Letters to a Young Gymnast by Nadia Comaneci Page B

child’s motivation, fire, and desire is a difficult process. It’s important for a coach to help an athlete work harder and improve if that’s the ultimate goal. But in general, it’s
also important to have someone in your life who will challenge you to be your best. Bela did that for me, and I feel fortunate that our paths crossed.
    To my knowledge, Bela has never forced a child to do anything. He says only that “this is the right way to do things.” It has been documented that his style of training works. If parents don’t like it, if it’s wrong for their child, then they should lead that child in a direction more suited to his or her individual personality. I don’t really understand all the hoopla that’s ensued over the years about Bela’s style. My friend, if you don’t believe in Bela’s way, then get a book about gymnastics and read it. There are no secrets. Back then, we didn’t know too much, but everything is in black and white today. As for the gymnasts and parents who say that Bela was mean or that he called children names, what do I know of that? He treated me fairly, but it was a different time and place, and I was a driven young person. I trusted Bela with my life in the gym. He quite literally kept me from breaking my neck. And I trusted him with my career, too. Let me tell you a story that you may have heard a little about before.
    Paris, France, 1974. The French government was holding a gymnastics demonstration, and officials there were in need of more gymnasts. They called our government, which in turn called Bela and ordered him to take two gymnasts to the prestigious event. Bela selected Dorina and me. Both of us were incredibly excited; we had never been to Paris. When we arrived at the airport in France, there was no one there to meet us. None of us spoke French or English, and Bela was forced to figure out a way to communicate in order to get us to the competition. With little time to spare, we finally found a
driver and raced through winding streets and ran red lights to get to the arena on time. When we arrived, Bela left us in the car to make certain we were in the right place. We weren’t.
    The French had not expected Romania to send such young gymnasts, and believing we weren’t capable of performing alongside gymnasts such as Lyudmila Turischeva, they sent us to a competition for younger girls. Bela was furious. He decided we’d participate in the smaller competition, but then he’d try to find a way into the one for seniors. In a small gymnasium that reeked of cigarette smoke, we performed our routines, then raced back to the car and charged to the other arena. Dorina and I thought at the time it was just a fun adventure, but Bela was dead serious.
    We were barred at the entrance of the arena by security guards. While the interpreter tried to explain our presence, Bela grew impatient. He told us to stick close, and then he pushed his way through the barriers. We ran behind a stack of mats and hid. The exhibition was half over, and the gymnasts were performing their vaults. Ludmila was the last to vault, and as soon as she finished, Bela told me to run down to the floor of the arena and do a Tsukahara vault. There was no time to measure my run or where the springboard was positioned. He told me I could do it anyway, so I did. I had complete faith in him.
    I performed a perfect vault. The confused exhibition officials located our interpreter and asked him to explain who we were and where we were from. When the people in the audience heard I was only twelve, they went crazy. Still, we were told not to interrupt the rest of the exhibition. Bela agreed, but when Lyudmila finished her beam
routine, he sent me out again. The crowd once again was delighted, and the officials had no choice but to give permission for Dorina and me to perform a floor routine together. We dazzled everyone.
    This story isn’t just an example of