Grace, Gold, and Glory Page 12

  To ring in my sixteenth birthday, Mom rented a room in the Raccoon River Park Nature Lodge and threw a joint party with one of my teammates, named Olivia, a gymnast who’d come over from England just to train with Chow. Mom decorated the room with pretty Sweet Sixteen decorations. Later, the guests were given big multicolored Chinese lanterns to light before they floated up into the sky. It was super cool!

  Even while my family was in town, I had to drag myself to the gym in the afternoons. On the day after Christmas. And then the next day. And then the next. When you’re training for the Olympics, you can’t just skip out on your sessions. And I won’t lie — I was starting to really hate it. It was so hard to leave Mom, Joy, and John at the hotel, especially as the end of their visit grew closer. It’s not that I’d suddenly lost my passion for gymnastics; it’s just that my fervor had been eclipsed by an even stronger force — an absolute ache to live under the same roof with Mom and my siblings again. The same thoughts I’d been having all month returned, this time roaring even louder: I should end it all today and fly back to Virginia Beach with Mom, Joy, and John.

  On the morning of January 2 — the day before my family would return to my hometown — I pulled out my cell phone and finished drafting that note. If I’m going to quit, I thought, this is my last chance. That afternoon, as my mother and I pulled into the driveway of Chow’s gym, I reached over and handed Mom my cell phone with my note on the screen. You already know how that drama turned out. What you don’t yet know is what happened between my announcement and the Olympics.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Flowers grow out of dark moments.

  — CORITA KENT

  AFTER I SHOCKED EVERYONE WITH THE ANNOUNCEMENT THAT I PLANNED to quit, Travis tried to talk me out of it. Chow tried to talk me out of it. And God knows Mom tried to talk me out of it. But I’ve never told the world about the critical conversation that actually turned things around. It was one I had with my brother, John.

  Once Mom sped out of the parking lot of Chow’s gym, we returned to Staybridge Suites. Inside the hotel, the situation got even uglier. When Mom and I walked through the door, John was sitting on the bed eating a bowl of Berry Cap’n Crunch cereal and watching his favorite zombie show on the Syfy channel.

  “What are you doing back here?” John asked, glancing over at the clock to realize that it was too early for me to be done with training. I stared at John but said nothing.

  “Tell John what you just told me,” Mom said sharply. Joy, who was sitting on the other bed, sat up because she sensed a firestorm was coming.

  “I want to quit,” I said.

  John lowered his spoon and set his bowl aside. “Why would you quit now?”

  “Because I just don’t want to do it anymore.”

  “That’s not true!” John shouted. “You can’t give up your gift, Brie!”

  Just then, Joy piped up. “I can’t even look at you right now,” she said with the biggest sneer I’ve ever seen on her face. I immediately knew she was serious — Joy has rarely ever spoken a harsh word to me. “Mom’s done so much for you,” she continued, “and I even gave up my ice skating lessons in eighth grade because Mom couldn’t afford to keep us both in a sport! Can you give me one good reason why you want to come home?!”

  “I just miss you guys, and—”

  “Brie, there is nothing at home for you!” Joy cut in. “Do you think you can go to school or get a job and just become a normal teenager again? You can’t!” Joy then got right up in my face.

  “Get back!” I shouted as I began to cry.

  John wedged himself between Joy and me, trying to keep our verbal war from becoming a physical one. Mom, who’d been standing aside watching this whole WWE moment, interrupted with a commercial break. “You know what, Brie?” she said. “Get your things together. I’m taking you back to Missy and Travis’s place.”

  That must have been the longest car ride of my life — dead silence the whole way. “If you’re going to quit,” Mom finally said as we got closer to the house, “you’re going to be the bearer of bad news. That’s right, you heard me, sister. You’re going to face Márta Károlyi yourself.” (Earlier, I’d asked Mom if she would make the call for me and tell Márta I was going to quit.)

