For a long time, when asked what sport I was doing, I would reply proudly “I’m a gymnast”. I grew up, thinking I would go to the Olympics. Because that is the goal, right? The one you dream about, the one that gets you going to the gym with a smile on your face. How many little girls started gymnastics because they wanted to be on that podium?
But in the light of “Athlete A” and “In the Heart of Gold” documentaries, as well as the statements of all the brave gymnasts all around the world, I decided I could no longer be silent about my own trauma. I am not so sure there is a reason for me to be proud about being a gymnast anymore. Gymnastics has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. It still is to this day. And to be honest I fear the consequences it might have on my life. But I choose to stand up and share my own story, though anonymously.
I live in Belgium and I started gymnastics at the age of 4, in a local club in my hometown. My mother did gymnastics when she was younger, so it was logical for her to sign me up for classes. Back then, elite was not as developed as it is now.
I was going once a week, then twice, then four times a week. I still vividly remember one of my coaches talking to my mom, saying I was “promising” and that I should train more to reach my potential. That’s when they decided that I would train 6 days a week for 20 hours. I was 6 or 7.
Back then, we didn’t have schedules that allowed athletes to combine school and sports, so my routine was to go to school, do my homework in the study hall, then go to the gym until 7pm, eat, sleep, repeat. Morning trainings on Saturday became all day trainings.
I don’t exactly remember when I started hating it. What I remember is the constant yelling. The injuries we were told were not that bad. The body shaming. The weekly weighing in front of everyone. Our coach coming to the changing room during lunch breaks to see what we were eating.
I was always the one injured. I was the muscular one, the not so flexible one. Once, I twisted my knee and had to wear a brace for a month. During one practice, one of my coaches asked me to come to him. He told me to remove the brace, that my injury was not a real one, that my teammate, who had torn her meniscus, kept training. He forced me to train on bars without the brace before allowing me to put it back on. Needless to say I was in tears at the end of practice. I thought I was weak. After all, if my teammate could train on an injured knee, surely, I could do the same?
Another time, I twisted my ankle during conditioning at the beginning of practice. I was so scared of my coaches I didn’t say a thing for almost the whole duration of practice. That is to say, until my ankle couldn’t carry me anymore. Turns out I had fractured it. I was in a cast for 4 weeks.
I wasn’t the only one that was scared and we usually joked about it. We were excited when our coach’s car wasn’t in the parking lot, we were wondering if he would show up or not. He also used to throw his flip flops at us. Dodging them became part of our trainings.
My ankles and knees were always my weakness. I had another knee injury, that prevented me from training normally for almost two years. But I was still in the gym 6 days a week. My knee hurt for weeks on; I could not even run. But I was still in the gym every day. I was constantly told I was falling behind on my teammates, that I would never be able to catch up. They were showing me charts and agendas with competition dates I had to compete at if I wanted to stay at the same level.
I remember during a training camp, we had to do layout back flips and land flat on our stomach on a mat at the end of the trampoline. At some point, I got too far and when I landed, I smacked my foot on the hard ground floor. I knew at once something was wrong. Once again, I didn’t say a thing. My teammates helped me cover it up. I was applying anti-inflammatory cream on it and a bandage every night. Until one morning, one of the coaches came to our dorm to wake us up and saw my bandaged foot. They didn’t say a thing until practice later, when they called me out in front of every one and forced me to practice on it. Once again, I was in tears.
I remember the body shaming my teammates and I had to endure. We were told we couldn’t eat this or that, no sweets, no sodas, no pizzas, but also no potatoes or pasta in the evening, even after a 4 hours practice. We were told we had to lose that much weight, that some skills were easier if we were lighter. I thought it didn’t concern me, as I was never personally called fat or told that I had to lose weight, but it still impacted me at some levels. Years after I quit gymnastics, I suffered from an eating disorder. It took me more than 2 years to get out of it, with a lot of help. I am still not sure I will ever recover completely. My relationship with food will always be difficult, as well as the negative body image I still suffer from these days.
Little by little, I started to despise the sport that I used to love so much. I was in tears, just at the idea of going to practice. I didn’t enjoy it anymore. My mom didn’t understand it at first. I don’t think I ever told her the real reason behind it all, just that I didn’t enjoy it anymore. She tried to talk to the coaches, tried to find a solution, something that would make me go back to practice, but I was too far gone.
I didn’t walk away from the sport right away. I choose to compete at a lower division, still in the same club. For the first year, I didn’t compete, I still had that knee condition. The year after that, I got to compete again. At first, my mom couldn’t come to the competitions. She thought I didn’t belong there, that I could do better. I disagreed. But she did not know all that was happening so whose fault was that?
But training and competing at a lower division than anyone expected me to compete at also had its very own problems. Coming from the elites, I had to win. It did not matter that I basically spent two years of my life only training bars because of my knee. I was an elite. I had to win, period. At one of the competitions, I fell and came 2nd, and I was happy about it, given it was only my 2nd competition in two years. But it was not enough for my coach.
For weeks, between this competition and the next, he constantly reminded me that I had failed, that I was only a silver medallist. He said it on a teasing tone, but there really was no teasing about it.
So the next competition, I won. And still, it didn’t seem fair to others. I heard the whispers, the people calling me a cheater because I was not supposed to be there. I did not belong there. I had won, I was happy, I thought I had succeeded, and yet it was still not enough.
When I reflect on my career, all I remember were the injuries. I do not think I had a year free of injuries. During a competition, I landed short on vault and injured both of my ankles. It was the first event, and I said nothing. The adrenaline kept me going. I didn’t want to let my team down. We won a medal, I was happy, my coach was happy. But by the next morning I couldn’t walk.
Another time, I was at practice, a few weeks before another team competition. I first twisted my ankle (again!) falling on beam. I said nothing. I tried to cover it up by compensating on my other leg on floor. I ended up injuring my wrist in the process. Again I said nothing. Until we went to bars and I couldn’t put any more weight on it. I got screamed at for not telling sooner. And then I got screamed at because my team wouldn’t be able to count on me at the competition. I ended up with a cast on both my wrist and foot.
I rested, I healed and I went to physical therapy. Then I went back for another season. That is when my coach told me he wanted me to go back to a higher level. The week after that, I walked away.
It took me a long time to view all of this as abuse. I would often joke about it and try to minimize what I went through. I still feel the consequences of the injuries I suffered to this day and I wonder if my career would have been different had I talked about them right away. But at the time, the fear of being screamed at or being forced to train with those injuries was too big.
For years after I quit, I couldn’t watch gymnastics. I wanted nothing to do with it. I just thought I had grown up, that my hobbies or passions had just shifted to something else but I know now that I was just coping from the abuse I went through for years. The sport I loved so much disgusted me in the end. I saw no beauty in it, I just saw pain.
I came back to it eventually, as a simple fan at first. I am still involved in this world on a daily basis. That’s the reason my statement is anonymous. But I do not want to be silent anymore.
I hope my statement, as anonymous as it might be, will help others and make them realise they are not alone in this and that we are stronger together.
Anonymous, from Belgium
#GymnastAlliance