Anne's English Resume (version J)

10 Billingsgate Crescent Ajax, Ontario L1S 2R8

Cell Ph.:  (416) 458-4968 E-mail: anne.shier652@gmail.com

Anne L. Shier                        

Summary of qualifications	Secondary School Teacher  - Toronto District School Board §  full-time teacher from September 2000 to June 2015 (then retired) : §  Taught Computer Programming (Grades 10–12), Computer    Engineering / Technology (Grades 10–12), Systems Analysis and Design (OAC), Desktop and Internet Publishing (Grade 12), Business Technology (Grades 9 and 10), and Career Studies (Grade 10) §  Am well acquainted with Java, Turing and C / C++ languages §  Have a solid knowledge of computer networking technologies §  Graduated from Seneca College of A.A.&T. with a Computer Programming and Analysis 3-year (advanced) diploma (1996) and minored in English literature (5 credits with an A average) §  Achieved a certificate from Ryerson University (8 credits) in Information  Systems Management (awarded in Spring 2009) Technical Systems Analyst / Programmer Analyst §  Worked for RBC, Systems and Technology department for 2+ years as a Programmer/Analyst and Technical Systems Analyst on the mainframe
Professional experience	1996 to 1997               Seneca College – School of Computer                                      Studies - Don Mills Campus Full-time Teaching Assistant: ·               Tutored in Applied Problem Solving (Math) for 3 semesters ·               Tutored in C Programming for 2 semesters 1997 to 1999                 Seneca College – School of Computer Studies – Newnham Campus Part-Time Instructor: ·               Taught Applied Problem Solving for 2 semesters ·               Taught Introduction to Computer Systems and C Programming for 2 semesters ·               Taught Introduction to Computer Systems (including Web Page Design and Programming concepts) for 1 semester 1997 to 1998               RBC Financial Group – Systems and                                     Technology Department (Royal Direct                                     Telephone Banking System) Full-Time Programmer/Analyst: ·            Worked in Mainframe Host Group – Aug./97 to Dec./98 ·               Engaged in Y2K planning and testing  ·               Revised and tested various DB2 database programs   ·               Resolved production problems, as required ·               Set up new personnel with DB2 access, as required ·               Wrote an online DB2 program to search the Company table ·               Worked on various projects and implementations ·               Revised the online Operations Manual. 1998 to 1999               RBC Financial Group – Systems and                                    Technology Department (Indirect Lending                                     System) Full-Time Technical Systems Analyst: ·             Worked as Mainframe Host Person – Dec./98 to Nov./99: ·               Engaged in Y2K testing ·               Revised and tested various online IMS programs ·               Worked on a major implementation (a special report) ·               Resolved numerous production problems ·               Revised the online Operations Manual
Professional memberships	Ontario Secondary School Teachers’ Federation (OSSTF), Ontario College of Teachers (OCT), Association of Computer Studies Educators of Ontario (ACSE), and Institute of Canadian Bankers (ICB)
Skills and Accomplishments	·         Excellent English verbal and written skills as required for teaching and creative writing ·         Excellent presentation skills using MS-Office software ·         Excellent research skills used to find relevant information on the Web ·         Excellent web design skills for making personal web sites ·         Acquired knowledge of  HTML, PHP, and JavaScript for making dynamic web pages
Hobbies	Past karaoke singing, listening to music, watching TV and DVD movies, photography, traveling within Canada and abroad, reading novels and writing short stories
Interests &     activities	Being an actively-involved grandmother; maintaining and updating my own personal short story blogs, publishing 2 books of short stories:  My Short Stories (Book One) and My Short Stories (Book Two), and working at being the best teacher I could possibly be at the high school level regardless of subject area
Volunteer experience	Assistant / Head Judge in Ontario and Alberta (10 years);  Women’s Gymnastics Judging Assistant at the World University Games in Edmonton, Alberta in 1983 (Universiade’83);  St. John’s Ambulance Brigade member (3 years);  Assistant / Head Coach for 3 amateur sports clubs / teams (7-8 years in total)
Awards received	The Tom Proctor Business Communications Award for Seneca College – 1994; The School of Computer Studies Scholarship for Seneca College – 1995; Associate of the Institute of Canadian Bankers (AICB) designation – 2005

Chapter 4G - 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):

My family was sitting in the stands wearing their “Team Alex” shirts, with a Canadian flag draped around their shoulders.  They had flown halfway around the world for me, and it was all coming to an end now.  A huge banner was draped over the side of the stands with my name on it from a Canadian family that had also travelled halfway around the world to see me.  In a few short hours, I would be sitting back in this room having competed at my first Olympics, and my last competition ever.  I needed a moment to gather my thoughts.