  Once we arrived at the Partons’ home, Travis tried to give me a pep talk. It didn’t work. Meanwhile, Mom and Missy drove back to the gym and met with Chow. “She’s just afraid of success, of being on top,” Chow concluded after he heard that I wanted to end my career. And to this day, he still thinks that’s true. But honest to God, I wasn’t afraid to win. I truly was just homesick. “All I can hope and pray is that she catches her vision again,” Mom told Chow. “But for now, I’m leaving her here. We’re going home.”

  The following afternoon, Mom, Joy, and John all said good-bye to me. (Shakespeare once called parting “such sweet sorrow,” and I suddenly knew what the guy meant, especially when it came to the sorrow part.) By the time I arrived at the gym that afternoon, Chow had had time to consider my perspective. He told me a story of how much he’d missed his family when he’d come to Iowa from China. “I understand your homesickness,” he said. “You’re human. But you have to keep pushing through it, because it’s all going to pay off. Just trust me. I know you can do this.” Li later added her own footnote to Chow’s powerful plea. “We don’t sleep sometimes because we’re up developing a plan for you,” she said. “If we didn’t believe in you, we wouldn’t work so hard on your behalf.”

  So for the following two days, I did my duty: I dragged myself out of bed and let Missy drive me to the gym. But by the third day, it was pretty clear to Chow that my efforts were still half-hearted. He called Travis again and asked him to pick me up.

  That afternoon, Travis drove me over to Raccoon River Park near the gym. “Tell me what’s on your mind,” he said. I repeated my Chick-fil-A idea. “Why are you going to give up on your dream to go make $7 an hour?” he said. “Don’t sell yourself short.” We then made a list of all the things I missed about Virginia versus the things I’d regret about leaving Iowa. “I’m going to keep this list so we can laugh about it one day,” he said. I wanted to keep the whole conversation going for as long as possible so I wouldn’t have to go back in the gym — so I extended it with a question. “Why can’t I just go to the World Championship and finish off there?”

  “Because everyone watches the Olympics, not the World Championships,” he blurted out. I could always count on Travis to keep it real. “Do you want to be the gymnast who never was?”

  Even after all these motivational speeches and family confrontations, I still wanted to hang up my leotards. And I was so mad at my mother that I hadn’t called her. I know it sounds crazy, but my homesickness had just overtaken my brain. As far as I was concerned, the only thing I still needed to figure out was how to buy my plane ticket home. Then one night about two weeks after the biggest meltdown of my life, John called me from Virginia Beach.

  “How is it that other gymnasts win a lot of big competitions, and you’ve got so few notches on your belt?” he asked. Thanks a lot, I thought. “It’s unacceptable, Brie. You’ve got to make a living in your sport.”

  I fired back. “How many notches do you have on your belt, John?”

  My brother paused. “Well at least I don’t mess around in the gym,” he finally said. “My coach takes me to hell and back every day, and I love every minute of it.”

  We both went silent on the line for a moment before John continued. “Today should always be better than yesterday,” he said. “You’ve got to put your body on the line. Remember our motto: If you want to be the best, you’ve got to take out the best.”

  That conversation was my turning point — the wake-up call that pulled me back from my foolish reckoning. John has always been my best friend. On that evening, he also became one of the heroes of my Olympic journey.

  The very next day, I started reading my Bible. Every time I got scared of one of my skills, I meditated o
n the verses that had anchored me through so many difficult experiences: “For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind” (2 Timothy 1:7, NKJV) and “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me” (Philippians 4:13, NKJV). Each time I repeated the words, I could literally feel them bolstering my faith.

  On January 17, 2012, I began setting weekly goals— like aiming to master five new routines within a certain number of days. I also started visualizing my victory. Mom, who has taught me to use vision boards to keep my dreams right before my eyes, gave me Habakkuk 2:2 from the KJV: “Write the vision, and make it plain upon tables, that he may run that readeth it.” And on my calendar, I started marking off the days — 195 more sunrises until the London Olympic games.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I’m always making a comeback but nobody

  ever tells me where I’ve been.

  —BILLIE HOLIDAY

  I CALLED IT THE FIRST REAL TEST AFTER MY TURNAROUND — THE March 2012, AT&T American Cup. In the end, the press called it something else. You’ll see what I mean in a second.

