On Sunday night I watched the Dateline special about Larry Nassar and the sexual abuse that occurred for years with USA Gymnastics. I watched this interview more closely than I followed the story as a whole because it was filmed at the Karolyi Ranch in Houston, and featured interviews with both Bela and Marta Karolyi. It’s a topic I was interested in because I used to spend my summers at that very gymnastics camp. Let me say clearly: I was never sexually abused while I was there and I am not a victim of Nassar or anyone else. Even so, I was not prepared for how I would feel as I watched.
When footage of the Ranch rolled, I had a physical reaction: chills, my stomach turned, and a lump in my throat. I laughed it off to my husband who was also watching, but even as I was saying that I was confused why I was having such a reaction, and I burst into tears.
I haven’t thought about my summers in Houston in years, and yet I found that much of it came rushing back to me. The place appears not to have changed in decades, and as the camera panned across the gym, I was thinking, “and the vault will be to the left, and behind that, the bars.” However, what scared me, and perhaps what caused part of my emotional and physical reaction was how little I actually recalled. We didn’t train more than 6 to 8 hours a day, so what did we do the rest of the time? I spent hundreds of non-training hours there…what was I doing? I remember nothing!
What I do remember is associated only with the gym and our training, and my primary emotion attached to it is fear, even nearly 30 years later. My first year, I only went to one week of camp. I remember falling on the first day and breaking my tailbone. The culture was “walk it off,” so I did. I didn’t cry, and I didn’t tell anyone how much pain I was in even though I could barely walk and I couldn’t sit comfortably at all. No adult noticed or asked me about it. No one checked me out after I fell. If anyone knew I was injured, they kept it quiet.
I completed the week of camp, and I must have performed adequately because I was invited back. I don’t remember how long I stayed the next few summers, but it was longer. I do remember completing vaults that were five or six levels above what I had ever done before, and I remember not receiving any instruction other than “just go for it.” If your comfort level was a single flip, the coaches would ask you to try a double with a full twist, for example.
I have similar memories attached to specific tricks on each of the events. But what I don’t have are happy camp memories. I only remember being intimidated, being afraid of what I was being asked to do, and feeling relieved at the end of every day that I was one day closer to coming home.
I can’t deny that the Karolyi method works. There is certainly a legacy of champions to support their work. But there is now also this scandal, and I wish I could say it surprises me, but it doesn’t. One of the things the Karolyis kept saying in the interview was that every gymnast comes to camp with her personal coach, so the gymnasts have that layer of protection. It’s a laughable defense.
True, one coach from my home gym did come to the Ranch with me and my teammate. She didn’t fly with us, she didn’t stay in our cabin, and I can only remember seeing her across the gym a handful of times. I’m honestly not sure that we had a single conversation at the Ranch. It was camp for her as much as it was for me: she was there to grow her coaching skills, and she worked with other Karolyi coaches and other gymnasts. She was in no way watching me, caring for me, or a part of my training. Had someone wanted to abuse me, the coach from my home gym would have been oblivious.
As McKayla Maroney detailed her horrifying abuse, I was selfishly flooded with relief that while I am still afraid all these years later, it’s not because I was sexually abused. However, as both Maroney and Ali Raisman told their stories, I was struck by how Nassar was able to get away with this for so long. As the team doctor, he administered treatments designed to lessen the pain (and let’s be honest, gymnastics is a grueling sport that causes a lot of pain). Perhaps some of his treatments were legitimate, but inserting his fingers into the girls’ vaginas was not a legitimate pain treatment: it was sexual assault. Digital rape.
Here’s the sad and scary part: the girls believed this was a legitimate pain treatment, at least at first. They thought it was acceptable Yet, as the abuse went on for years, they realized it was wrong but were in denial at what was happening. This is where, as a mom, I wanted to scream and throw things at my television. Why do we teach our children so little about their own bodies? Why are we so afraid of vaginas? Why do we insist on creating so much mystery around the female anatomy? Harder questions followed. What are we willing to trade for glory? Why were years-old allegations ignored until one day AFTER the Fierce Five won Olympic Gold?
This is, of course, an extreme example where a body-breaking sport crosses with a sexual predator and a lot of adults looking the other way. However, it got me thinking that in fact, this intersection is precisely why Nassar was able to abuse so many.
Gymnasts are expected to endure a significant amount of pain, from the benign like sore muscles to the more significant, like working through a sprain (or in my case at one point in my career, a shattered sternum). Gymnasts are taught to train and compete despite injuries. Complaints are not tolerated. Pain is ignored. Gymnasts train hungry because as Marta put it in the interview, there is a delicate balance between strength and weight.
Gymnasts are left with a lifetime of pain, arthritis at an early age (16 for me), an unhealthy relationship with food, and body image issues that are nearly impossible to outrun. The girls are broken in so many ways before their bodies break down, and that makes them easy targets. The shame and silence that accompany sexual assault mesh perfectly with the culture of gymnastics. In short, I have come to believe that the sport as a whole is abusive–certainly at the elite level and perhaps at every level.
The interviews ended with one of the gymnast’s hopes that with Nassar behind bars and this issue brought to the forefront, gymnastics could return to a safe place for girls. Through my tears I told my husband, “but it was never a safe place.” And that is perhaps my greatest takeaway. Of course, I’m not saying that all elite athletes are at a high risk for rape. But I am cautious about allowing my children to compete in any sport at a high level because the vultures always swoop in and there’s always a money grab. We saw Kerri Strug’s vault on a broken ankle in 1996–the price of legacy, perhaps. Be assured that her body and her health had a price, and all those who made a percentage off her Wheaties box know exactly what that price was.
Similarly, the Fierce Five had a monetary value, too. Maroney, for example, apparently should not have competed in the Olympics due to an ankle injury, but Nassar, her abuser, lied about the extent of the break and the newness of it, and USA Gymnastics accepted his account. USA Gymnastics also chose not report the sexual abuse allegations to the FBI until after the gold medal had been awarded and the Cinderella story was complete.
That is why it was never a safe place for any girl: if she has promise, then her body has a price. It will be broken and abused until the price is paid. Then and only then will she be allowed to be human.
