Grace, Gold, and Glory Read online

  So from then on out, every time I had a big competition coming up, Trevor re-extended his offer. I came close with my upset at the American Cup — but as an alternate, I couldn’t actually win a medal. A couple weeks later at Pacific Rim Championships in Everett, Washington, I had a rough meet. Because of that hip flexor and hamstring injury months before, Chow scaled back a lot on my vault training and lowered my routine’s difficulty level; he wanted to give my body enough time to recover long before the Olympics. I was still working on performing my two-and-a-half vault consistently. I’d nailed it at the American Cup a couple of weeks earlier, but in Everett I wasn’t as successful. My hand slipped off of the vault table. I tried to twist my body in the air to make it around two and a half times, but I landed short and badly sprained my ankle. Later in the meet, those same injuries led to my fall on the balance beam, which stirred up more talk that I cracked under pressure. But I made a comeback by scoring gold on the uneven bars, and our team went golden as well — but those two still weren’t the types I needed to get a puppy. Sigh.

  Next up was U.S. Secret Classics in Chicago, Illinois, on May 26, 2012. I didn’t perform my vault because Chow and Li thought it was best to play it safe with the Olympics so close and my ankle injury somewhat fresh. I needed more time to work on perfecting that vault in the gym before performing it in competition again. That’s why I only competed in three events: uneven bars, balance beam, and floor exercise. And I knew what that meant — there’d be no all-around medal at this competition since I wouldn’t get a score for vault.

  By the time the 2012 Visa Championships in St. Louis, Missouri, rolled around, I’d fixed my gaze on two goals: 1) performing well enough to be chosen for the women’s national team (which meant I could compete in the Olympic trials … yippee!), and 2) finally earning that pooch for me and the Parton girls.

  Well, one out of two isn’t bad, right? At Visa, I got a full point deduction after I fell off the balance beam. Bummer. And yet even after such a big mistake, my overall score was only two tenths less than the top score, which means I seized the silver. I’ll take the number two spot in the country and a place on the women’s national team — even if that doesn’t come with a pet doggie on the side! Plus, I still had a shot. “If you win all-around at the Olympic trials,” Travis said with a laugh, “my offer stands.” With those words, I was off to San Jose, California, for the biggest competition of my career.

  When I showed up in San Jose in June 2012, I knew I’d arrived at the moment I’d been working toward since I was eight. My dream came down to this one meet.

  The competition was spread out over two days, and I got off to a strong start on the first night. My score was only three-tenths behind the top one. That evening, I’d looked out into the audience to see my father in the stands. Though he’d mentioned that he may come, actually spotting him there surprised me; I hadn’t seen him in two years. “Dad’s here,” I told Mom after the first evening, “and he’s talking to the media.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” she told me. “Brie, I need you to focus on your performance. You have an opportunity to win this thing. You’re only a few tenths behind the top score.”

  The following night, Mom’s words reeled through my head. I thought of all the hard work, the difficult times, the move from Iowa to Virginia, the countless sacrifices my family had made for me to have this amazing opportunity. I also held on tightly to one of the many verses I’ve used to get me through the most difficult moments: “He shall give His angels charge over thee, to keep thee” (Luke 4:10, KJV). I said these words over and over under my breath.

  On the second night of trials, I went out there and delivered the finest performance that I could muster. As I mounted the apparatuses, I could literally sense God’s presence and power. He had indeed sent His angels to keep me safe as I soared high in the air during my routines. After my last tumbling pass, I whispered a simple prayer: “Thank you, God.” If that’s the last prayer I ever say in my life, it is enough.

  The scoreboard inside the HP Pavilion told the story — my cumulative score of 123.450 put me in the top spot. It was official: my Olympic trials were not only great, but they were also golden! Not only did I win the entire competition — by doing so, I also earned the only guaranteed spot on the Olympic Team! That’s right: I would proudly wear my red, white, and blue as part of Team USA in 2012. It still feels surreal.

  And of course, I finally delivered the exact gold medal I needed to complete my challenge. The Partons haven’t yet picked out that puppy for the girls, but you’d better believe I’ll make sure they remember their promise forever. That’s right, Travis — we’re all still listening for that bark!