  First things first: I wasn’t originally slated to be at this competition, which was held at New York’s Madison Square Garden. Gymnasts Jordyn Weiber and Aly Raisman had already been chosen to represent the United States at the meet. But after the World Championships in Tokyo, Chow thought I needed more exposure on an international stage. “I think there’s a way to get her in there,” he told Mom. So my coach called up Márta Károlyi and said, “I want to see if Gabrielle can compete as an alternate.” If Jordyn or Aly were injured, he reasoned, I could step right in. That made sense to Márta.

  Even when you’re an alternate, you get to compete in exhibition routines. Plus, the very same judges who score the official competitors also evaluate you — only your scores don’t actually count. All that was fine by Chow. He just wanted me to debut my brand-new bar routine so he could see how it would be scored before my next big meet. That’s a typical move by a savvy coach.

  “Remember what you told me after Worlds,” my mother commented in the days leading up to the American Cup. “You said you wanted to be world champion. Well, here’s an opportunity to work toward that. Plus, London is just a few months off. You need to treat every competition like it’s the Olympic games. You need to go out there like, ‘This is my medal, and nobody’s gonna take it from me.’ If you want it, you need to fight for it. I don’t want to hear about what you’re trying to do. Let me see what you’re going to do.” That was my cue to set off fireworks.

  Mom, Arie, Joy, John, and Miss Carolyn all drove up to Manhattan for the big meet — and I was brimming with excitement about seeing them. From my first vault to my final tumble on the floor, I thought of every encouraging word Mom had given me — and I channeled that inspiration into my routines. Apparently, it worked: Someone tabulated my totals and realized I was leading the official competitors by nearly a point! I had nailed an Amanar vault, and it was the first time I’d ever performed it in a competition. Uneven bars were next, and that performance put me in the lead and caught the media’s attention. By the time I got to beam, cameramen were knocking each other to film my routine. Of course, everyone knew my scores didn’t count, but it was still stunning that I’d outperformed everyone. Can I be frank with you? As confident as I felt before that meet, even I was shocked. I’m sure the field of official contenders were too.

  Though I made a big impression on those gathered, I did make my mistakes: I stepped out of bounds on my floor routine. Twice. But despite those errors and corresponding point deductions, I still ended up with a surprising result: I garnered a total score of 61.299 — nearly two-tenths ahead of the top score. In gymnastics circles, it is often said that the gymnast who wins the American Cup will go on to become the Olympic all-around champion. Could that be true this year? I thought. Be still, my heart!

  Jordyn Weiber was declared the American Cup champion for the third time in her career, and rightfully so — both she and Aly, the dazzling silver medalist, rocked the house by delivering stellar routines. All good news for Team USA. Many also saw the 2012 American Cup as my coming-out party. And truthfully, so did I.

  In the following weeks and months, the media stopped labeling me as the gymnast who buckled under pressure, the one who fumbled on the balance beam at the Visa Championships. Instead, they described me in a way that still gives me goose bumps. For the first time, I became the girl who just might grab a spot on the 2012 Olympic team.

  During my time in Iowa, the Partons’ house became my playhouse. Hailey and I loved running away from Lexi, Leah, and Elissa, simply because they loved the fun of chasing us. “Come back here!” they’d yell. We’d of course dart in the other direction.

  One day when Hailey and I were running too fast from the youngest three girls, I slipped on a mat and fell to my knees. “Are you all right?” Hailey asked, laughing a bit. I was fine — but oh, my knees ached! I was practically limping when I got up, but not so much so that it stopped me from scheming. “Okay, Hailey, let’s go hide from the others,” I whispered. We then tiptoed our way into the twins’ bedroom and slid behind the double doors of their closet. “Where could they be?” we could hear the girls asking each other. A few minutes later, the closet doors creaked open.

  “I found you guys!” Elissa shouted.

  “Let’s run, Gabby!” Hailey said. But as she sprung from the closet, the door stopped right in front of her forehead and — bam!—she knocked herself out flat onto the ground. Literally.

