I remember looking out over the horizon. The sun was just rising and rays of pink were kissing the calm blue of the Alboran Sea. My body ached as we ran down the beach towards our coaches standing at the edge of the lookout-heart pounding, feet digging into the sand with every step. It was day three of training camp.
I began my career in rhythmic gymnastics when I was five years old. During a recreational class at my local church, the head coaches of my former gymnastics club scouted me and brought me to join its provincial team. The training was tough, but nothing unexpected for an athlete. We practiced nine to 12 hours a week, travelled to competitions across Ontario, and, if we competed well, our team returned with medals. However, the definition of 'well' seemed to change over the years. While rhythmic gymnastics is judged based on three categories—difficulty of elements, artistic value, and execution of the performance—the interpretation of these categories is often subjective, leading to judging politics and what seemed like alliances formed by clubs.
This aspect of interpretation made competition difficult. While the sport primarily rewarded athleticism—the girls who had more difficult tricks and executed more challenging elements did tend to receive higher scores—its aestheticism left room for judgment beyond who could run the fastest, or who could jump the highest. Factors such as who captivated the audience, who smiled more, or whose costume was shinier, suddenly had an impact. When judging became arbitrary, looking good on the carpet became important. It was hot, and we were sitting in a circle on the soft carpets of the gymnasium. The ceilings of our high performance training facility stretched for yards, the air holding its breath in anticipation of the whiz of ribbons piercing the open space and the loud clack of clubs. It was unlike any other facility I had ever seen in Canada.
The older girls sat behind the younger ones, pinning their hair up in buns. By now, we were used to the sharp jabs of the bobby pins and mentally preparing for the morning warm up. One of our coaches approached us and took an older girl aside. I couldn't tell what they were talking about—more than half the team also spoke Russian—but Jessica* returned with red eyes and silently started our stretches. It was only several hours later that I found out Jessica had been deemed too large for the group she was competing with; it was her responsibility to shed weight over the next few weeks of camp. What didn't make sense to me was that Jessica and I were practically the same size.
Stemming from these situations is an ugly side of rhythmic gymnastics. In stark contrast to the elegance of bodies moving in tandem, or the breathless arch of a ribbon tossed into the air, lurks a dangerous pressure to maintain a slim physique and exude a perfect performance. Within my own team, I watched several girls struggle with mental health issues intertwined with the messages we were sent during training camps. Listening to a coach tell another gymnast to slim down can only make you wonder whether you should be doing it, too.
