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Tylar Sutton
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Tylar Sutton
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Tylar Sutton
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Tylar Sutton
When you enter the Dominique Moceanu Gymnastics Center in Medina, you find a vibrant mural that declares “Practice with Integrity.” The gold medalist immediately sets an uplifting tone for her gymnasts.
“You want them benefiting from self-esteem,” says the 37-year-old Hinckley resident and mother of two, “not being put down, which is a lot of the culture that still exists.”
That abusive culture knocked Moceanu’s self-confidence so low that she cried before being awarded at the 1996 Olympics as one of the “Magnificent Seven,” the first U.S. women’s gymnastics team to win gold. She had missed her vault landing twice and was worried her coaches, Martha and Bela Karolyi, would be upset.
“Our coaches made us feel worthless. At 14 years old — I’m still the youngest Olympic champion in U.S. history — I had no fulfillment,” says Moceanu, who trained for the Olympics at the Karolyi ranch and gym.
She says that training was a nightmare where Martha dragged her by the scruff of the neck, she was called fat and stashed away Twizzlers and Mentos out of fear, and she was so scared to request a bathroom break that she peed her leotard. When Moceanu’s leg hurt, they made her repeat her routine until she collapsed. She entered the Olympics with a fractured tibia.
In 2008, Moceanu spoke out publicly about the verbal and emotional abuse. She was stunned when USA Gymnastics blacklisted her, and she got death threats.
Not until the 2017 news of sexual abuse by former Dr. Larry Nassar on the Karolyi ranch and other properties was Moceanu vindicated. While Moceanu was not abused by Nassar, other gymnasts testified alongside her to the Senate judiciary committee about being starved and yelled at. As a result, 24-hour reporting of suspected abuse is now required by law.
But Moceanu felt she needed to do more, so she opened a gym in 2018.
“It’s been a decade, and nobody wanted to listen,” she says. “I’ve talked long enough. We need to be a part of the change.”
Tylar Sutton
Nearly every aspect of the 12,000-square-foot safe haven — that offers tots to adults to special needs gymnastics classes, tumbling, dance and yoga classes — is a corrective for issues Moceanu has faced. Although parents weren’t allowed on the Karolyi ranch, parents can oversee her classes from a viewing window or balcony, and a buzzer protects the front door. While Moceanu got pushed into the Olympics before she hit puberty, her center focuses on developing fundamentals like holding a handstand before rushing into a competition. The gym is watchful of injuries with Co-owner Michael Canales, Moceanu’s husband, foot and ankle surgeon and former collegiate gymnast, offering medical support.
Yoga helped her cope with the stressful sport as an adult, so Moceanu teaches yoga in the center’s studio and gymnasts take classes as part of their curriculum. She combats ongoing toxicity in gymnastics by instructing the Safe Sport-certified staff to never yell or punish and to emphasize progress not perfection.
“I’ve had to deal with a lot of psychological trauma the girls are coming over with from abusive environments,” Moceanu says. “I told our coaches to handle it delicately. Let them find their love again.”
Tylar Sutton
Coaching budding gymnasts and getting support from Canales has helped Moceanu rediscover her love of the sport, and she admits it’s still fun to “flip around.” This new chapter has also opened a door for another Moceanu family run at the gold. Canales trains at the gym with their 10-year-old gymnast son, Vincent, who would qualify for the 2028 Olympics. They are working hard but slowly and steadily. This time, Moceanu and Canales are doing it right.
“We want to see him follow his dream,” she says. “We’re leaving our imprint on the sport and new culture.”
