Moceanu - The Go-For-Gold Gymnasts

W ow, what a fantastic question,I said. Naturally, its a total honorto be the first Mexican American Olympic all-around champion.

I sat at my vanity, pretending that the hairbrush in my hand was a microphone and that my reflection was a television commentator, interviewing me after the biggest triumph of my career. If only I could pronounce the biggest triumph of my career. Right now, it was coming off sounding like gibberish.

A publicity coach my mom hired once had taught me about enunciation. Shed even made me repeat the word enunciation over and over to practice it. So, I tried to say each word slower this time, really emphasizing every syllable. The last thing I wanted to do after sweeping every single event at the Olympics was to mess up the words Olympic all-around champion.

Mexican American, I said, hitting every consonant like it was a hip-hop beat. Mexican American. Olympic all-around champion.

The door to my bedroom opened, and I jumped, the hairbrush slipping out of my hand. My mother poked her head in.

I hoped she hadnt heard me talking to myself. I would have died of embarrassment.

If shed heard me, though, her face didnt give anything away. Its late, she said. You need to get to bed.

It was only nine thirty. At school, kids were always talking about this one dance competition show that I was dying to watch, but it went until eleven. Because of my crazy early training at Texas Twisters, that was past my bedtime.

Dont you knock? I muttered.

My mother chose not to answer that question, instead crossing the room until she was standing behind me. Let me get the back, she said, picking up the brush. With smooth, even strokes, she started brushing my hair.

Id always had long hair. It was black and glossy and hung in waves almost to my waist, weighed down at the bottom by soft curls. My mom had the same hair. She went to the salon twice a month to get some serum put on it that would keep it shiny. I had the take-home version of the same product, and if I forgot to apply it before a big competition, all my mom had to say was, Shine! and I would remember. One time, my teammates overheard her saying it and assumed she was telling me I needed to stand out in my routines. Which, of course, she did also remind me about all the time.

Maybe I could skip ballet tomorrow, I said.

My mother yanked the brush through one particularly troublesome knot at the nape of my neck, and I winced.

You always go to ballet on Sunday mornings, she said.

Yeah, but I also go to ballet every week with the other girls and work on my dance moves then. So its not like it would kill me to miss a day. I didnt say what I really wanted to, which was that it would be awesome to sleep in just once. During the school week, I woke up at five thirty to be at the gym by six thirty. On Saturdays, I had to be at the gym by eight. Sunday was my only day without any gymnastics practice, but because of these extra ballet lessons, I had to be at the studio by eight, which meant I never got to sleep in.

But I knew if I had said this to my mother, she would have gotten those little frown lines in the middle of her forehead and said something about how you had to work hard if you wanted results.

She didnt speak until she was finished; the brush glided through my hair like a swan through water. You love ballet, she said at last.

Id actually started out as a dancer, not a gymnast. But somewhere in elementary school, Id begun spending more time on learning a punch front than on learning a pass, and started trading recitals for competitions. It had happened really fast, like, I blinked, andsurprise!I was a gymnast.

My mother leaned down to kiss my forehead. Her lips were cool. Get some sleep, she said.

I waited until I heard the door click shut behind her and the soft padding of her feet on the wood floor, and then I lifted the hairbrush back to my mouth to continue my fake interview. I love ballet, I said, pasting a smile on my face. I imagined the interviewer nodding, remarking that I certainly had beautiful lines, and that that must have been the effect of all that extra training. I humbly bowed my head, acknowledging the imagined compliment but not agreeing with it outright.

Im lucky to be competing here at the Olympics with the best gymnasts in the world, I said. That was another thing my publicity coach had suggested: always make sure you give credit to others, while still not letting the interviewer forget that youre in an elite group of athletes.

Still, I would have to work on that answer. As if luck had anything to do with gymnastics. It wasnt luck that made me finally learn the tucked full-in Id been trying forever to get on floor. It was the hours and hours of repetition, performing the skill into a foam pit, on mats, with a spotgetting advice from my coaches, Cheng and Mo, and even from my teammates. It also wasnt luck that made me earn a spot on the National team. It was years of waking up early and training before school, after school, on the weekends. It was my parents paying thousands of dollars for me to work out at one of the best gyms in the country. It was me, standing at the end of the vault runway in the biggest com-petition of my life, launching myself into the air and delivering a solid landing that gave me a score high enough to qualify as part of that National team.

Yeah, so saying I was lucky to be competing was like saying I was lucky to be chosen as a contestant on a game show, or to win a prize from of a cereal box. Making a face in the mirror, I let the hairbrush fall from my hand; it clattered on the glass top of the vanity.

It took only a few seconds for my mother to hear me and return, opening the door. Whats wrong? she asked. Why arent you in bed?

I was just going.

My mom was still staring at me, but it was like she couldnt actually see me, or wasnt really looking. I wondered what she did after I went to sleep. My dad was this insanely busy cardiologist who was always being asked to speak at conferences and stuff, so most of the time it was only me and my mom at home. When I was awake, she was shuttling me to practices and cooking my meals and helping me with my homework. So when I was asleep, did she crash out and watch TV? Did she call one of her friends and complain about all of the things she had to cram into her day?

She gave me one final look, and I climbed under the covers to show her I was serious. She wished me good night one more time, switching off the light as she left the room.