  The Trials

  “I have a surprise for you,” my father texted me shortly before my trip to the Olympic trials in San Jose. “I’m coming to trials.” Though we hadn’t talked much when Dad was in Afghanistan, I wanted my father to come. During one of our few conversations by phone, I told him that. Yet I wasn’t sure whether he’d actually show up.

  At trials, I was warming up at the bar when I heard someone calling me: “Gabby! Gabby!” I recognized that voice, and when I turned around, it was my dad. But since he usually calls me Brie or Scooter, I was baffled by why he was screaming that name. Afterward, when the media asked me about our reunion, I said I was happy to see him again. That was only half of the truth. The other half is that I felt the same way I feel whenever Dad just turns up — equally excited and perplexed.

  After the competition, my confusion turned into resentment. Dad began telling the media how he always supported me in my gymnastics career. The truth is that he didn’t. It’s so hard for me to write these words, because writing them forces me to face reality and not live in the protective bubble my mom tried to build around us when we were younger. After I finished the first night of trials, I received a text from my dad. “I need you to autograph some things for me ‘cause I can’t go back home empty handed.” I was thinking, Why is it suddenly all about you? And where were you when I was struggling to get here? You haven’t seen me in two years, and the first thing you want is my autograph? I cried the night after I read that text. Then after the final night at trials, Dad texted me again. “Brie, I took so many pictures with fans — lots and lots of small children who want to walk in your footsteps. I have so much to tell you about what God did. Everywhere I went God gave me honor and favor and congratulated me!” Never once did he simply say, “Congratulations.”

  Chapter Twenty One

  He gives us more grace.

  —JAMES 4:6, NIV

  WEDNESDAY, JULY 18 —THAT’S THE DAY THE FOUR OTHER MEMBERS of the US women’s gymnastics team and I boarded a flight to London for the 2012 Summer Olympic Games.

  “Are you excited?” Mom asked me that morning by phone. A couple weeks earlier, she’d flown to Iowa to see me before my departure to London, and after spending three days with me, she returned to Virginia Beach to prepare for her own trip to the Olympics.

  “I am soooo excited!” I said.

  “You can do this,” Mom told me. “You have a chance to impact millions of people’s lives. I believe in you, baby girl.”

  About a week earlier, on July 11, I flew from Iowa to Texas — the women’s team first gathered at the Károlyi ranch for an Olympic preparation camp. Super early on the morning of my flight out of West Des Moines, Travis and Missy drove me to the airport; I’d given all my good-bye hugs to the girls at bedtime the night before, because I knew they’d be asleep when I left at five the following morning.

  Just before we walked out of the house, Missy tucked a large envelope in my bag. In it, she’d gathered about twenty letters from all my friends and family — including my mother, siblings, grandmother, aunt, and of course her, Travis, and the girls. Each envelope had a date written on the front, signaling the day I was supposed to open it. The first letter was one from Missy. “These letters are from everyone who cares about you and is walking you through this
journey,” it read. “We all love you very much.” I was already holding back tears, and I hadn’t even opened all the letters!

  Missy and Travis walked me as far into the airport terminal as they could. “We’ll be praying for you,” Travis said. Missy gave me the same advice she’d been offering me since my vault mistake at Pacific Rim. “Remember,” she said, “you have two jobs. One is to always give one hundred percent, and the other is to listen to Coach Chow.” I was ready to do both.

  The overnight flight from Houston to London’s Heathrow Airport felt long — nearly ten hours — but not nearly as long as that flight to Tokyo’s World Championships had been. I alternated between watching a bit of a movie, napping, and catching up with McKayla, Kyla, Jordyn, and Aly about the adventure we’d all just begun.

  “Can you believe we’re actually on our way to London?” I said to Aly, who was sitting next to me.

  “I know,” she said, “It’s completely surreal.”

  We’d all known each other for a while, of course; over the years, we’d seen each other at numerous camps and competitions. By the time the Olympics rolled around, we’d bonded enough to give our team a nickname — the Fierce Five. We originally called ourselves the Fab Five, but when we realized that name was already taken by a 1991 University of Michigan basketball team, McKayla and Jordan googled a bunch of other words that began with the letter F. The top two choices were fierce and feisty. Though there will always be plenty of feistiness to go around in our group, we agreed on fierce because we’d come prepared to go to battle toward one goal — a first-place finish for Team USA.