I thought of the little girl who was told that she would never be good enough.  I thought of the little girl who was told that she was too fat to ever make it to the Olympics.  I thought of the woman who was strong enough to battle back.  I thought about my injuries and the stress I had put on my body.  And, I thought about all the sacrifices everyone had made for me.  I saw my family.  This was for them.  I taped up my ankles and went out there for the very last time.  I heard my name being called: “Alexandra Orlando, Canada”.  The Canadian flag was next to my name on the scoreboard, and I felt the carpet underneath my feet and heard the sound of my breath before the music started, and the hush of the crowd for that millisecond before I would start moving.  And then I played.

The judges’ eyes were on me, and it was over as fast as it had begun.  I heard the cheering, I waved to the crowd, but inside, I didn’t know what to feel; I could barely smile.  I had made one mistake in my final event and felt so discouraged, so upset as I walked off the carpet.  I tried so hard not to be upset, to tell myself to enjoy what I had done, to enjoy this incredible moment knowing that I had put it all out there, and should have no regrets.  But, I couldn’t help it; it was not perfect. 

So, I dropped from fifteenth place, and my coach told me to stop being upset and to smile, and that I was done.  But, I couldn’t.  The cameras were in front of me and I was scared that if I tried to smile, I would break down in tears.  I’m not sure if it was the mistake I’d made or the fact that I was done, and that it wasn’t the competition of my lifetime.  It wasn’t Worlds, which was still the highlight of my career.  Nothing would ever top that.  I guess I had an idea of what Beijing was really going to be like, but sure wasn’t that.

We all imagine things a certain way sometimes, and watch it play out in our heads, expecting to feel a certain way.  But, this wasn’t a Cinderella story.  As I walked through the mixed zone, there were a million camera men calling out girls’ names and asking for their comments and the Canadian media wanted me.  A very good friend of mine, a reporter for CBC Sports, called me over and asked about my family and what it felt like to have them there.  I lost it then.  I could barely speak, choking back my tears. 

I knew that I owed everything to them in that moment.  I had never wanted to disappoint them, and I thought I had.  My parents would kill me for thinking this, but it’s true.  I stood there under the bright lights with a microphone in my face, and told them I loved them.  And I knew that they would always love me regardless of whether I won a medal or not, and they were so proud of me.  I wiped away the tears and kept moving through the zone, getting pulled for one more interview.  Lights, camera, action:  “Alexandra, how does it feel to not live up to expectations?”  I felt like I just got punched in the stomach; I took one look at this little man, so tempted to punch him in the face, and smiled instead.  I had to laugh, “I don’t live up to anyone’s expectations but my own,” I said, and walked away, out of the gym and out of that world forever.  And, as I walked away, I realized that I really believed that.

I went back to the athletes’ village immediately, but couldn’t face my family yet.  I needed to be upset.  I needed to get my frustration out.  I had so many emotions running through my body that I needed to be on my own.  I needed to cry if I wanted to.  I needed to take a burning hot shower and sing at the top of my lungs, and I needed to be around athletes who were going through what I was.

My family thought I could do no wrong and I know that I should have been happy, but my career was over in a way that I didn’t choose or have control over.  I didn’t have a say in the matter.  I was injured, which meant I couldn’t compete to the best of my ability, and now it was over – no redemption, no second chance.  Not the fairytale ending every little athlete dreams of, but perfection was never the name of the game for me. I went to the Closing Ceremonies and celebrated with my team.  All that passion, all that frustration, it was all exposed.  When my family flew home, I stayed in China.

When those final days wound down and everyone was packing up and leaving, I sent my suitcases home and I flew to Shanghai and Hong Kong.  I needed this trip to be on my own, to stay in a hotel and tour unknown cities, and to be practically invisible.  I didn’t have to talk to anyone; I didn’t have to do anything.  I wanted to avoid the post-Olympic syndrome once you get home and are faced with a million questions.  I needed a break, and I needed it all to blow over.  I had to get ready for the next phase of my life, the next chapter where everything was going to be different, and I needed to let that sink in.

