"The most important thing in the Olympic Games is not to win but to take part, just as the most important thing in life is not the triumph but the struggle. The essential thing is not to have conquered but to have fought well."

~The Olympic Creed, excerpted from Bishop Ethelbert Talbot's speech to Olympic champions by Pierre de Coubertin.

Nadia Comaneci competing in the Olympics at age 14 and with her husband, fellow gymnast bart Conner, at age 45. 

Once upon a time, a little girl and a little boy loved to run and tumble.  Household furniture, tree branches, and neighborhood playgrounds allowed them to climb, vault, flip, and hang, and the little boy and the little girl squeezed every bit of enjoyment out of their young lives. 

Next thing the children knew, their moms and dads noticed how good they had become at running and tumbling and decided to sign them up for something called lessons.  During these lessons, or classes, a coach taught them and other little children the “right” way to run and tumble and, even though they liked doing those things and the chance to play at them more, the little boy and the little girl lost some of the joy of just being and doing. 

The lessons continued and, in fact, increased in regularity.  Sometimes the little boy and the little girl got tired and wanted to quit but, if they complained, their parents reminded them of all the time and money they had invested into gymnastics lessons and how they weren’t a family of quitters and how some kids don’t have the opportunity to do what they were doing.  The children’s talent was both a blessing and a curse.  Although they loved their sport, sometimes they longed for the days of hanging upside down from a tree branch and idly watching an upside down world on a hot and hazy summer day.

Over time, the children grew better and better at their sport and began leaving their families for longer periods of time to practice.  They spent their days running and tumbling the right way, the best way, and, if they did not, everyone told them what they did wrong, time and time again.  The line between the children as individuals and the children as athletes became blurry and, if they tried to redraw it, someone was always there to remind them of their debt to those who had invested time and money and effort in them.  And they returned to practice and to always being reminded of any errors they made in form or style.

These children, who initially just enjoyed the freedom of running and tumbling, contained the physical talent, mental acuity, and combined stamina to be that small percentage of small percentage of athletes who rise to the top  of their game, win championships, and make the US Olympic Team.  And while they received praise for their excellence, constant criticism bruised their psyches, hardened them, and affected their memories of fun until they forgot it altogether.  While in top form, they represented their country in the Olympics and basked in the glory that for a short while made all those years of hard work and lost youth seem worth the struggle but eventually they were too old or too large or too un-novel to compete.  The endorsements that made gymnastics profitable dried up and they had no choice but to repurpose their past Olympic success into becoming the very people who had bruised their egos and criticized their every move.

When four years had passed and another Summer Olympics rolled around, NBC asked the now-grown man and woman to provide expert commentary during the ironically named games and, in desperate hope of both reliving their glory days and feeling that spark that they had not felt for so very long, they agreed.  Although a part of them again reveled in the sport and felt the awe of watching well-trained athletes at the top of their game, they honed in on the errors committed in both execution and countenance and projected that view for appalled television viewers around the world. 

Everyone does not live happily ever after.  Lost youth is never recaptured.  The tree branch remains bare.  More so than any other sport, gymnastics sucks the joy out of many of its top participants, as witnessed in the behavior of Tim Daggett and Elfi Schlegel, whom this fictional tale is not about but very well could be.  It’s sad really.  Someone needs to play their tapes back to them just as I’m sure they did when they were competing, only this time, it would be nice if that person could be a little gentler with his criticism.