Off Balance: A Memoir (6 page)

By the time I was seven, I started to realize that I didn’t just love gymnastics, but also that I had a special gift for it. I started to notice that I learned quickly and picked up new maneuvers faster than the other girls in my classes. It was as if I were born to do gymnastics. A big plus in my favor was that I had no fear. Even at six, I was a daredevil, relishing challenges and more than willing to try any new somersault, back bend, or flip. Fear only set in much later, when my surroundings and pressures changed in the sport and in my life, but as a child I was virtually carefree when I learned and performed. I would overhear my coaches telling my parents in serious tones that I had true natural ability for the sport and that they were very excited to be working with me. I could feel the energy from their excitement. I noticed that the coaches spent extra one-on-one time working with me and that they appreciated my fearless approach.

My parents believed early on that gymnastics would be my future and were determined to do whatever it took for me to succeed. The high priority they placed on my gymnastics explains
their willingness to spend money on my classes and training even though most months we lived hand-to-mouth. In their eyes I was destined to be a meaningful contributor to the sport that meant so much to their home country. My parents often used to tell a story about the moment they
knew
I’d become a champion gymnast. I’ve heard them tell it so many times, I can recite it in my sleep: “We put Dominique on a clothesline at six months old to see how long she could hang on and test her strength. She didn’t let go until the clothesline broke!” It still makes me laugh when I picture Tata telling it with the same level of enthusiasm each time. He’d actually act out the story, fists over his head pretending to imitate me holding on to that clothesline. He was so proud that he was almost giddy when he shared this story over and over throughout the years.

As I grew more skilled and more serious about gymnastics, my training and the number of hours I spent at LaFleur’s gym increased dramatically. By the age of seven, I was training with Jeff, Julie, and Beth five to six days per week, logging twenty-five hours, often more, each week. When I first started working with them, I was a compulsory level gymnast, so I spent my days practicing and perfecting predesigned routines with a series of required moves. The compulsory routines are dictated by USA Gymnastics (USAG), the organization that governs competitive gymnastics in the United States. During compulsory levels 4 through 6, gymnasts perform the same routine with the same movements to the same music. I looked forward to completing my compulsories and moving on to “optionals,” the next level, where I’d get to flex my own creative muscles and create my individualized routines with my coaches to reflect my own style and personality, especially for balance beam and floor exercise routines. I was excited for the day I’d get to pick my own floor music and show my customized routines. I knew the harder I worked, the faster I’d move through compulsories, so I followed my scheduled calendar diligently.

Granted, my daily routine was quite different than that of the average seven-year-old, but it was the only life I knew and I embraced it. Each weekday I went to public school until early afternoon, then off to LaFleur’s for four hours of training. Plus, I was at the gym training Saturdays from 9:00 a.m. to 1:00 p.m. During the summer, my daily workouts were from 9:00 a.m. to 4:00 p.m. Often on Friday nights, I would stay late, until 9:00 p.m. for “Open Gym” to play and have extra time to do whatever I wanted.

Jeff LaFleur was a demanding and structured coach. He expected a lot from his athletes, and I never wanted to disappoint him. I was in a group that varied in age quite a bit, and I worked extremely hard to get Jeff’s praise and approval each and every day. I’d later come to understand the intricacies of successful student-coach relationships and just how fortunate I was to start my career with a demanding yet empathetic coaching presence and mentor. Jeff is still among my favorite coaches I’ve had the privilege to work with, which says a lot considering I have had the help of more than twenty coaches throughout my athletic journey. Looking back, what I loved about his coaching style most was that he always brought a great sense of balance to our training sessions. He demanded more out of me when necessary, but, as a father himself, he seemed to have an innate sense of when to show a more nurturing side. Jeff treated all his gymnasts with a level of respect and caring that I valued even as a young girl. I felt so comfortable with his coaching style and direction. I always felt that he cared about me as a person as well as my progress in the sport, which meant the world to me. I cannot recall a single time Jeff lost his temper or even yelled at me, yet he always had my utmost attention and respect.