  Okay, relax: Hailey wasn’t seriously injured. She stayed down on the floor a couple moments, seeing lots of stars, but then she finally opened her eyes and stumbled back up to her feet. “Oh my gosh, that was awesome!” Later as I repeated the story to Missy and Travis, we all cracked up — especially Hailey, who now always thinks twice before a game of run-and-hide.

  Sometimes we took our horseplay outdoors. And speaking of horses, I actually saw one in real life. We rode our bikes down the street to meet Thunder, a stallion owned by the Partons’ neighbors. I’m sure you’ve guessed that I — someone who’d once daydreamed about horses during countless Wildfire episodes — flipped out when I spotted Thunder. Well, I did. Missy sent us off with cut-up apples and carrots so we could feed the horse as we pet him.

  When the temperature dipped below freezing in Iowa (I’m talking 13 degrees and colder, people!), that curtailed our time outdoors. But it didn’t completely keep us inside. Just as I had on a few occasions in Virginia, I tromped out to play in the snow. The girls and I could hardly even walk because we were wearing so many layers! Two pairs of pants, five pairs of socks, a shirt, a jacket, a heavy coat, gloves, hats, and earmuffs — you name it. We had to keep the frostbite away.

  Once outside, we’d all wrestle in the snow, start snowball fights, lay down to create angels, and build the tallest snowmen. As you can probably tell, there wasn’t just a light dusting of flakes — sometimes, we’d get three feet or more. “Are you planning to close the gym?” I’d ask Chow in a tone that told him my question was really a cry for help in disguise. “No,” he’d answer without cracking a smile. Let me tell you something about Chow: that man never closed down that gym. He and Li were hard core!

  When I showed up at the gym during winter months, I sported all the same layers: my coaches were intent on keeping me healthy, especially before a competition. Even once winter melted into spring, Li gave me recommendations for how to dress. “Don’t start wearing shorts just because you see the other girls wearing them,” she said. “Wear pants to stay warm.”

  Whatever the season, I enjoyed being stylish, and I loved experimenting with my hair. Though I had to wear it up and out of the way during training, I usually let it fall loosely over my shoulders on the weekends. I also usually painted my nails to match my leo — whether purple, blue, orange, neon green. I’d sometimes give my nails some splash by adding a flower or heart design.

  My growing love for fashion
extended to the competition floor. For some meets, like the Visa Championships and U.S. Classics, I got to design my own leo. GK, the gymnastics sportswear company, sent me fabric swatches beforehand. Mom, Missy, and my sisters then helped me create my custom leos. “How does this look next to my skin?” I’d ask, holding the little square cloth close to my hand.

  “I like that one, but let’s look at the others as well,” Mom would say. The choices were seemingly endless: velvet, shiny, matte, colorful. Once I’d chosen a swatch, I tried to bling it out. Love the sparkles!

  After my breakout moment during the American Cup, I became especially excited about the forthcoming string of competitions. I had the Pacific Rim Championships later that same month followed by the U.S. Classics in May. Next came the Visa Championships in June. And then finally — finally!—the Olympic trials in July. Oh, baby.

  Chapter Twenty

  For everyone born of God overcomes the world.

  This is the victory that has overcome the world,

  even our faith.

  — 1 JOHN 5:4, NIV

  SOME PEOPLE NEED THE PROSPECT OF MONEY TO GET MOTIVATED. FOR me, all it takes is a puppy. So just before the Visa Championships in 2012, Travis gave me a challenge. “If you win gold,” he told me, “you and the girls can get a dog.” Deal.

  Our bet actually began back in 2011 as a bit of a joke. I missed Zoway and Chan Chan so much that I started lobbying the Partons for a dog. Their daughters had been wanting a pet too, and since Travis and Missy are allergic to cats, a puppy seemed like the perfect pick. “I don’t need another thing to take care of,” Missy protested. “I already have five girls.” So by conjuring up my very best puppy-dog eyes, I got Travis on my side. “Bring me home a gold for the individual all-around,” he teased, “and then we’ll bring home a doggie.” I indeed came back from Tokyo with a gold — just not the exact one we’d agreed on.