Why I Might Not Sign My Daughter Up for Gymnastics

By
Shira Hoffer
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0
5510

Please note: This piece contains discussion of sexual assault.

For 12 years, gymnastics was my whole life. I spent more time in the gym than I did seeing my parents or doing homework…combined. I dreamed of opening a gym one day and, if I were blessed with kids, training them too. As I wrote in my college essay, “Gymnastics was a rigorous cycle of immense gratification,” and I could not imagine my life without it.

But then I had to. 

I fractured my back in 2013, a stress fracture from repeated hard landings. Devastated but determined to compete again, I completed an intensive course of physical therapy and was back out on the floor a year later. Unfortunately, after only one competition, I found out my back was fractured again and was advised by doctors to stop doing gymnastics or risk permanent injury. I was 14. 

I had no idea what my life would look like without gymnastics. It was the perfect activity: a combination of fun and hard work, both a team and an individual sport, a melange of the thrill of flying through the air and the dazzle of competing. I loved it all. 

But I have strong reservations about signing my future daughter up for classes. 

In retrospect, the gymnastics culture in which I was immersed had many, many flaws. While there are certainly exceptions, gyms have a reputation for being cutthroat and having a “get over it” attitude about injuries. Coaches can easily take advantage of the naivete of their gymnasts, pushing them to learn skills before they are ready, teaching them to dismiss real safety concerns, or pressuring them to disregard their mental health in pursuit of a gold medal. Moreover, as has come to international attention recently, the risk of sexual abuse or assault in gymnastics is unfortunately all too real. 

There have always been murmurs of concern in the gymnastics community about male coaches in charge of impressionable young girls in leotards for many hours a week, but the case of Larry Nassar has amplified this murmur into an international roar. Nassar was given a de facto life without parole sentence after sexually abusing over 300 women and girls — Olympic champions and amateur athletes alike. The toxicity of sexual misconduct is not, however, restricted to individual coaches and may even rise to the top of gymnastics’ institutional pyramid. Indeed, although it is unclear whether or not USA Gymnastics, the governing body of gymnastics in this country, was aware, there is significant evidence that they delayed reporting abuse to law enforcement at least in other cases. 

As a starry-eyed 12-year-old who wanted to be like Simone Biles, I was blissfully unaware of these flaws, but looking back, I was certainly impacted by them. I remember one practice during which I had a mental block (similar to what is currently called the “twisties”) on the balance beam. I stood there and stood there but could not get myself to go for the skill. The longer I stood, the more anxious I became until I began to cry. My coach responded by letting all of my teammates rotate to the next event but telling me I could not join them until I completed the skill five times. Trapped and towering over my teammates on that balance beam, I felt humiliated as I watched them reluctantly walk away, shooting me sympathetic looks. 

I remember another time when I showed up to the gym having been bitten by a dog the day before and asked my coach if it would be ok to skip practice that day because I could not move my hand. She responded dismissively, saying I was being a little crybaby. None of these instances really stuck out to me at the time; that was just the way things were. I thought about it simply: I still loved gymnastics all the same, but some days were harder than others. 

As more and more gymnasts have recently come forward to speak out about their experiences with sexual abuse, I have reflected on my time in the sport, becoming aware of norms or rules that, in hindsight feel inappropriate. For example, there is a rule that, if your leotard slips in competition such that your bottom is revealed, you may not fix it, or you will receive a score deduction. I remember spraying some sticky substance on my body to try to prevent my leotard from slipping, but nevertheless, I always got a wedgie, and I never fixed it. 

I also remember that my (female) coach would slap our butts as we ran around the mat, encouraging us to go faster. I remember feeling some sense that that was strange, but not really second-guessing it. In another standout policy, my gym prohibited gymnasts from wearing spandex shorts over their leotards in practice, claiming it was “unprofessional.” This led to painful shaving habits and a significant amount of embarrassment during puberty.

The 2020 sexual assault charge against one of the coaches at my gym after he was accused of rape by a fellow gymnast prompted me to reflect on my experience even further. He was not my coach, but I certainly knew him, and I remember I was scared of him. When I heard the news, I cried, shocked at how close I was to the situation. Thank God, I was never sexually abused or assaulted. But I also did not really know what sexual abuse was until after I stopped doing gymnastics altogether, which speaks to how scary this naivete can be. I like to think that I would have known if something was wrong, but I cannot be certain, and I am not sure what I would have done about it. I was vaguely aware of The U.S. Center for SafeSport, “a wholly independent body to investigate allegations of sexual misconduct in Olympic National Governing Bodies,” but I had to look it up in writing this article to remember what it is and does. 

While my reflection on my years as a gymnast has been necessary, it has been devastating. I still look back fondly on my time in the sport, but I cannot watch a competition without thinking about what may have happened during the competitors’ careers to get them there. Gymnasts whom I idolized so much have endured such abuse to become those idols that I feel guilty looking up to them. Coaches I dreamed of training with have been implicated as complicit in this massive scandal or charged with sexual abuse themselves. 

Honestly, I feel intensely torn. Gymnastics was so good for me; it taught me to persevere and to have tough skin. It taught me to trust myself and to perform. I learned discipline, grace, and competitiveness. And I always dreamed of putting my future daughter in the gym to learn these things too. But I will not until there are some real reforms. 

The German Olympic team has made a brave statement, wearing unitards during competition as a stance against the sexualization of gymnastics. Simone Biles’s prioritization of her mental health at the Olympics has led to an international conversation. And USA Gymnastics has committed to “learn from [their] past failures.” But there is more to be done. Gymnasts need to be educated from a young age about signs of abuse, and what to do about it. Coaches need to go through rigorous training. Gymnasts need to be permitted to wear whatever (functional) clothing they want, both in practice and in competition, and not only for religious reasons. 

I do not have a problem with gymnastics being a competitive, at times stressful, and elite sport, a sport with hard days and sore muscles, a sport in which gymnasts push themselves to the limits, — I want it to be that — but its culture of abuse must be changed before my daughter is ready, or I will go looking elsewhere to teach her these qualities. 

If you have experienced sexual assault and wish to report the incident or make use of Harvard’s support resources, please see the information below: 

National Sexual Assault Telephone Hotline (Confidential and open to all): 800-656-4673.

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