(3 of 3)
When not locked in fierce competition, Dobre and Silivas are pals who share a passion for pop music and food treats. Dobre has a weakness for ice cream; Silivas' tastes run to schnitzel and fries. As the strict training regimen expressly forbids the distraction of boyfriends, they liven their evenings with goose-feather pillow fights and what Head Coach Adrian Goreac cheerfully calls "talk, talk, talk." They are avid readers of adventure books. Dobre, a mischief-maker who collects dolls, favors fictional heroes who "fight all obstacles to reach their aims." Silivas, a quiet and intelligent girl, prefers a stately knight who "is always winning, courageous and good mannered." When they look ahead to Seoul, the rivalry glistens through their mutual affection. "As I wanted to be like Nadia when I started, I want other girls to want to be like Aurelia," says Dobre. From Silivas come fighting words: "I will seek revenge in Seoul."
So will Elena Shushunova, whom Dobre dethroned as world champion. At 19, Shushunova is a geriatric in the world of gymnastics. The Olympics, she concedes, "will be my last big hurrah." A consistent and strong competitor who impresses the judges, the sullen-faced Shushunova lacks the charisma and light-footedness that ignite audiences. But the Leningrad tomboy does not lack confidence. "If I prepare well, I'll get 10s in everything and won't have to worry about my competitors," she says. "I'll roll right over them like a tank."
Some of the stiffest competition will come from those she trains with at the Palace of Sports in Minsk. During a relaxed warm-up, as a Michael Jackson tape plays softly over the loudspeakers, the individual personalities emerge. Natalia Lashchenova, who turns 15 this week, is the prankster, tripping her teammates when the coaches are looking the other way. Svetlana Boginskaya, 15, - the tallest on the team (a towering 5 ft. 2 in.), is the most serious, often perched on a mat between exercises with her nose in a book. Olga Strazheva, 15, has an appetite for science fiction. Svetlana Baitova, 16, totes Jack, a stuffed puppy, wherever she goes. When it comes to talk of Seoul, all playfulness falls away. For these girls it will be a grudge match against the Rumanians. "We won't give anything away," Boginskaya vows. "We won't yield, not in difficulty or in any other aspect."
It is the prospect of so many gymnasts performing at levels of difficulty never before witnessed in Olympic competition that promises to make the showdown in Seoul a hold-your-breath affair. With each Olympics, the sport ascends to a new plateau of audacity that would have been unthinkable four years earlier. And four years from now, even those moves may seem out of the dark ages. So too will the sweethearts of Seoul. When Olga Korbut tried to repeat her Munich triumphs in 1976, she was upstaged by Newcomer Nadia Comaneci. When Nadia tried to re-create her glory in 1980, audiences hardly recognized the once sylphlike pixie. Mary Lou Retton perhaps proved the wisest; she fired her single shot at glory, then retired her grips and took up the commentator's mike.
But however brief the light of these remarkable fireflies, they do endure. When young gymnasts are asked to articulate their dreams, they speak reverentially of being the next Olga, the next Nadia, the next Mary Lou. It is to that exalted podium of first-name fame that the sprites in Seoul hope to vault.