Mustafina’s generation is the final one I saw compete live. The last comp I attended in person was the 2013 European Championships in Moscow.
Before that I had seen Mustafina in 2010 at the Europeans, in 2012 in Brussels for Euros and in London for the Olympics (thrilling).
My first World Championships I had travelled to was in 1987, Rotterdam. Before that, I had been attending the competitions and displays at Wembley, from 1976. I went to most of the Europe based major competitions through to 1992 (but not the Barcelona Olympics). Then on and off until 2013. (Unless she was in the audience, or working as a flower girl or runner, I have never seen Melnikova perform live.)
Gymnastics became less compelling to me after that, the competitions became louder and the costs higher. A gymnastics competition in Moscow in 2013 had more in common with gymnastics at Wembley in 1980 than it did with the 2009 World Championships, when world gymnastics events were beginning to become marketised. Professional staging, kiss and cry and pyrotechnics are part of the game now, but the star of the show for yonks was the gymnastics, and the personalities shone in a different, more magical and natural way.
I preferred it when gymnastics was attended to with hushed awe, thrilled applause and difficult-to-pronounce skill names than today’s mixture of cheerleading, false smiles and bald descriptions of Mickey Mouse moves. Even so, my Western extrovert behaviour is bigger and brasher than it was in Moscow: I got glared at for enthusiastically cheering Sam Oldham’s high bar routine. Russia appreciated the gymnastics but seriously, like finishing reading a Tolstoy novel. Why the noise for a work of such beauty? Let it sink in … !
In 1987, in Rotterdam for Worlds, I stayed in a tiny cabin on a canal boat, with a shared bathroom at the end of the corridor and schoolkids in the room next door. I could hear every word. It was worth a little discomfort to see Shushunova and Dobre. But by 2013 I needed a little comfort, and comfort costs. Today, I need luxury or my own bed.
Travelling to Moscow for a competition was thrilling. It’s the small things you remember: the official who helped me down to my spot in the press stand, getting an electric shock from the desk there but not reporting it in case they cut the wifi, meeting Brigid McCarthy (the Couch Gymnast). The cheese and potato pies that were my staple for a few days, and the lady in the grocery store/deli who helped me to shop for some salad so that I actually ate some proper food finally on the third day of my visit. Realising that apples and fruit and salad vegetables were luxuries that you had to buy in a Western style ‘luxury’ store, at least in the part of Moscow I visited.
The breakfasts in my hotel were good and had lots of variety.
I spent hardly any money for the first five days of my stay, living off breakfasts, snacks, and the salads I bought from the grocery (the food was tasty). Then on the final two days, shopping at a luxury store, eating at a tourist restaurant (the poorest quality food I had in Moscow), and buying souvenirs meant I went home with only a few Roubles in my pocket.
I experienced Soviet style, Monty Pythonesque bureaucracy in a branch of the Bank of the Urals and discovered that room service has a whole different meaning in Moscow. I got lost on the Metro and had a conversation in my poor Russian and sign language with a driver of a vodka delivery who had obviously never met an English person before and was thrilled to speak with me. I sat in the stands with Russian gym fans, gave them paper to write on, and felt thoroughly welcome. I sat feet away from Mustafina and her family. I met and spoke with Larissa Latynina, and handed her books from Vladimir Zaglada.
I recognised the marching music as being identical to that used at the 1980 Olympics. I walked round the Olympic Stadium and looked out across the Moscow skyline. I visited Red Square and stood there, amazed at the size of the sky, unable to take in the significance of all the history around me. There is somehow nowhere in the world as real and mythical as Moscow.
It is a long way from home, but only five hours on a plane. It smells completely different to anywhere else I have visited, an unforgettable mixture of wood lacquer and fennel and something mysterious. I never felt more abroad than I did in Moscow, but I somehow felt it was hugely familiar, too.
I saw Afanasyeva run to her family with joy on her face after she won the gold on FX. She had performed in front of an audience of dignitaries, politicians, coaches and - her family, the most important. Mustafina won the AA in her usual magical way, digging out the best when it mattered. She too shared her happiness with her family, but I also saw her pout and frown at Valentina. She wanted a few days off with her boyfriend, Pasha. Valentina wanted her back in the gym. I don’t know who won the argument, but it seemed hard on both sides.
I realised that competing at home for a Russian is very special. There is a very strong community of belonging and identity in Russian gymnastics. They understand gymnastics differently and more deeply than in other parts of the world. Although I can’t claim to be fluent in Russian, I do feel I have slightly more than a rudimentary grasp of this sporting language and culture, after a lifetime of observing and reading and travelling. But we are barred from Russia now, because of the war. It’s sad.
2013 was probably the best year to visit Russia. It was beginning to feel open then, people were relaxed and happy and we could communicate. It’s indescribably sad to feel that Russia is sinking back into isolation. I doubt I will be able to visit the country again. I’m 64 now and it feels as though we are a long way from peace.
So let’s pray for peace. It’s the only thing that is good for all. Pray for Ukraine, and pray for the good in Russia too. Peace will be the only cure. That’s the only thing I can say.
And here’s what I started with, and what this post was supposed to be about - Aliya winning her gold medal in Moscow, in 2013.
Comments
Post a Comment