For the last seventeen years, all I had known was rhythmic gymnastics, which was as much a part of my life as breathing.  It wasn’t all that I was, but it made me the woman I had become.  It had given me such highs and lows that I didn’t know if I would ever feel them again.  I didn’t know if there would be something in my life that would ever be as extreme as my career in sport was; and I was scared of never finding it again, or finding out whom I was without it.

(end of Chapter 4:  “The Olympian” – Chapter 5 is called “Rock Bottom”)

copyright 2014, Anne Shier.  All rights reserved.

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.

Chapter 4E - 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):

Then, it was finally time.  I remember the day before my flight to China.  I was sitting in my living room with my mom packing, and was so excited that I couldn’t stop talking.  It was happening.  Finally, my dream was coming true.  I must have pinched myself a million times to make sure I was awake, and if I could have run with my injured ankles, I would have run all the way to the gate in the airport.  My coach and I wore our Canada jackets so proudly as we boarded the Boeing 747 heading straight to Beijing, and my mom took pictures of us walking through security.  The next time she would see me I would be competing at the Olympic Games.  I remember thinking that I must have been living a dream.  This couldn’t actually be happening…but it was.

From that moment on, I was in heaven.  From the very first step outside the airport in Beijing, the humidity hit me, and I knew I had arrived.  The sweat dripped down my back, and my hair began to curl in the heat.  Even though I’d been to multi-sport Games before, nothing compared to the feeling of driving up to the athletes’ village for the first time, to see the Olympic rings everywhere, and to wear your accreditation around your neck, proudly branded an Olympian.  Nothing could get me down now, no injury, and no bad training.

The village was like a city with its own buses and streets weaving around all the apartment buildings and facilities.  There was everything you could have imagined at your fingertips:  a gym, a training pool, a leisure pool, a shopping mall, an international zone, video game lounges, Internet lounges, meeting places, pool rooms and basketball nets.  There was a river running through it too, and beautiful, decorative pieces and sculptures everywhere you turned.  It did feel like we were in China, but in our own little world within it.  The cafeteria was the biggest I’ve ever seen, open 24 hours a day with more food than we would ever need.  I stayed away from the McDonald’s until after I was done competing – it was too tempting.

Everything was so organized and well run, I felt like I was staying at a resort not an athletes’ village.  I lucked out and stayed in a three-person suite in which two girls had opted to stay out of the village in order to focus, so I had this huge room to myself for the entire Games.  It was perfect.  I immediately draped my huge Canadian flag over my balcony and hit the streets to explore.  You could rent bikes during the day, and ride around and get out into the city to clear your head.  I loved every second of my Olympic experience, even with my two taped ankles.  My coach and I were so relaxed because up until a month ago, there was a very real possibility that we wouldn’t even be here. 

We were celebrating in our own right.  It was a miracle.  Every day before training, I would get my ankles taped up by the medical centre, and my physiotherapy team became my family.  I had one very special woman travel with me to and from the venues, making sure that I had everything I needed.  She was a miracle worker.  Without her, I never would have felt as comfortable as I did with all that tape on, holding my ankles together.  She took away as much pain as she could, and I will be forever grateful for that.

After a few days of acclimatization, it was finally Opening Ceremonies.  This was the moment that I had been waiting for my entire life.  When I was a little girl, I would stay up and watch the opening ceremonies of the Olympics live, wherever they were in the world.  I knew that I was going to be one of those people out on the track, that I would be an athlete.  And here I was, seventeen years later, realizing my dream.  I was going to be one of the people I used to idolize, and maybe even inspire future athletes sitting at home in Canada, watching us walk behind our flag.  All I remember wanting to know so badly was how the track felt under my feet, and what it sounded like to walk on it.  For years, I imagined the sensation.  My whole body was tingling with excitement. 

We were ushered into the arena beside the Bird’s Nest (the main stadium), and sat there with all the other countries’ athletes, waiting for our turn to make the long, slow walk to the main stadium where we would finally have our moment.  It felt like hours to wait, and the energy was infectious.  Each country would be called to start lining up and heading over.  Finally, it was Canada’s turn.

The heat was unbearable as thousands of athletes were crammed all together in a gigantic line outside that weaved its way toward the stadium.  We could hear the crowd and the performers as we got closer and closer.  Team Canada was wearing white, and in the heat, it was all turning see-through.  No one anticipated that we would be standing outside in the humidity for hours, but there were no complaints.  It was the Opening Ceremonies of the Olympic Games.  This was what we had dreamed of.  We got to a waiting spot where they handed out food and water, and the anticipation was draining us as it felt like we would never get there.  And then, the sights and sounds were so close, you got goose bumps.  

