Chapter 4F - The Olympian: Alexandra Orlando - by Anne Shier (a.k.a. "Annie")

(Based on the book “Breaking Through My Limits:  An Olympian Uncovered”,

copyright 2012, by Alexandra Orlando)

As related by Ms. Orlando (from early-to-mid 2006):

Walking out after the moment they called “Canada” at the Opening Ceremonies put my senses on fire.  I didn’t want to miss a single thing.  I wanted to soak in every last detail.  It was better than I could ever have imagined, and the sheer size of the stadium made me feel like I was two feet tall with the tens of thousands of people on their feet cheering, snapping photos.  The lights were all on us, and we were the main attraction.  The feeling in the air, my teammates’ expressions, the whistling and yelling coming from all directions – you almost didn’t want to take pictures because you wanted to see it all with your own eyes.  My mouth hung open as I struggled not to be in awe of what was happening all around me.  And, as long as it took to get there, it was the opposite of how quickly it was over.

We were ushered into the middle of the stadium, and then free to run around and do whatever we wanted there.  We interacted with the other countries’ athletes and watched the rest of the nations march in.  I closed my eyes and just felt the pounding beat of the music and the buzz of people beside me.  The memory is still so fresh; it was like it happened just yesterday.  There was a CBC camera up in the press box shooting down on us, and I was given a phone and did an interview as they zoomed in from the top of the stadium.  My mom told me I’d better get on camera somehow, and I did, Mom, see?  It couldn’t have been more perfect, and it was only right then that I truly felt like an Olympian.

I wish the two weeks hadn’t flown by as fast as they did, but it was over so quickly.  All those years of waiting and training and hoping, and then it comes and goes as if it was never even there.  I competed almost at the very end of the whole thing, like usual, and it was hard to train the first week as the media was coming down on all our athletes for not winning medals.  To hear your own country put your team down was unbearable, and it was so disappointing to see them turn against us.  When we finally won that first gold medal though, everything started to flow a bit better.  People relaxed more, and the pressure started to lift. 

The second week, we were on a high.  The media was back on our side, and we picked up momentum.  You could definitely feel it when you woke up in the morning, and it was so clear whether it was a good or bad day for our team, even from sitting on the main floor in our athletes’ lounge.  The air was filled with a tension that you could cut with a knife.  All I knew was that I was having the time of my life.  My coach and I both knew that I wasn’t going for a medal here.  I had competed once all year due to my injuries, so if I made it through with four consistent, clean routines, this would be the best ending we could hope for.  So, we were both more relaxed than we had ever been at a competition together.

My coach and I went to the markets; she’d given me a day off, not wanting to push my body like we used to.  I took care of my ankles really well, and the night before my competition, we decided to go see my parents outside the athletes’ village.  I would usually never do that, but they were as much a part of this journey as I was, and I needed to see them.  I got out of the taxi and saw my parents, my aunt and uncle, and my sister standing on the street.  They ran to me, my sister jumping on me, almost knocking me over on the sidewalk, with the locals thinking we were insane.  We went to Canada Olympic House, the safe haven for all Canadian friends and family of the athletes, and sat outside and celebrated.  We were here; tomorrow, no matter what, we were here.  Seventeen years of gymnastics, and we had made it.  We were at the Olympic Games.

The next day, I was the very first competitor to compete, just my luck.  I always hated going first, and everyone knew it, but I had to smile because, of course, the one time I was first to compete in the last few years, it would have to be at the Olympics.  I remember walking towards the competition arena from the practice gym.  It was a two-minute walk, and you followed a woman who led you there.  My coach was behind me and was just as nervous as I was; and then we got to these big double doors.  The woman in front of me stepped to the side, and the doors opened up in front of me.  With a gust of wind, I could hear the crowd, see the shine of the bright lights, and feel the energy change.  For a split second, I wanted to turn around and run.  The whole world was watching. 

It hit me that, in a minute, I would be competing at the Olympic Games and nothing could have prepared me for that.  I took a deep breath, turned to look at my coach, and stepped into the arena, standing there waiting for the green flag to go up, the signal that the judges were ready, and for the announcer to call my name.    My coach put her hands on my shoulders.  I was doing this for me, for her, for my family, for anyone that supported me.  I closed my eyes and squeezed them shut.  This was it.  I went out there, and all the pain was gone.  We didn’t care about scores; we knew what I had done to get there.

Heading into the second day, I was sitting in fifteenth place, which wasn’t where I would have wanted to be, but that wasn’t the issue anymore.  For me, it was about competing and getting out there, showing everyone that you can survive the impossible; that you can come back from anything.  That next day, I did my hair for the last time, applied my makeup, and stared at myself in the mirror.  I remember being calmer than I had ever been.  My fingers weren’t shaking as I packed my bag, and I looked back over my shoulder into my room as I left, and remember thinking that the next time I would be in that room, it would be all over. 

(to be continued in Part G)

copyright 2014, Anne Shier.  All rights reserved.