Gymnastics Faith & Faith
It took a catastrophic injury to reveal that the Olympics
is not always a gymnast’s true Promised Land
By Tim Dalrymple
HEN I was a child, dreams of
Olympic glory unfurled every
night in brilliant colors above my
bed. After I became a gymnast in
1984, I spent countless hours imagin-
ing what many thousands of gymnasts
around the world imagine all the time: winning an
Olympic gold medal, the unquestioned pinnacle of indi-
vidual achievement in our sport. I visualized the routines I
wanted to compete. I felt the solidity in my legs as I stuck
the landing on the final event; I heard the applause of the
crowd thundering through the arena; and I saw the
American flag rising into the heights above the podium.
Yes, I knew that a thousand stars would have to align. I
knew that fulfilling my dream would require not only talent
and hard work, but also a healthy dose of luck.
And then I knew years later that my gymnastics career was
over—and my Olympic dreams forever shattered—when a
neurosurgeon standing by my hospital bed informed me that
my neck was badly broken. It was mere months before the
Olympics trials in 1996. I was unlucky; I had fallen from the
horizontal bar and landed awkwardly on my shoulders. The
pressure had broken two vertebrae and left bone fragments and
cartilage scattered inside my spine like thorns in the grass. It
would take two surgeries to stabilize my spine, and even then I
would be left with chronic pain for the rest of my life.
