Post by Admin on Jun 17, 2020 18:58:55 GMT
Like with Stuttgart, Lee found out the 2020 Tokyo Olympics had been postponed via Twitter. She took out her phone at the end of a day of practice, saw the news and cried again. "It's been our goal for 12 years now," she says.
The postponement was a tough pill to swallow for many Olympic prospects, but perhaps more so for gymnasts, who are at a particularly high risk for injury, growth spurts and burnout. Lee has dealt with her share of injuries—in fact, she credits her expertise on bars in part to frequent ankle issues—and knows that her chances depend on whether her physical and mental health holds out for another year. And the return to her previous level of fitness will be an uphill battle.
"Practice is gonna be so hard when I come back," she told her teammates on a YouTube live stream last month. "Like, I'm not even gonna know how to do anything." In a recent interview with the New York Times, she said Graba told her that for every week she's out of the gym, it will take three weeks to get back to that level. She'd been out of the gym for nine weeks.
Lee remains hopeful. The extra time could be a gift, allowing her to hone her craft before finally having the opportunity to reach "our" goal—the goal she's shared with her coaches for over a decade. It could also give her father the time he needs to recover enough to follow her to Tokyo. Nine months after the accident, John isn't walking yet, but he makes daily Zoom calls with his doctors and is determined to be well enough to make the trip, with Lee's help. "He's doing everything he can to get stronger and healthier so he can make it to the Olympics with me," she says.
If he does, and she makes the team, it could be the first time her entire family—her parents and her five siblings—sees her compete. Her siblings have never had the chance. "My whole family bought their plane tickets for the Olympics already," Lee says, laughing. "Everybody got their passports and everything."
It could be the first time a Hmong American makes the Olympics. Ever. Lee says she's received overwhelming support from the community in St. Paul, which has the country's largest Hmong American population for a city. Members of the community send her letters and have come together to fundraise for her meets. In the gym, little girls approach her and say she's the reason they started doing gymnastics. Representing Hmong Americans at the Olympics "would mean a lot to me," she says.
Now, uncertainty abounds over whether an Olympics will be held at all. If it is, Lee will have to stay steady for another year and make the team, which, thanks to the postponement, is now open for a new crop of athletes who wouldn't have been age-eligible in 2020. This creates even more competition for the four spots on Team USA.
But if Lee feels any pressure, she doesn't show it. And if she envisions more obstacles along the way to the Olympics, she doesn't seem too worried about them.
The postponement was a tough pill to swallow for many Olympic prospects, but perhaps more so for gymnasts, who are at a particularly high risk for injury, growth spurts and burnout. Lee has dealt with her share of injuries—in fact, she credits her expertise on bars in part to frequent ankle issues—and knows that her chances depend on whether her physical and mental health holds out for another year. And the return to her previous level of fitness will be an uphill battle.
"Practice is gonna be so hard when I come back," she told her teammates on a YouTube live stream last month. "Like, I'm not even gonna know how to do anything." In a recent interview with the New York Times, she said Graba told her that for every week she's out of the gym, it will take three weeks to get back to that level. She'd been out of the gym for nine weeks.
Lee remains hopeful. The extra time could be a gift, allowing her to hone her craft before finally having the opportunity to reach "our" goal—the goal she's shared with her coaches for over a decade. It could also give her father the time he needs to recover enough to follow her to Tokyo. Nine months after the accident, John isn't walking yet, but he makes daily Zoom calls with his doctors and is determined to be well enough to make the trip, with Lee's help. "He's doing everything he can to get stronger and healthier so he can make it to the Olympics with me," she says.
If he does, and she makes the team, it could be the first time her entire family—her parents and her five siblings—sees her compete. Her siblings have never had the chance. "My whole family bought their plane tickets for the Olympics already," Lee says, laughing. "Everybody got their passports and everything."
It could be the first time a Hmong American makes the Olympics. Ever. Lee says she's received overwhelming support from the community in St. Paul, which has the country's largest Hmong American population for a city. Members of the community send her letters and have come together to fundraise for her meets. In the gym, little girls approach her and say she's the reason they started doing gymnastics. Representing Hmong Americans at the Olympics "would mean a lot to me," she says.
Now, uncertainty abounds over whether an Olympics will be held at all. If it is, Lee will have to stay steady for another year and make the team, which, thanks to the postponement, is now open for a new crop of athletes who wouldn't have been age-eligible in 2020. This creates even more competition for the four spots on Team USA.
But if Lee feels any pressure, she doesn't show it. And if she envisions more obstacles along the way to the Olympics, she doesn't seem too worried about them.