I wouldn’t have allowed her to touch another uneven bar, floor mat, pommel horse–whatever.
Certainly not in London. Maybe not for the rest of ’12.
Because she had nowhere to go bot to fall on her tush.
Just as she did today–figuratively–finishing dead last in the unevens, an event at which she typically soars.
But who could be surprised? I wasn’t.
It was enough that she was suddenly the girl on top of the mountain–a very dangerous place to be whether at the Olympics or at back at high school. Suddenly she was the target, the potential notch on the tiny belt of every other woman in the competition.
Moreover, she she suddenly had to deal with the asinine silliness about her hair, and the unfortunate news of her mom’s bankruptcy filing, and, well, dang, she’s just 16.
Gabby will have to content with more than a mountain of love from us when she returns home. Enough love to choke a kid. More love than we can imagine.
It’s the “price,” as one columnist eloquently stated today.
True. So why add to the bill by making her compete again when her heart and head are clearly still dealing with the good, the bad and the silly of success?
Take a seat, Gabby. Cheer your teammates. Rest. You’ll need it.