The opening to the arena was just in front of us, and it was our turn next.  It looked like we were going into a dark tunnel before emerging into the middle of the madness.  It got quiet all of a sudden when we entered the building, as if we all knew it was coming.  Then, without media cameras present, without any other countries, without anyone but Team Canada, someone started singing “O Canada” in the dark tunnel.  It was so raw and beautiful that we all joined in.  It was just us Canadians in that moment, so proud to be Canadian, so honoured, so inspired.  No matter what happened, no matter if you won a medal or not, whether you had the performance of your lifetime or you didn’t, we could all sleep at night knowing we were a part of this team.  Together we were strong, we were one.  When we walked out into the spotlight, we knew that we’d never get a moment like that all together again, and it is something that I will hold in my heart forever.

(to be continued in Part F)

Copyright 2014, Anne Shier.  All rights reserved.

Chapter 4D - 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):

The next few weeks I couldn’t train.  I couldn’t do anything.  I lived in the clinic.  I did physiotherapy, acupuncture, all different kinds of treatments, trying anything that might help.  There was an ice bath permanently attached to my body, which I carried around with me.  Every time someone new would come in and see my ankle, their eyes would open wide, and I could see what was going on in their mind: there’s no way she is competing at the Olympics.  I refused to believe it.  If I didn’t compete all year I’d be fine; as long as I had two months, I could get ready for the Games.  It didn’t matter how I was going to compete now, it was just about being able to compete when it mattered.  Ironically enough, I met the greatest people while I was in rehab, like Ohenewa Akuffo, a female wrestler healing up for the Games, Perdita Felicien, the Canadian hurdling queen, and Nicole Forrester, high jump Olympian.  All these women were so strong and so positive that I couldn’t help but feel inspired.

We spent almost every day together that summer, and if it weren’t for them, I don’t know if I would have found the strength to make it through this.  To not have my coach by my side helping me through it was horrible enough.  She was so far away, and could even imagine telling her what I had done.  I didn’t want her to know, and couldn’t bear to see how distraught she would be.  Everything that was so right the year before had suddenly become so wrong.  I had everyone I knew praying for me.  I missed all the major tournaments, and was even able to compete at my last national championships.  It was awful.  I couldn’t even tell people how bad my injury was because I didn’t want to spark rumours that maybe I shouldn’t be going to the Games after all.

It was not how I expected my last year in the sport to be at all, to never compete in front of a home crowd again, not to say a proper goodbye to the community that I loved so much.  It broke my heart, but I had to tell myself that it was all a test, a test to see how strong I was.  If I got through this, I could get through anything.  Sure enough, my ankle was getting better, to the point that I could tape it up so tightly that my ligaments were held together, and I could get back into the gym.  The pain would always be there and I had to accept that, but as long as it stayed in one piece I could train.  I was alone though; no coach, no supervision.

The first week, I was pushing it a little every day and was gaining confidence.  I decided to start jumping, and on one of my first attempts, sprained my other ankle.  I collapsed to the floor and screamed out to no one.  I was alone, and crawled to the phone thinking that this was it, it was all over.  Every inch that I slid closer to the phone, the pain pierced through my ankle and up my legs.  I willed myself to stop panicking as it was getting harder and harder for me to breathe.  The panic in my voice oozed out of me, and I didn’t even sound like myself.  I called my doctor and he told me to come in immediately, so I bandaged myself up with whatever I had handy and somehow drove to the clinic.  His face said it all.  It was a sprain.  I either had the worst luck, or someone didn’t want me to go to the Olympics. 

Treatment after treatment, I’d stay there for countless hours on end until I could finally get back into the gym with both ankles now taped, practically cutting off the circulation to my calves.  But, I didn’t care, and I made sure not to jump until a few weeks before the Olympics.  I didn’t even train full-out until I competed.  It was all a big secret that no one even knew, all an elaborate ruse to make sure that judges didn’t catch wind of the fact that I was hurt, or else it could damage their opinions of me coming into the Olympics.  I wouldn’t be seen as just a contender anymore.

