely remember him asking me after my teammate fell if I could compete. Of course I said yes because Bela believed I could and because the team needed me to perform. I told Bela that I couldn’t do the mount, since it required pressure on both my hands, but that I would make up a different mount. My friend, even if I fell, I might still have had a chance to push the team over the top. I didn’t need a pep talk or any convincing; I would have supported my teammates no matter what. We always helped each other like sisters, and if it was possible for me to perform without killing myself, I’d try. After so many years, I had a bit of