"Mommy, I don't want to go to gymnastics!" Maddy cried as she did cartwheels across the living room carpet.
"Why not?" asked her mommy.
Maddy cartwheeled over the cat. "I can't do my cartwheels on the beam and coach will get mad at me.
Romania, 1970
Cold winter sunshine filters through the high windows, catching dust motes as they swirl in the air of the huge gym. The equipment is old but clean and banners proclaiming past championships line the walls. The air is saturated with a peculiar smell of chalk, sweat and tears and the sound of coaches barking out orders in Romanian. Small groups of gymnasts puddle here and there around the equipment, waiting their turn, practicing, stretching or listening to the coaches.
On the floor mats near the beams there is a group of 8 small girls, all virtually identical in height and stature. They've been selected, tested and plucked from their homes to train here at the National Centre in Devi. Each little girl has identical pigtails with big bows on them. Each little girl wears identical white tank tops and underpants; the state only provides the older girls with leotards. Each little girl has a serious expression on her face; they are scared and excited. The coach has told them they will learn something new today and they want to please the coach.
The girls begin on a line on the floor. They must do 20 perfect cartwheels on the line on the floor and then they can try on the low beam. They work hard, their little legs straight, tummies in and toes pointed. The coach praises and criticizes as needed and one by one, the girls move from the mats to a series of low beams. All except one girl. She wants to do this skill. She does not want the coach to yell at her but she just can't seem to get it. Eventually the coach allows her to move to the low beam. She tries and falls, and tries again. Tears pool in the corners of her eyes. She surreptitiously wipes them away and continues.
"Do 100 more," says her coach as she finally manages to keep her tiny feet on the beam. She cannot yet count to 100, so she makes small marks on a chalky mat each time she does 10. By the time she makes the eighth mark, the sun is low in the sky and her teammates have moved on. She is tired and hungry and her shins are bruised from the many falls she has had. But she will not give up. The coach watches her from across the gym. He shakes his head and slowly smiles. This child is special.
