Sey - Chalked up: my life in gymnastics

I LEARNED TO TURN A CARTWHEEL WHEN I was three

IN THE FALL OF 1976, AFTER A SUMMER of bicentennial

AND THEN IT HAPPENED: I WAS INVITED to join the

I LOVED PERFORMING. AND ONE OF the perks of being

I WAS MATURING AS A COMPETITOR. The developing ability to

MY SUCCESS AT 1979 CLASS ONE REGIONALS couldnt be solely

QUALIFYING FOR SECTIONALS WAS A turning point. I alternately daydreamed

I WAS TEN YEARS OLD WHEN I BEGAN to inflict

THERE WAS AN OLYMPIC BUZZ IN the air. The U.S.

IT WAS TIME. THE SUMMER OF 1981, and I was

ON A GOOD DAY, WHEN INJURIES didnt rankle, being in

I WAS OFFICIALLY A MEMBER OF THE 1981 U.S. National

IN 1982 MY GOAL WAS TO BREAK into the top

DESPITE MY DISAPPOINTMENT after 1982 championships, I was honored with

IN 1984, I MISSED THE ENTIRE competition season. My first

LETS TRY PARKETTES, I OFFERED one day on the way

I LOST WEIGHT RIGHT AWAY AT Parkettes. The training sessions

I WAS NEARLY SIXTEEN YEARS OLD and an unknown on

THE NEXT FEW MONTHS OF TRAINING were merciless. Gymnastics is

I WAS RANKED SEVENTH IN THE United States. It was

WORLD CHAMPIONSHIPS TRAINING camp was held at Parkettes in October

I ARRIVED HOME FROM MONTREAL in November after staying to

MY GOAL AT 1986 U.S. CHAMPIONSHIPS: make the top eight

I SIGNED HUNDREDS OF AUTOGRAPHS while sitting with my foot

A FEW THINGS BRIGHTENED MY mood, albeit briefly, during the

ID EARNED A SPOT ON BOTH THE Pan American and

United States Gymnastics National Champions 1975 to 2007,
as stated by USA Gymnastics, the governing body for
the sport of gymnastics

H ELLO? H I.

May I speak with Jennifer Sey? An unfamiliar voice. Authoritative.

This is Jennifer.

Hi. This is Mike Jacki, the head of the U.S. Gymnastics

I know who you are. Hi, Mike.

I didnt think youd remember me, Jennifer. Its been a long time.

Over twenty years. But I remember.

Im calling because we need you. For an upcoming competition.

I dont do gymnastics anymore.

I know. But youll have some time. A year. It has to be you. Youre the only one with the grace. The poise. It has to be you.

I hem and haw a bit, forcing him to beg me to come back. Eventually I concede. I have to find a gym in San Francisco. I have to lose weight. A lot of weight, about forty pounds. I have to overcome my fear of climbing back onto the balance beam and the uneven bars. Im thirty-eight years old. Is this possible? I want it to be, so I try. But I cant even perform the simplest moves. A handstand on bars sends me crashing. My weakened arms cause my hand to slip under my womanly weight. I land in a heap beneath the high bar, face bloodied from smashing into the fiberglass rail on the way down. My feet, bigger and wider than twenty years ago from giving birth to my two children, dont fit nicely side by side on the beam anymore. It used to feel as easy as walking on the floor, now it sways beneath me like a tightrope, my flat, heavy foot slips with just a simple step and I straddle the beam, coming down hard on my crotch.

I cant do this. Ill have to call and tell them no.

Im such a disappointment.

And then, in a panic, I wake up. I ready myself for a day of work, troubled but wistful for a simpler time.

For years I have wrestled with my young life spent as a gymnast. When the present seems particularly stressful or uncertain, I dream this dream of being called back to the sport. I am so special, so memorable, so unique, that the Gymnastics Federation official needs me and only me. When, in my adult life, have I been deemed so exceptional that I am the only possible person who can fulfill a particular slot? Other than being a mom. And really, even the worst mothers are irreplaceable in the eyes of their children. So that confers nothing special. I must do it, I tell myself in my dream. I will train by myself. I will prove that this time I can do it on my own without the reproachful glare and abusive tirades of a coach guiding my every move.

The point of this dream is not lost on me. When lifes options are either unappealing or unclear, gymnastics still seems the obvious and compelling choice. It harkens back to a time when all decisions were uncomplicated. I did it because its what I did. Easy. The road ahead was well lit and safe. If I persevered, simply followed directions, Id stay on course. Id succeed. And if I didnt, I would not be to blame. It would be the faulty directions that caused my failure.

In my dream, I am reminded of all that was destructive and unhappy about my time toward the end of my career, the physical pain, the woozy light-headedness and hunger, the emotional desperation at having lost the only thing I had ever known. And yet, I also feel anxious because I cant go back. Its an impossibility. I wake in a panic. I must find my way now, as an adult, without anyone telling me exactly what to do.

This storymy storyis not intended to be an indictment of the sport of gymnastics. I was born with a competitive ire and near-manic ambition. Often this predisposition provides an edge in a highly competitive culture. At times, it morphs into self-destructiveness.

Gymnastics was the first excuse for me to turn on myself. I have repeated this behavior throughout my life. In college, my 3.8 grade-point average wasnt good enough; at work, my year-end review didnt earn me a promotion, meaning I might not make vice president before I turn forty; at home, when my son cries, he sometimes wants Daddy instead of me. This self-criticism turns desperate and frenzied, causing a variety of physical discomforts: wrenching stomach knots, heartburn, constipation, insomnia, headaches, infected cuticles from picking until I draw blood.