Little Girls Lost? : Young gymnasts and figure skaters dazzle with their stunts and lithe bodies, but for some, the price of success includes lifelong health problems, psychological trauma--or simply the loss of childhood.

At a recent Southland figure-skating competition, Alicia skims along on her skates and prepares to jump. As her slender preteen body leaves the ice, ponytail flying, her mother hides her eyes.

“I’m just a wimp, really,” she apologizes. “I know it means so much to her.”

Flashing through her head though is not just fear for her daughter’s safety, but thoughts of everything that goes into landing this jump. Four hours of training a day, six days a week, thousands of dollars a year--and that’s just the surface. Hidden costs could include lifelong health problems, lasting psychological trauma--or simply missing out on being a child.

Alicia lands her jump cleanly and ultimately comes in third. Her mother is relieved, but her concerns continue.

“I worry that these are her childhood years, and she’s spending them on the ice,” she says.

And there is something more that is making parents like her take a hard look at figure skating and gymnastics. Joan Ryan’s book, “Little Girls in Pretty Boxes” (Doubleday, 1995) reveals some unpleasant truths behind what goes into making top gymnasts and figure skaters.

As the athletes dazzle us with their seemingly impossible stunts and lithe bodies, Ryan exposes the physical and mental abuse to which many of these girls are subjected: brutal coaches, the increasing demands of sports that require their bodies to remain tiny and ultra-light, the resulting eating disorders, myriad injuries, and pressure from parents who have invested too much money and too many years to relinquish their dreams.

All this is done to what can only be called little girls--a gymnast is old at 19, and a figure skater ancient by her mid-20s. Both hit their prime, after years of arduous practice involving unbelievable amounts of repetition and effort, in their early teens. Ryan says her book is not an indictment of the sports--on the contrary, she is a big fan of both. It’s just at the elite level, she feels, they have lost their way.

The results can be publicly tragic: In 1988, 15-year-old Julissa Gomez broke her neck on a vault during an international competition and died three comatose years later. Gymnast Christy Henrich, 22, died in 1994 from anorexia that left her below 50 pounds. Ryan, who has written extensively about the sports for the San Francisco Chronicle, says these are just the most visible results of dramatic problems, as she discusses case after case of athletes who “are sacrificed on the road to find those who are going to make it.”

“The book made me stop and really ask myself how instrumental am I in keeping this going, and it worried me that she might be abusing her body,” says Alicia’s mother, who asked that her and her daughter’s real names not be used because it could cause her problems in the highly political world of skating. Ryan’s book is the talk of this elite circle.

Predictably, the gymnastics and figure-skating communities wish it would all go away. Between the coaches and the governing bodies for the sports, USA Gymnastics and the United States Figure Skating Assn., there is at best a grudging admission of the book’s accuracy and, at worst, an insistence that Ryan took one or two examples and blew them out of proportion.

“I think it deals with less than 1% of the gymnastics population,” says Dwight Nornile, editor of International Gymnast magazine.

The communities complain the book is one-sided, focusing on the negative aspects of the sports. And besides, Ryan only talked to a small group of people, and what’s more, none of them were champions. What about Mary Lou Retton? What about world and national champion Shannon Miller?

“I spoke to many Olympic team members,” replies Ryan. “Betty Okino, Kathy Johnson, Chelle Stack--they aren’t champions? Or someone’s a champion if they win other titles, but don’t make that team? I didn’t talk to Mary Lou because we all know her story--I wanted to show the side we don’t hear about.

“It’s so deep and so wide that for them to say I’m extrapolating from a few girls, they are either blind or lying.”

There are plenty who cheer the book’s efforts. “It’s unfortunate that it had to come out,” says Jack Rockwell, a former Olympic team physical trainer, “but maybe it was needed. If you have a couple kids die, then it’s not blown out of proportion.”

Bart Connor, 1984 Olympic medalist, says he is glad the book raised these issues.