The second I could train again, I was on a plane to Spain to be with my coach, but I was still in so much pain that I could barely walk when I took the tape off.  It was the worst pain of my life.  I would run ice cold baths and keep my feet permanently in them, closing my eyes and praying that I would step out and be miraculously cured.  I’d dream of waking up and jumping out of bed being able to walk without a limp.  My coach came back to Toronto for a month so that I could be at home with my family and teammates while I prepared for the moment I’d been waiting for over the past seventeen years.  I just never thought it would be in this way - I would be in a medical clinic more than in the actual gym.  But that’s life, no sense in crying about it. I did what I had to do.

We did a little test run right before the Olympics at a small competition in Bulgaria, and I was cautious, but it was good to get out there and compete again.  It went surprisingly well, better than I thought, and it gave me my confidence back.  I could survive, I could do this, and I travelled with my beautiful teammate Demi for that last competition, that last leg of my career.  I don’t know if she realized what a special time that was for me, but it was an end of an era.  She was so young, so full of promise and potential. 

I hoped that I helped to show her that she could do whatever she set her mind to.  You could be different and still excel, and you could even laugh in the face of the impossible.  She took my mind off my injuries, and we had so much fun together.  We laughed and cried, and had the most ridiculous conversations.  I needed her with me for support, and I will always thank her for coming all the way from Vancouver to train and compete for one last competition of the season that she did not have to do.  She took time out of her preparation for the next year to be with me, to help me gain back my confidence.  Keep smiling, love.  You are so beautiful inside and out.

(to be continued in Part E)

copyright 2014 , Anne Shier.  All rights reserved.

Chapter 4C - 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):

We celebrated all night long, and it’s a memory that I can still see so vividly.  Team Canada ate dinner at this beautiful restaurant outside on the water, with music and wine flowing all evening.  We all over-indulged.  We could finally relax.  I was going to the Olympics; Canada was going to the Olympics.  All I wanted to do was jump up and down on my bed and scream at the top of my lungs, but I didn’t get to celebrate too long.  The very next day I was in meetings with our national team advisor and my coach, making plans for Beijing.  So now the goal was to make the final and finish in the top ten.  The plans were all set in motion, and felt like they were going ahead without me.  I was stuck in Greece, and I wanted to stay there.  I had never imagined what it would actually be like if I qualified: what would that mean?  What was going to happen?  It all suddenly caught up to me so quickly about the responsibility I had as North America’s only Olympian in my sport, and it brought with it so much more pressure into my life.

I wish I could look back on that year and say it was the best year of my life.  I wish I could say that I had the fairytale Olympic experience.  But, I can’t.  Deep down I know that things in your life happen for a reason no matter how discourag-ing or dark.  For a long time I couldn’t believe how unfair things had turned out for me.  Within a few short weeks, my life turned upside down again.  One thing I have learned through all of this is that the unexpected and the unfair can happen at any time.  When you don’t want things to change, that’s when they do.  You have to learn to adapt and pick yourself up as fast as you can.  There’s sometimes nothing you can do about it but accept it and move on.  Figure out a new game plan, a way of making something out of it you never thought possible.  If I’ve learned anything at all from my life in sport it’s that things don’t happen the way you want them to.  You don’t get everything you want, and just because you worked hard doesn’t mean someone else isn’t better.  Life can be brutally harsh, but it’s how you deal with it that matters.  It’s how you deal with it that makes you the type of person you are.

When we all got back from Greece and the dust had settled, my coach gave me some pretty big news.  She was moving to Spain.  This was something that had been in the works for a while, a position that she couldn’t turn down.  In Canada, there is no national team coach position, no salary.  She was surviving and supporting herself on what her gymnasts paid her.  Money was always a problem, and coaching was never as glamorous as I’d always thought it was.  My parents needed a whole extra salary just to cover my costs, including how we were going to fund my coach to travel with me, and who was going to pay for what.  The little funding that we received from the Federal Government barely covered a plane ticket per month.  I would get a cheque for $1,500 every month, which would not even cover the cost of two competitive gym suits.  I had about four to six a year, not to mention the plane tickets to Europe for myself, my coach, and my judge.  This amounted to a career that could cost up to $60,000 a year.  That $1,500 was looking pretty small then.  I would rely on grants and charities to help my family out, so I understood why my coach had to go.  I understood, but I couldn’t help but feel lost.

