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Balance of power
After another failed attempt, Carly's eyes well up. An intensive camp at the Karolyi ranch is just days away. Go into the ladies' room, Marchenko tells her gently, and wash your face.
When Carly returns, she executes a perfect routine and sticks her landing. The other teens move on to new events, but Carly and Marchenko stay for two more run-throughs.
While the bars may be her least-liked event, the balance beam is her favorite. "I like the beam because it's more artistic," she says. "The bars are so technical."
She and Hollie Vise, another potential Olympian, take turns spotting each other. While Carly is on the beam, she sees nothing but that piece of equipment. When she dismounts, though, she is more relaxed.
Carly shifts to her floor routine. "Yevgeny, watch me," she calls, before tearing across the mat.
"Not bad," he says, "try it again." Marchenko stands with his coffee cup, surveying the entire room, which bustles like an ant colony. The atmosphere in the gym is serious but comfortable. "If the coach is professional and calm, the gymnast will be that way," he says.
Carly, he says, has a leg up on many others. "She can look right into the crowd and point out something funny. [As an athlete,] I couldn't," he says.
Shortly after 11 a.m., most of the athletes at WOGA head to school. Carly and several other elites attend nearby Spring Creek Academy, which caters to athletes and actors.
Carly drives herself to Spring Creek in her late-model Honda. Her father, Ricky, who lives in Louisiana and is divorced from Carly's mother, approved the choice of car her mother picked out two weeks before her 16th birthday. She talks to her dad several times by phone each week.
At Spring Creek, Carly, a straight-A student, is noticeably looser and more relaxed. Her teachers, whom she has for five 30-minute classes and a study hall, describe her as laid-back, sweet, and sometimes funny. Spanish and child development are Carly's favorite courses.
Upon arrival, the first order of business is lunch. Carly and several other gymnasts pull out their lunchbags, which reveal a lot about their level of competition. Those who are not on track for the Olympicsmay have chips or cookies in their sack.
Carly has no junk food, ever. Her lunch consists of a can of tuna fish mixed with pickles and mustard. A bottle of vitamin-enriched water completes the meal, her largest of the day. Dinner may be no more than a cup of yogurt or oatmeal.
Most Americans would probably be shocked by how little gymnasts eat. Indeed, in the 1990s, controversy about eating disorders flared, sparked partly by the death of Christy Henrich, a former elite gymnast and anorexic. A 1994 study by the University of Utah also fueled the debate with its finding that, among gymnasts training for the Olympics, 59 percent exhibited some form of eating disorder.
The issue came to a head in 1995 with the publication of "Little Girls in Pretty Boxes," by sports columnist Joan Ryan. In her book, Ms. Ryan alleged that gymnasts routinely starved themselves to maintain the kind of boyish, lean figures prized by judges. This practice was encouraged by Bela Karolyi, according to Ryan. (Karolyi's most successful gymnasts defend his methods.) His winning team in 1976 ushered in the era of pixie athletes.
USA Gymnastics, the sport's governing body, has since developed nutrition and wellness programs, but these are voluntary. USAG's steps have also been undercut, Ryan writes, by the fact that the International Gymnastics Federation, which raised the minimum age for Olympians to 16 in 1996, also changed the point system. Since then, athletes have had to perform more difficult and dangerous tricks to win the highest scores in competition. Only petite, prepubescent girls are able to function at this level. Breasts and hips make propulsion difficult.
Marchenko never weighs the girls who train with him, unlike some coaches who do so daily. Still, he acknowledges that judges want a certain look. And Carly, like her peers, often steps on the scale hidden near the vaults.
Others in the field, however, say the media overblow the issue of eating disorders as a problem specific to gymnastics, pointing to its rise among young girls in the general population. Olympic medalist Shannon Miller, who competed in the 2000 Games, is in this group.
"I think it's funny," she says in a phone interview, "that people write about gymnastics and don't know any better. I was eating four or five meals a day." She had to, she says, given her grueling workouts.
At 3 p.m., Carly heads back to the gym for her second workout of the day. If she struggles with a move, she may stay 30 to 60 minutes beyond what's required, just so she can nail the trick once, and then again. Marchenko must sometimes rein her in. If an athlete pushes too hard, she can cause or aggravate injuries, he says.
Marchenko, who calls Carly "Harley Davidson" because of her power, enlists the help of Carly's mother in keeping the gymnast healthy. Natalie Patterson, who was once a gymnast herself, does this by not discussing gymnastics at home.
"Home should be a refuge," Ms. Patterson says. "The gym is her life when she's at the gym, but not when she leaves. When she gets home, she starts instant-messaging her friends," most of whom are fellow gymnasts.
Patterson says her daughter is a typical teenager in many ways. She likes going to movies and the mall, and hanging out in her lime-green room. She also enjoys the family pool, but she is not allowed to aggressively swim laps.
Home isn't always a refuge from the sport, though: Mother and daughter occasionally sit down together to answer fan mail. They no longer have the time to respond personally to each writer. Instead, they send autographed pictures and a form letter.
Carly loves her two cats - Beijing and Java - and her karaoke machine, which she received as a birthday present last year. A trophy case, handmade by her grandfather, holds some of her awards, but they don't overwhelm the decor.
Her younger sister, Jordan, is not a gymnast. Patterson says she tries hard not to make Jordan feel that gymnastics rules their lives. That can be difficult, though, since the sport impacts so many areas.
Carly cannot attend a slumber party, for example. Gymnasts can't afford to be groggy for two or three days afterward. She must also refrain from inline skating or other potentially risky pursuits. Even sitting in a cold car in winter is forbidden.
Some critics of the sport say too many restrictions can carry a cost at a time of life when exposure to a broad palette of experiences is key to development. But others see an upside.
"These little girls are extremely mature," says Robert Neff, a sports psychologist in Dallas who specializes in elite athletes. "They are able to make decisions that are far beyond their years," he adds. "And they have to deal with some big issues - like overcoming fear."
Patterson and her daughter haven't discussed the future much, although Carly does think she'd like to be a dental hygienist, or an orthodontist. "I have a thing for straight, white teeth," she says.
Patterson, a registered nurse, says she is most concerned that her daughter develop good values and understand that everyone must work hard in life. She emphasizes that Carly is motivated solely by her own desire to succeed - not by her parents. "People think that parents and coaches push kids. But Carly does it [gymnastics] because she loves it. Your passion is what makes you tick."
Some of the fringe benefits aren't bad, either. In the last few months, Carly has done a photo shoot for Vogue. "The Today Show" has filmed a segment on the teen. McDonald's has placed her image on 70 million cups and bags.
But dealing with the press is an acquired skill, and lack of experience can show. At the American Cup, a reporter asked Carly if she was ready to be America's next sweetheart.
"What does 'America's sweetheart' mean?' " she asked. The journalist explained the term, and then repeated his question. "Sure," Carly answered brightly, "I like attention."
If Carly does strike gold in Athens, she will bring attention to Marchenko's methods. "It could begin to change the standard by which coaching is defined," says Carl Leland, assistant coach at the University of Denver. "People will start to gravitate toward [Marchenko's] program."
That could be a good thing, he says, since often a few heavy-handed coaches get all the attention. In fact, in his 26 years in the sport, Mr. Leland has seen "a change away from the idea of the 'master over all, cracking the whip' kind of person who stands there and yells and screams to get the results he wants."
At least this is true in the lower echelons of the gymnastics world, he says, which attracts millions of American kids - kids who will be glued to their televisions, hoping to watch Carly make history.
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