I was not surprised to read the Weekend Herald front-page story on Saturday.
While these stories will be marginalised by gymnastics clubs as a minority, they are real.
These stories are about the coaches, the system and a duty of care that was lacking. They are from children who did "toughen up", accepted but did not recognise the coaches' behaviour as abuse, who have grown up and realise that what took place was wrong.
Why did they carry on and stay in a sport if it punished them? Many will say it was easy to solve – just walk away, find another club.
The child's perspective is different. It is their sport; they love being with their friends, developing new skills, supporting each other and challenging themselves. Why should they give all that away because of the behaviour of those who are meant to nurture them?
To walk away would have punished them twice. For what? They worked hard to get to a certain level. Harder than most can even imagine.
In the gym conditioning was called "torture". It was necessary to strengthen the body for the demands of the sport. It was tough, but it was never abuse.
What was the verbal abuse for? They will say it was to encourage, to motivate, but that doesn't stack up because it was never pervasive. It was targeted.
It was reserved for those who struggled to learn a new skill or, worse, questioned the process. It was reserved for the child who wasn't good enough, or didn't look like a gymnast should.
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The mistakes were never about the coach or their techniques. The child was told they were at fault and they had threats of being shamed by not being allowed to compete or being cast aside and put down a step. The casting aside, having a coach turn their back at you, felt worse than being shamed in front of your friends.
If there was an injury the child was deemed weak. They were told to get back to training; that medical experts are too cautious; that doctors don't understand that you need to deal with the pain. It's what gymnasts do.
Others will say, especially those on the inside, everyone was treated equally.
Other parents may say they never saw anything like this.
I would tell them this: physical punishment might be obvious, but it's hard to see the subtle, and even the unsubtle, psychological abuse while sitting on the balcony.
Bad coaches, like bullies, identify the weaker, more vulnerable athlete. They use them as examples of how not to train and perform.
Some will say I should have known but did nothing. Where was my intervention? I was watching. That was my daughter out there. Maybe I should have seen more, challenged the system.
Eventually I did and things changed for us. My daughter had a new coach, but it was the same club. The bully was still in the room.
My daughter persevered and her enjoyment for the sport returned. The injuries, however, became more severe: fractured bones and torn muscles mean seasons are quickly lost. Injuries end the careers of teenage gymnasts very rapidly. The club simply moves on to the next girls.
After giving up the sport, the strength, skills and conditioning are slowly lost. The strong, lean bodies morph as they move into adulthood. That level of fitness becomes a distant memory.
The memories of the mistreatment and the feelings of worthlessness also dim a little, but the image of the coach, the abuser, lasts a lifetime.
That is where my daughter is at. Will it be yours?
* The author's daughter was a competitive gymnast and won multiple apparatus medals from the age of 5 to 14.