She was treated like a queen over in Spain, given an apartment near the beach, a car, and an incredible facility to train the girls.  As much as I didn’t want things to change and to see her go, she had to.  I was only going to be around until the Olympics, and she had her whole life to think of afterwards.  She is, without a doubt, one of the greatest coaches in the world, so it looked like I was to pack my bags and head to Spain.  Training in Toronto by myself or with other coaches was not working.  I wasn’t pushing myself, and a new coach would never want to change your style or your routines, especially a gymnast at my level, because they wouldn’t want to interfere.  So I just coasted along until I got to Spain to stay with my coach, but it put my development back more than we ever figured it would. 

I think everyone was telling themselves that this new arrangement would work for me, that everything would be fine.  But, it wouldn’t be.  She couldn’t be at every competition with me because of her new job and the responsibilities that came with it.  I ended up being passed around from coach to coach, and it was awkward and uncomfortable for me.  And then the worst happened.  I was nowhere near the shape I was in a few short months ago when I qualified for the Olympics.  I was slower, not as sharp, off my game.  I needed to focus and get back to that discipline, find that drive and edge, and she was the only one that could bring it out in me.

In February, I was at my first competition of the season in Portugal, with five months until the Olympic Opening Ceremonies.  I was finishing up my last event when I went to launch myself into a turning jump with my body arched backwards.  I slipped on the takeoff, but my body was already starting to go through the motions without the air height, and I landed on my ankle, cracking it.  I fell to the floor and I couldn’t move.  I was paralyzed, and the pain was unbearable.  I lay there in the middle of the floor in front of hundreds of people, and the reaction of the dead silent crowd summoned a paramedic.  I tried to get up, but couldn’t stand.  My ankle bone was lifeless, and I thought I had broken it.  The fear that washed over me then was unbearable.  In a few seconds, I may have just given up the last seventeen years of my life.  They rushed me to the hospital with our national team advisor, but not my coach.  She wasn’t there.  I was so scared and alone but didn’t want to show it.

The hospital was filled with the moans of people in pain and a smell that I will never be able to express in words.  People with blood all over them sat beside me in trauma.  I had to get out of there.  I wrapped up my ankle by myself and got on the first flight home to Toronto, straight to the best sports doctor we knew in the city.  I had to fly back completely by myself carrying all my bags on my broken ankle.  I was one of the worst experiences of my life: no one to help me, no crutches, and every limp filled with pain, making me sick to my stomach.

Dragging my bags behind me every inch took enough strength to move a mountain.  I didn’t think I was going to make it, and I was so lucky that I was squeezed in to see this doctor back home as he was doing me a favour, and I owe him my life.  I have never been so scared than I was in those few months. 

I had to be able to compete in Beijing, that wasn’t an option.  I was going to the Olympics.  I had come so far, I wasn’t going to sit by and watch someone else take my spot again.  The hardest part was keeping positive, but that was a struggle I fought every day, some days coming out victorious, and some breaking my heart.

As the doctor examined my ankle for the first time, he pressed into my torn ligaments and my whole body broke out into a sweat, with my face going beet red.  He pressed in repeatedly to find out how many I had torn, and how badly I had torn them, and my body reacted to his touch, fighting my gag reflex.  He then let go and told me I had torn three ligaments and needed to be in treatment every day.  I would do anything, I said, just fix me.  He smiled and promised me he would.

(to be continued in Part D)

copyright 2014, Anne Shier.  All rights reserved.

            

Chapter 4B - 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):

I went back to the athletes’ village a different person.  Everyone had seen what had happened.  They were watching it on YouTube by the time I was back in my room – the whole Canadian team was aware that I had been disqualified, that the title I wanted, the dream of being the Pan American champion, was gone.  I went to the cafeteria and ate dinner, fuming.  I was so angry I put my fork through the Styrofoam plate and dented the table.  No one would talk to me.  It was deadly quiet all around me, with everyone whispering behind my back, but too scared to approach me.  I couldn’t even look at myself in the mirror.

Stef was competing the next day and had a shot for a medal, but I didn’t want to go and watch someone else take the title that I knew could have been mine.  Yet I knew that I had to support her, and I wanted her to do well, so I sucked up my pride, my hurt, and my anger, and I went the next day and watched the entire competition.  Stef did so well despite having had to deal with me as a teammate and the disappointment of our entire team, and I was so proud of her.  I trained in the back while they were finishing up, putting everything I had in me out on the carpet.   All the volunteers sat and watched me.  I had become Brazil’s sweetheart: the human interest story of the Games.  Everyone backed me and supported me.  They were with me, and I can’t quite describe what that feels like to have a community of people that don’t know you at all, rally behind you and believe in you.  It was so powerful, and it gave me the strength to stand tall.

