knowledge stored up about how much I could do.
Looking back, I know that my beam performance was not really a sacrifice for my team or my coach. The routine wasnât painful if I didnât bend my arm. And because I was using my right hand most of the time, I could avoid some pain on my left by putting most of the pressure on my right hand during skills such as back handsprings. I had no fear because I wasnât sure what was going to happen, so consequently, I didnât make any mistakes.
Today, Bela says that he never believed it was truly possible for me to perform well that day. Despite the fact that the beam was a leg event and that I could do one-handed handstands and handsprings, he didnât think Iâd be capable of performing. But it is a fact that I did perform that day on the beam. I used three fingers from my damaged hand to balance through skills, and though I felt some pain, concentration blotted out most of it. I never fell, and I stuck my dismount. My score was 9.95,
and my team returned to first place. I couldnât compete in the rest of the events, but we still won the all-around team title.
I do not believe that I risked permanent damage to my arm that day. I do not believe that Bela would ever have put me in that position. But I do believe that my sense of team obligation and my desire to fulfill my coachâs expectation had something to do with my decision to perform. I wonder, today, if it was even a decision back then, or if I just followed Belaâs orders because that is what I always did. Itâs impossible to know.
So, I guess thereâs the answer to your question, friend. I donât believe I ever sacrificed my health for a single competition. There was nothing heroic about my efforts that day. No pain, no gain. Sounds simple and trite, but itâs true. If an athlete doesnât have some pain, it means she hasnât worked hard enough. At the Worlds, I made informed decisions based on my own knowledge and a level of trust in those around me.
That night after the optionals, I went to the hospital and had surgery on my wrist. The doctors gave me a general anesthetic and cleaned out the infection, which had traveled up my arm in red lines. I remained in the hospital for a day and then left with a drain still implanted in my arm because the doctors didnât think the cut was ready to be completely closed. I flew home with the team, and a group of doctors was waiting when I arrived in Bucharest. They wanted to take me to the hospital, but I insisted on returning to my home in Deva. A nurse accompanied me, and when my wound had drained completely, she stitched me up.
Today, I have a two-inch scar from the Worlds. I also have the knowledge that I faced adversity and thrived. I
could easily have refused to compete, but Iâm not that kind of person. If I say I canât do something, Iâm lying and cheating myself of the results of my efforts. Some people say that itâs because of all the extra efforts I made as a child that I became better than everyone else. Donât be fooled, though, I have always looked out for myself.
Here is a little secret, friend. Throughout my years of training and competition, I always kept a reserve of energy. Letâs say that I knew that I could do fifteen laps of the stadium. Iâd tell Bela I could do ten and give myself some reserve, some padding. Even if heâd say that I should do twelve, that meant I was capable of doing three more. I worked out in pain, but I knew the difference between pain that was tolerable and pain that didnât help me and lessened my abilities. I followed my instincts, as I always have, and they led me to safety. You seem to want me to tell you what is unhealthy or too much for other gymnasts. I cannot answer that question. Bela pushed me hard, but the reason he could never break me is because he never truly knew my limits.
â Courage?
The Romanian teamâs
Looking back, I know that my beam performance was not really a sacrifice for my team or my coach. The routine wasnât painful if I didnât bend my arm. And because I was using my right hand most of the time, I could avoid some pain on my left by putting most of the pressure on my right hand during skills such as back handsprings. I had no fear because I wasnât sure what was going to happen, so consequently, I didnât make any mistakes.
Today, Bela says that he never believed it was truly possible for me to perform well that day. Despite the fact that the beam was a leg event and that I could do one-handed handstands and handsprings, he didnât think Iâd be capable of performing. But it is a fact that I did perform that day on the beam. I used three fingers from my damaged hand to balance through skills, and though I felt some pain, concentration blotted out most of it. I never fell, and I stuck my dismount. My score was 9.95,
and my team returned to first place. I couldnât compete in the rest of the events, but we still won the all-around team title.
I do not believe that I risked permanent damage to my arm that day. I do not believe that Bela would ever have put me in that position. But I do believe that my sense of team obligation and my desire to fulfill my coachâs expectation had something to do with my decision to perform. I wonder, today, if it was even a decision back then, or if I just followed Belaâs orders because that is what I always did. Itâs impossible to know.
So, I guess thereâs the answer to your question, friend. I donât believe I ever sacrificed my health for a single competition. There was nothing heroic about my efforts that day. No pain, no gain. Sounds simple and trite, but itâs true. If an athlete doesnât have some pain, it means she hasnât worked hard enough. At the Worlds, I made informed decisions based on my own knowledge and a level of trust in those around me.
That night after the optionals, I went to the hospital and had surgery on my wrist. The doctors gave me a general anesthetic and cleaned out the infection, which had traveled up my arm in red lines. I remained in the hospital for a day and then left with a drain still implanted in my arm because the doctors didnât think the cut was ready to be completely closed. I flew home with the team, and a group of doctors was waiting when I arrived in Bucharest. They wanted to take me to the hospital, but I insisted on returning to my home in Deva. A nurse accompanied me, and when my wound had drained completely, she stitched me up.
Today, I have a two-inch scar from the Worlds. I also have the knowledge that I faced adversity and thrived. I
could easily have refused to compete, but Iâm not that kind of person. If I say I canât do something, Iâm lying and cheating myself of the results of my efforts. Some people say that itâs because of all the extra efforts I made as a child that I became better than everyone else. Donât be fooled, though, I have always looked out for myself.
Here is a little secret, friend. Throughout my years of training and competition, I always kept a reserve of energy. Letâs say that I knew that I could do fifteen laps of the stadium. Iâd tell Bela I could do ten and give myself some reserve, some padding. Even if heâd say that I should do twelve, that meant I was capable of doing three more. I worked out in pain, but I knew the difference between pain that was tolerable and pain that didnât help me and lessened my abilities. I followed my instincts, as I always have, and they led me to safety. You seem to want me to tell you what is unhealthy or too much for other gymnasts. I cannot answer that question. Bela pushed me hard, but the reason he could never break me is because he never truly knew my limits.
â Courage?
The Romanian teamâs
Similar Books
