Review: "The Balance" by Aimee Boorman

The Balance by Aimee Boorman (with Steve Cooper)
Published April 2025 via Abrams
★★★

You might not know Boorman's name, but you know her highest-profile client: Boorman coached Simone Biles from childhood to Olympic success. Many a gymnast has written a memoir (which I'm a sucker for), but I've seen fewer books by coaches, and I was curious to see how her take might be different.

I approached The Balance with a certain degree of caution; elite gymnastics in the US has taken an extremely well-deserved beating to its reputation in recent years (just to be crystal clear: I'm speaking of coaches and administrators, not of athletes), and I'm not here to read the story of someone who perpetuated or was complicit in abuses. Before picking this up, I checked two things: one, that Simone Biles wrote the foreword (suggesting that she is still on good terms with Boorman—which in this context makes a difference), and two, that I could not, on a quick search, dig up any controversy about Boorman. I'm not particularly plugged into gymnastics, but not being able to find anything concerning felt like a good sign.

As a book, it's okay. It felt longer than it was—Kindle says it was under 300 pages, but I remember it as closer to 400, and my ARC includes a note that the final, published version will be revised and expanded to include (to paraphrase) thoughts on Biles' most recent successes. I suspect that some of that sense has to do with the disconnect of reading someone's story when it is so heavily dependent on someone else's story (Boorman cannot speak for Biles or her experience and by and large does not try to), and some of it has to do with so much of the book being about the broader picture rather than specific moments and scenes. There's also a definite element of damage control here. Regardless of her own actions, Boorman was deeply entrenched in US gymnastics (and, more to the point, USA Gymnastics), and it's clear that she's eager to distance herself from people who have emerged as villains of the USA Gymnastics story:

This was the first time I had stood up to Martha [Karolyi], and it wouldn't be the last. (loc. 1248*)

This went against Martha's instructions, but I felt it was important for Simone's physical and mental well-being. In fact, I often told Simone to ignore Martha when we were at camp or traveling because I knew what Simone needed and I felt I cared about her health much more than Martha did. (loc. 1861)

It felt to me like [Steve] Penny was ready to exploit them any way he could, and I wasn't having it. (loc. 2976)

And on it goes. I absolutely understand why Boorman felt a need for some damage control, though I find it a bit sad that she can't just focus on telling the story—I think at this point I'm more interested in hearing new insights than in reading, yet again, about the Karolyis being gymnastics tyrants. (Also, I think some of Boorman's frustrations with the gym Biles' parents started might need some workshopping?) All that said, there are some really interesting things to be found in here. I'm interested in the way Boorman talks about the way in which her own gymnastics training informed her work as a coach:

I never forgot how to do gymnastics when I'd take a couple months off to go visit [family], which gave me perspective when I was a coach that if a kid needed time off for important things in their personal life, it would be all right. (loc. 247)

Lakeshore was a time of struggle and growth. I don't have a ton of memories of how each practice would unfold, but I distinctly remember how I felt. During one practice I remember being left on a beam rotation for the entire practice because I was afraid to do my back walkover. I was left standing on the beam with my arms up; I wasn't allowed to get off the beam, nor was I allowed to put my arms down. All I kept thinking was My arms are numb and I'm going to reach back and my head is going to crash on the beam. Today, when I'm coaching beam, I tell my students not to lift their arms until they are ready to go for the skill. (loc. 326)

I made a vow to myself right then and there never to forget how sad, small, and insignificant his coaching had made me feel; that included an unspoken promise to my future students that I would do my best not to repeat the errors in coaching Coach Jeremy had imposed on me. He was the meanest coach I ever had and he influenced me the most in how I would not do my job in the future. (loc. 495)

Honestly, I think we don't see enough of that—so often I hear about coaches or teachers (e.g., in ballet) doing something because it is the way they were taught, whether it was beneficial or harmful or traumatic, and it's nice to have, instead, an "I am going to consciously do better."

There's also, kind of apropos of nothing (as far as the review goes, I mean; it's relevant in the book), this story about inquiries:

During the Olympic qualification round, I submitted three inquiries. This is not that uncommon, but it can get costly. Every time you submit an inquiry—which basically means you believe a judge has underscored the difficulty of a routine—it costs money. Yes, actual money. At the Olympics, an initial inquiry set the federation back by $500 and each subsequent challenge increased the fee by an additional $500 ($500, $1,000, and so on). Prior to 2016, the money had to be paid in cash and had to be delivered in an envelope. (The envelope was a new addition to this ritual after Japan challenged a routine during the 2012 Olympics and started waving a couple of hundred dollars in the air on live TV. it wasn't a good look.) Obviously, a coach handing cash in a discreet envelope to an official doesn't look much better, so today when an inquiry is submitted, the federation is billed for the fee instead of having to post it up front. (loc. 2726)

Now there's some insider info that fascinates me! I'm not a gymnastics superfan or maybe I'd know about this sort of thing already—it makes a certain amount of sense (I imagine the fees were instituted to keep coaches/countries from submitting inquiries on every other routine), but at the same time, it must highlight financial disparities between programs. I'm curious to know whether there are similar fees/rules in other sports; I know she's talking about an Olympics-specific rule, but imagine if football coaches had to pay a fee every time they objected to a call!)

Overall, Boorman has the benefit of a unique perspective here, and though the writing doesn't set my world on fire, I imagine this will be compelling for a lot of gymnastics fans.

*Quotes are from an ARC and may not be final.

Thanks to the author and publisher for providing a review copy through NetGalley.