I was still eligible to compete in three finals the next day, and I wanted gold…and that’s exactly what I got:  three gold medals.  The Canadian national anthem played three times in a row, but I was still not happy; as horrible as that is to admit, I wanted five golds.  And, I knew I could have had them.  Another athlete and friend of mine had to knock some sense into me, which I desperately needed, and I thank him for that.  He told me how incredible it was just to have one gold, let alone three.  “Snap out of it, grow up and be proud of yourself,” he said.  Some athletes only dream of doing what I did.  When I took the blinders off and stepped out of the gymnastics bubble, I got it. 

I saw what I had done, and the accomplishment that it really was.  I was the most decorated athlete at the Games, and was asked to be Canada’s flag bearer again at the Closing Ceremonies.  It put so much into perspective for me.  So it was just a title, so what!  In the end, what did that matter?  I knew what I had done, and I was in the best shape of my career, the most skilled and consistent.  When had anything ever been easy for me?  This was my time.

World Championships were held that year in a little town in Greece called Patras.  After the emotional whirlwind of Brazil, I wanted to compete more before I would try and qualify for the Olympics for the last time.  We ended up setting up a six-week trip that would take me to Slovenia, Germany and Bulgaria for three world cups and a training camp before I set foot in the Mediterranean.  My teammates, Stef and Ali, met me in Germany. 

Those six weeks were perfect for me.  I was making finals at world cups, consistently in the top fifteen, and training well.  Maybe after all this time, this was really my Games, and not Athens.  By the time we got to Greece, we were a well-oiled machine.  Out hotel overlooked the water, and the cool breeze coming in off the waves brought a calming feeling to all of us.  This was my third world championships, and I knew what to expect.  I knew the people, the teams, and the competition.  I was a veteran now, no longer that young girl, the up and coming gymnast learning as she went.  I was now teaching the others.

I knew how things were going to go; I could go through the motions without my nerves creeping up.  We competed one event per day, and after the fourth day, the top twenty would qualify for the Beijing Olympics.  All our parents decided to make the trip to see us, and it could have been the last time for all of us that we were out there.  This was a special trip, one they didn’t want to miss.  After the first few days, things were looking good, but I knew all too well that one day could make the biggest difference, and things could slip out of your hands within the blink of an eye. 

I was in my element, and performed to the best of my ability; that’s all I could do.  It was the highlight of my career.  I sat in the kiss-and-cry with my coach after my last routine, where you wait with cameras in your face to see your score, ready to capture your most personal reaction.  I was near the end of the pack this time as everyone else had finished competing, and my ranking would tell us if I was in or not.  When the score came up, I went into complete shock.  I couldn’t see my name at first, and in a fit of panic, I turned to my coach frantically:  “Why couldn’t I see my name?”  But, I was looking too far down.  “Look up,” she said.  I had placed ninth overall, and had not only qualified for the Olympics as the only North or South American athlete, but finished in the top ten – something no other Canadian gymnast had done in 24 years.  It was a surreal moment.  Nothing else mattered after that.  I had done it.  We had done it.  My coach embraced me and I could feel her heart beating out of her chest.  She was so happy.  Four years of heartbreak came pouring out of me.  Everyone was crying tears of happiness and relief all around me.  I had finally done it, put Canada on the map in a way that hadn’t been done in so long.

I showed girls everywhere that you didn’t have to be a size zero to make it in this sport.  You don’t have to kill yourself and your body to gain respect from your competitors.  You can be strong and lean and muscular.  You can be your own person, and be different.  When I was younger, I was told I would never make it as a rhythmic gymnast, that I didn’t have the right body type.  I was too big.  I was talented, but would never make it to the Olympic level.  “Give up and try something else,” that person would say.  I think back to that person now and smile.  No matter how many times people don’t believe in you, if you believe in yourself, you can break down barriers.  My sport wasn’t used to gymnasts like me, but I made them all accept me.  I didn’t let it break me.  It hurt to be seen as different for so many years, fighting against who I am; but, in the end, I wouldn’t change one thing.  If I showed one young girl that she can be anything she wants to be, then it was worth it.  You don’t have to look like the women in magazines to get ahead, to find love, to be happy.  You can be yourself.  Love yourself and anything can happen.

(to be continued in Part C)

copyright 2014, Anne Shier.  All rights reserved.