Jeff had competed as a collegiate gymnast at the University of Minnesota, where he majored in physical education and minored in child psychology. Maybe this mixture of disciplines explains why he has such an incredibly easy way with kids. As an Elite-level
gymnast, he competed internationally and represented the United States, which helped him relate to his gymnasts on an athletic level as well. Having actually gone through the rigorous training himself and experiencing firsthand what it was like to compete as an Elite gymnast I think made him an even more understanding coach. He had been there and knew exactly what it was like. He pushed us because he knew what was required to reach the next level, and he never wanted his gymnasts to settle when he knew they could achieve more.

Jeff was super strong and worked hard to stay fit, even for coaching standards. I was always amazed that he could pull off his trademark one-arm handstand on the men’s parallel bars with his legs in a straddle position at any given time. I thought that was the coolest thing ever.

I spent so much time with my coaches that they became like family to me. I looked to Jeff as a positive male role model and somewhat of a father figure as well as a coach. At this point, Tata was gone most days, working long hours to provide for us. Often frustrated and exhausted, he was temperamental and moody when he was home, sometimes blowing up at Mama or me for no apparent reason. At the gym, I appreciated Jeff’s steady, reliable nature.

I believe my rapid early progress during those formative years was a testament to Jeff’s coaching skills. After only a year and a half of compulsory gymnastics, I moved up to the optional level, which in turn increased my training to a minimum of thirty-two hours per week. I was on my way to the bigger and bolder gymnastics skills. By the time I was nine, Jeff had already taught me a triple back dismount, which is three consecutive flips in the air; a Tsukahara, also known as a full-in (two consecutive flips in the air with a 360-degree twist in the first flip), on the floor, and a Yurchenko-style vault, which is a round-off entry onto the board with a backward motion, landing with my hands on the vaulting horse, followed by flips and twists off of the horse into a landing.
At the time, I had never seen anyone else my age complete this vault with a 360-degree twist in a tucked and layout position. Jeff was also the first to teach me a release move on the uneven bars called a Gienger, named after the German male gymnast Eberhard Gienger. This skill begins in a handstand on the high bar, then moves into a giant swing and on the rise three-quarters of the way through, as the toes come up above the high bar, the gymnast releases the bar into a straight body layout (or hollow position) into a half twist (180-degree turn), and ends with a regrasp of the high bar. I would go on to compete this release move in the 1996 Olympics.

Julie, Jeff’s wife, who majored in physical education and minored in dance, was my floor choreographer at the gym. She was as sweet as honey and always seemed to have the patience of a saint. I will never forget working with her on my very first optional floor routine for level 8. Mind you, I was no dancer at this stage in my career. I could flip, twist, and swing on the bars with no problem, but dance—forget it. I couldn’t keep a beat or even find it. Maybe it was because I was never exposed to much music outside of some traditional Romanian songs and what little radio I heard. Dancing was completely foreign to me, and it showed. I’m sure that, deep down, Julie must have thought she was choreographing a routine for an uncoordinated Smurfette, but she remained patient and kind until I eventually got it. It was a learning experience that came much less naturally than the other skills and moves I was learning, but I needed it to grow and develop within another realm of my sport. It was a challenge, but Julie worked and worked with me until it was just right. Ironically, years later, I’d become a choreographer myself and teach other gymnasts how to dance and perform their floor routines. To this day, I’m still learning from Julie as I remind myself to have the patience with my students that she once had with me.

Beth Hair, my beam coach, was the belle of our gym. Well,
in my eyes, at least. She was beautiful, with dark brown eyes, bouncy brown curls, and a slender, fit figure. Her fingernails were always perfectly manicured and painted a bright scarlet color that matched her lipstick. She’d sometimes have jewelry and rhinestones on her nails, which I thought was so chic. I’d see her miniature gold ring dangling from her thumbnail while I was on beam or when she helped stretch me during flexibility training.