  Speaking of first place, I’d already focused my gaze on a gold medal. Or two. Or more. As far back as I can recall, my mother has encouraged me to use visualization as a powerful tool, something I’d done when I shifted my perspective on the uneven bars. When I was living with the Partons, I hung a special prayer on a board next to my bed so that I could see it daily and meditate on those things I wanted to work toward in my life. Mom created a prayer for me, and she emailed it to me on October 10, 2010. We call it Our Secret (to success). For almost two years, I have prayed these words, and I have watched my faith grow, especially when times got really rough. This is the prayer:

  • I can do all things through the anointing, which strengthens me.

  • I am strong and I compete beautifully on vault, bars, beam, and floor.

  • My routines are amazing because the Greater One lives on the inside of me.

  • I refuse to give up! I refuse to quit! I push toward my dream, knowing that it will be my reality. I will achieve and be successful at everything I set my hand to do.

  • I am a winner. I am a fierce competitor. I am a phenomenal gymnast.

  • Vault: I complete my double and two-and-a-half vault with great power and precision. I stick each landing because I have the God-given talent and the intense desire to do it.

  • Bars: I compete each element with great grace and strength. I will not fall, but instead my routine will flow beautifully. I stick each landing because the Greater One on the inside of me empowers me to.

  • Beam: I compete each skill with grace and extreme power. I refuse to fall because I am more than a conqueror and Adonai loves me. I will excel and stick my dismounts because of the power that rests in and on me.

  • Floor: I compete each element with perfect style and beauty. All of my dance elements are exquisite! All of my tumbling passes are executed with extreme precision. Every landing is perfect because God has equipped me with all that I need to succeed!

  Once we arrived in London, there wasn’t much time for sightseeing. But on our drive from the airport, I did catch a glimpse of the London Eye, that enormous Ferris wheel that rotates high above the city’s skyline. When the wheel was first built back in 1999, it was the tallest one in the world; the tallest now is the Singapore Flyer. Later, during my stay in London, I squeezed in some time to ride the Ferris wheel and look out over the glittering lights of the city below, with the Thames River stretching and winding through it. Gorgeous!

  Our first stop: the Olympic Village. That’s the group of buildings with rooms to house the athletes. It features a humongous cafeteria that has every kind of cuisine you can imagine, 24/7: Mediterranean, Indian, American. The village is meant to be a haven away from the surrounding city and crowds, a place where not even press members are allowed. But that doesn’t stop some wild things from happening in there: once inside, some of the most famous Olympians are mobbed by other athletes who want to get their signatures. The other girls and I went crazy when we spotted Michael Phelps. “Oh my gosh, can I take my photo with you?” I asked him. He kindly posed with me. And the whole time I was in the village, I was on the lookout for one of my favorite Olympians, Jamaican sprinter Usain Bolt. As it turns out, I never snapped his pic.

  Each building in the village is assigned a country. The Chinese athletes’ building, for instance, has its flags waving in front of a dormitory, as does the USA and dozens of other nations. In our team’s part of the building, the rooms were set off in quads. So Márta Károlyi’s room was at the entrance to our quad, and a set of stairs led up to two additional levels where our rooms were located. Jordyn and Aly shared a bedroom, Kyla and McKayla were roommates. And since there was an odd number of us on the team, I had a room of my own — the perfect place for me to sit, sing, pray, and focus before the greatest test of my life.

  We’d all trained plenty hard before we arrived, of course — but do you think the training stopped when we got to London? Wrong! In fact, Chow was in rare form. He pushed me harder, faster, and higher than he did even back in West Des Moines. We worked out for five hours a day. But it was against regulation to train in the North Greenwich Arena, the site for our competition, so we went to a separate facility. A couple days before the real action, there’s something called podium training, a kind of mini meet where gymnasts do their routines in front of judges in the actual arena. This gives everyone a chance to get used to the apparatuses, which may be a little different from the ones they’ve trained on. Even though the scores don’t count at podium training, we still all try to make a good impression on the judges. I know I do.