“It’s a warning flag,” he says. “We need to monitor more so we can provide the safest, happiest environment for these kids. I’m just afraid that it will scare people off from gymnastics.”

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“Today, Shannon Miller is more woman than child, 18 and ancient.” --From NBC commentary on the 1995 U.S. National Gymnastic Championships, Aug. 19.

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With two daughters at the Oklahoma gym run by Steve Nunno--Miller’s coach--Jo was in a position to see firsthand the harsh methods used in the name of winning.

One of Jo’s daughters is still with the sport, at another gym, but the mother asked to remain anonymous because “Steve wields a lot of power in this sport. If he knew it was me, my daughter might as well quit.” At Nunno’s gym, Jo said, her other daughter received a “never-ending” stream of verbal abuse. The girls were called lazy, fat cows, stupid and gutless. One coach told Jo she wanted the girls to fear her more than they feared a risky move.

Why did she let her daughter stay there for two years?

“That’s the hard part and that’s where I made mistakes I will never make again,” she sighs. “She wanted to stay. She loved the sport. I thought I could run interference at home. Plus, they suck you in. If your child has any kind of talent, they lead you to believe she could be the next Olympian. They prey on those dreams.”

Even someone who achieved that dream warns against it.

“Of course everybody wants to go [to the Olympics], but how many make it--seven? You can’t count on it,” says Nadia Comaneci, who forever changed gymnastics with her 1976 Olympic performance.

For figure skating, it’s no more than three. It’s better, many agree, if the Olympics are forgotten entirely. Connor jokes that “at our gym we don’t even say the word Olympics. “

Most finger-pointing is at parents who become unreasonably driven, either blinded by dreams of Olympic gold or hoping for some kind of return on a prodigious investment (an average of $30,000 a year for figure skating). Many parents insist, however, that their daughter has an internal drive, that she strives for the Olympics all on her own.

When criticism of abusive coaches arises, many point out that parents don’t have to keep their child in that situation. But what’s best for a child--a coach who produces champions or one who treats them better but may not drive them to their full potential?

“Bela [Karolyi, who coached Comaneci and Retton to Olympic gold in ’76 and ‘84, respectively] gets in a bad mood just like everybody else,” says Betty Okino, 1992 Olympic team member and Karolyi student who remains supportive of his coaching style. “It helped with our mental toughness. Nothing rattled us during competition. I had gone through so much with him in practice that the Olympics didn’t bother me--they were just another competition.”

Neither federation has any control over its coaches in terms of preventing abuse, because monitoring the thousands of clubs is nearly impossible and they can only revoke memberships if a coach has committed a felony.

But USA Gymnastics is taking some steps. (The United States Figure Skating Assn. was, verbally and through a written statement, much more vague about its plans.) It will soon require gymnastics coaches to be safety certified. It has also stepped up education to prevent eating disorders, and while most coaches still insist society has more to do with the problem than gymnastics, most have stopped weigh-ins or any kind of discussion about weight at all. At SCATS in Huntington Beach, the top Southern California gym, coaches are forbidden to discuss it even if approached by an athlete.

But weight is going to continue to be a factor. Gymnastics has been increasing in difficulty since 1972 and Olga Korbut’s death-defying back flip on the beam. Comaneci’s skills in 1976 were called “madness” by other gymnasts but she says even she couldn’t handle today’s skill level.

“A double back [flip] used to be the biggest thing, and now they are doing triples,” she says. “I’m very happy I was born 30 years ago because I don’t think I would be so good today!”

The result has been a de-emphasis on artistry and a stronger emphasis on riskier tricks. These tricks require smaller, lighter bodies--it’s no coincidence that the new national champion is 4-foot-5, 70-pound 13-year-old Dominique Moceanu. And this feeds back into the eating disorder issue.

But the United States won’t change its standards until the world does, because that would mean dropping in the rankings, and right now, the United States is considered a good shot at the gold in 1996. However, after ‘96, an athlete must be 16 to compete in the Olympics, in an effort to help the girls peak later and enjoy longer careers.