Despite all her glamour and my impression that everyone in Tampa must have had a crush on her, Beth was a no-nonsense beam coach whom I respected immensely. When she would get frustrated with a student’s performance, she’d make it clear who was boss. She demanded a positive attitude and the highest work ethic from her gymnasts and would get on our cases if she thought we weren’t putting in our best effort. She required seemingly endless series of repetitions during her beam workouts. Most gymnasts dislike this about the balance beam, and the fact that it’s only four inches wide becomes more and more intimidating as you grow tired. I know that Beth’s strict style of coaching made me a tougher competitor. Beth had a purpose for what she did when she did it, and I liked that. When I began training with Beth at the compulsory level, I didn’t like the beam at all, and it was my least favorite rotation. I hadn’t mastered it, and if I did fall during competitions in my early years, it was usually on beam. Beth was tough but fair, and she clearly recognized my weakness on the beam; however, she also believed I had potential, so she pushed me until it finally began to click.

Beth taught me my very first optional beam series. After I mastered a walkover back handspring I moved on to a back handspring back handspring, which was a common flight series for an optional gymnast. I then went on to a back handspring layout step-out, which is a backward motion—jumping from my feet to my hands, and then my feet again—with my legs passing in a 180-degree split while in vertical, followed by the same movement with no hands
touching the beam on the second flight. By the time I was eight, Beth had me doing a three-part series that consisted of a back handspring, a layout, and another back handspring.

For my second series, Beth had me do an unconventional round-off back handspring step-out on the four-inch-wide beam. It was more bold and daring than my other series, especially for my age. I remember that two of my other teammates were doing this same type of series, but I hadn’t seen it performed much at competitions, so I knew it was unique. I took pride in doing it even though it was a little scary.

I loved gymnastics. I loved it so much I’d sometimes just say the words to myself like a declaration: “I love gymnastics.” I craved the excitement of learning new tricks and threw myself into working to be better than every other gymnast I trained with. A fierce competitive spirit was there in full force before I hit the third grade. I longed to be the best in every aspect of the sport—from the discipline to the most difficult skills to winning in competitions. I found myself at this very young age driven to achieve superiority in everything I did. The hard work and long hours all seemed like a part of the process necessary to achieve the goals of pleasing my coaches, my parents, and myself. At that time, there was no cynicism—just an all-out belief in big dreams and championships. No one shut those dreams down, either. Least of all Tata, who made no secret of the fact that I, Dominique Moceanu, was “an Olympic champion in the making.” Those early years made up my most free and happy period as a young girl and a young gymnast.

Mama and Tata were also pleased with my progress and development at LaFleur’s, and when I was nine, Tata decided to call Channel 10 News in Tampa Bay to let them know about how “special” his little girl was at gymnastics and that I was doing things very few people in the world at my age could do. Tata was always thinking about his next move and always up to some wild scheme or another. Sometimes his plans would work out and other times
they would fail spectacularly. Whatever he said to the good folks at Channel 10, it worked because the local sports desk actually decided to come out and film a feature segment at LaFleur’s gym, with a spotlight on me as the most promising gymnast of a promising bunch.

This news story may seem like no big deal to most people, maybe even trivial, but it was a turning point. It was the first time I saw the outside world show an interest in what went on inside our gym. I was so happy that people, real grown-ups, actually cared enough about our sport to film it and put it on TV. And it was the first time anyone other than my coaches and parents had taken an interest in my talent.

I was so excited the morning of the news shoot. Mama’s parents, Maia and Papu, had recently arrived in the United States from Romania and were living with us at the time. We were all crammed into this little apartment, but for Mama it was a taste of familiarity and comfort, so it was nice to have them there even though we were practically on top of one another. Maia helped take care of my younger sister Christina and me while Tata pulled Mama in every direction insisting she go with him to car auctions throughout Southern Florida to help him bring cars back to his auto dealership in Tampa. Tata loved cars, and he had a knack for selling anything, so as a car salesman he worked long hours. He did what he had to in order to support us, and that “us” now included Mama’s parents. I know he wasn’t thrilled about having to support Maia and Papu on top of the four of us, as I’d overhear him complain to Mama.