  When you’re competing in an arena with thousands of noisy people, you’ve gotta learn how to block out distractions — like screaming, name shouting (“Go, Gabby!”), whistling, and camera flashing. Sometimes when you first get to a meet, you’re like, Oh my gosh, everyone’s cheering — what if I mess up? That’s where Chow’s training comes in.

  “Everybody gather around!” Chow would yell to get the attention of my other teammates in his gym. Once the gymnasts were standing around the apparatus, they shouted things like, “Yay, Gabby!” and “Way to go!” while I did my routine. It’s Chow’s way of mimicking the kinds of interruptions we will surely face at a major sporting event in an enormous arena. “Just shut out the crowd and focus on performing your skills,” he’d tell me. “I want you to imagine that it’s just you and this beam.” Ten days after I set foot in London, I wouldn’t have to imagine anymore. I’d be performing the real routine.

  My mother and my siblings flew into London’s Heathrow Airport on July 26. She, my sisters, and my brother stayed at a flat my mom rented. Thankfully, my family received some help from Olivia, my friend and teammate from Chow’s gym who is from England: Olivia’s father asked his good friends Mossie and Gillian to host Miss Carolyn and Tia, as well as Missy and Travis. (The hosts get to be hosted … funny, right?) Mom had raised money by designing T-shirts with my sister Joyelle (who is an amazing artist) and selling them online. Her yellow “Team Gabby” shirts featured the London Games. Did I mention that yellow is my favorite color?

  I talked with my family frequently on Skype. “Proud of you, Brie!” Arie said. “Don’t be afraid!” John added. “Stay strong!” Joy yelled out. Every day when the sun rose above our village and the hours drew closer to my big moment, the prayers, encouragement, support, and inspiration of my beloved famil
y hovered above me. It felt like pure love. Even now, it still does.

  Chapter Twenty Two

  What we are is God’s gift to us.

  What we become is our gift to God.

  —ELEANOR POWELL

  IT DIDN’T HIT ME UNTIL THE DAY I WALKED INTO NORTH GREENWICH Arena — I am actually at the Olympics. For a moment after the team arrived for podium training, I stood in silence at the edge of the room. Simultaneously widening my eyes and lifting my gaze upward, I scanned the room to take it all in: the hot-pink floor; the 16,500 seats, some so high up I could barely see them; the commentators, all busy setting up for their broadcasts. And the scent — for some reason, it smelled like a freezer to me. Crazy, right?

  Six mornings later, on the very last day of July, I lingered in bed a bit longer than usual, imagining how the next twenty-four hours would unfold. On my dresser, one of Mom’s letters — delivered by Missy in that thoughtful send-off package — still laid open.

  “Breeeeeezy!” Mom had written. “You are an Olympian! You did it! When you’re preparing to compete, I want you to remember that you always end up on top. Never forget that God has made you the head, and not the tail.” My long-sleeved red leo, so shiny and sparkly, was already at the foot of my bed in anticipation of the Fierce Five’s big battle. This was it — the team competition.

  A few days earlier, our Olympic games began rather dramatically. During the women’s individual qualification round, I turned in the performance of my life. I nailed just about every one of my skills, from that tough Amanar vault to my final tumbling pass on floor. “Excellent job!” Chow said, embracing me at the sidelines afterward. My teammates also delivered top-notch routines, and with every flip and turn, Team USA put itself in a stronger position. By evening’s end, in fact, three of the top four spots were filled by American gymnasts. Behind Russia’s Viktoria Komova in first place, Aly qualified in second place with a score of 60.391. I came in third with 60.265. And Jordyn claimed fourth with 60.032. But because of a two-gymnast-per-country rule, Jordyn, the reigning world champion, wouldn’t advance to the finals. The world was shocked. And as thrilled as both Aly and I were that we’d have the opportunity to compete for the all-around gold, we were also truly disappointed for our teammate. Yes, every gymnast on our team traveled to London to battle for that ultimate prize. Yet each one of us still came with a heart, one that broke when we saw our teammate weeping on the sidelines. Afterward, back at the village, we rallied around Jordyn and tried to lift her spirits. We also told her just how much we all needed her to regroup for our next fight.