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“[Dominique Moceanu] is a gift , really, this little girl. This gift arrives at a time when it seems gymnastics has lost its little girl.” --NBC narration from the national championships.

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As a parent, the choice may come down to a well-rounded child who enjoys the many benefits of the sports, or a much more narrow, intense member of the elite. The former will never be a champion, but will in all probability escape the problems of the latter.

Everyone agrees about the benefits of both sports. Confidence, self-esteem, discipline, goal setting and the joys of delayed gratification are among the many advantages. Alicia, her parents and coach say, was a timid child. She is now bold and daring, with considerably more social skills than most girls her age.

Athletes, when they stay in school, are often superior students, maintaining high averages because they bring their dedication and drive to all areas of their lives. Parents are thrilled their daughters are less prone to aimless pursuits such as roaming the mall and, better still, are less likely to indulge in alcohol or drugs.

It’s different at the top, though. SCATS elite gymnasts Tami Taylor and Deborah Mink cheerfully admit they have little time for life outside the gym, but, says Mink, “it’s only for a couple years.”

Okino agrees. “There is your whole life to go to movies and on dates. There is only one chance for the Olympics.”

However, when the circumstances aren’t right, or the situation is more intense, it can backfire. Jo’s daughter Lucy, after having her spirit “beaten out of her,” lacks self-confidence and is fearful of new situations.

Author Ryan’s husband, sportscaster Barry Tompkins, has viewed both present and past elite gymnasts, and isn’t impressed.

“At the recent Olympic Festival,” he says, “it was this group of 12-year-olds, emaciated, startled fawns, with no life experience. You couldn’t do enough of an interview with them to piece together a sound bite. And I don’t know too many ex-gymnasts who have slipped into mainstream life without problems. They have never dated; 30-year-olds are emotionally 19.”

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“A few short years can make a young girl’s glory fade.” --NBC commentary implying Shannon Miller (who came in second at the ationals) is over the hill.

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There are other choices made in the name of better training that can lead to future problems. Frequently, young skaters and gymnasts move away from home to live near a top coach, and drop out of school to devote more hours to training.

In 1972, at 14, Nancy Marshall was the youngest member ever of the Olympic team. After the Games, she begged her parents to let her leave home to follow her coach to Oregon. They reluctantly agreed, and a homesick Marshall ended up with an eating disorder.

There is a growing movement among “humane” coaches, including Alicia’s coach and Mary Lee Tracy, and Tom and Laurie Forester that athletes are still young girls and shouldn’t leave home.

It may simply come to parents putting their foot down.

“Yes, these kids have a drive,” says Ryan, “but that drive is being exploited. We don’t let our children do everything they want to do. As a parent, you have to have the common sense and perspective that a child lacks. No, you can’t work on a construction site. No, you can’t train for eight hours a day--it’s not great for your body and you need a wider world.”

Treating the sports just as paths to the Olympics means years of training and thousands of dollars to be lost with just one fall on the ice or from a balance beam. More realistic goals mean being able to enjoy the journey.

“For me, what’s great about gymnastics is the local meets,” says Bart Connor. “The kids march around, do their routines, get ribbons and a T-shirt, and it’s great. No pressure and it’s so much fun.”

More coaches such as the Foresters, Tracy and SCATS’ Don Peters push for college gymnastics as a goal. Ryan points out that girls are more prepared to leave home at 18 than at 13, and a college environment is much bigger and more varied than gym-bound isolation.

Strug will be attending UCLA after the ’96 Olympics while Mink is being wooed by a number of colleges right now.

Lasting changes to the sports will likely only occur as the newer, more “humane” coaches produce champions. Tracy and the Foresters had high-ranking athletes at the nationals and are considered strong contenders to fill a number of spots on the ’96 Olympic team.

But 13-year-old new national champion Moceanu is a Karolyi pupil.

Even if your daughter beats the odds, says Alicia’s coach, ask yourself if it will all balance out.

“Is five minutes of glory worth screwing up a kid for life?”