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1990 Interviews & Profiles Romania WAG

1990: Ecaterina Szabó Looks Back on Her Career

This lengthy profile of Ecaterina Szabó, published in Képes Sport (Sport in Pictures) in May 1990, offers a detailed firsthand account of life in Romanian gymnastics during the late 1970s and 1980s. The article, based on interviews conducted by Levente Deák for Romániai Magyar Szó (The Hungarian Voice of Romania), traces Szabo’s journey from a small village in Transylvania to Olympic glory at the 1984 Los Angeles Games, where she won four gold medals.

Notably, the article confirms Szabo’s actual birth date as January 22, 1968—making her 16 years old at the time of her Olympic triumph, not the older age sometimes claimed in contemporary sources. The narrative provides extensive detail about the grueling training regime at the Karolyi gymnastics school: wake-up calls at 6 AM, training sessions lasting until 10 PM as punishment, mandatory afternoon naps, and a schedule that prioritized gymnastics over traditional schooling.

As you’ll see, compared to today’s top gymnasts, Szabó competed non-stop, traveling to a total of 70 countries. It’s no wonder that, by the time the World Championships in 1985 rolled around, she “was simply exhausted.”

As was often the case at that time, gymnasts’ biographies were woven together with Béla Károlyi’s story. Throughout the piece, the writer includes several parenthetical statements that paint Béla Károlyi in a remarkably positive light, characterizing him as a dedicated coach who made tactical decisions in the best interests of his gymnasts.

However, this generous portrayal omits crucial context that we know today: before the Károlyis were transferred to General School No. 7 in Deva, the Romanian government’s patience with the Károlyis was wearing dangerously thin. In March 1977, Teodora Ungureanu fled during training in Cluj, boarding a train to Onești. The Securitate intercepted her at the Târgu Mureș train station and escorted her to Bucharest. According to the Securitate report: “The gymnast gave as the reason for leaving the fact that she could no longer stand working with coach Béla Károlyi,” who “persecutes her baselessly.”

The situation continued to deteriorate during a tour of Spain in 1977. Securitate officer Ioan Popescu reported that Béla Károlyi “showed inappropriate conduct towards Nadia Comaneci and Teodora Ungureanu, consisting of swearwords, insults, even beating them, because their weight was unsuitable for the competition.” Ilie Istrate, a National Council for Physical Education and Sport (NCPES) instructor and Securitate informant, reported that “the girls were found weeping in their rooms because of hunger.” (See Olaru’s Nadia Comăneci and the Secret Police for more.)

Read against this historical background, Szabó’s account becomes all the more poignant—a testament to both her remarkable athletic achievements and the complex, often contradictory relationships that defined elite Romanian gymnastics in this era.

In many ways, this set of articles becomes Szabó’s way of reclaiming her story—from her erased Hungarian heritage to her falsified age, from the name she was given to the one she was born with (Katalin), and from the rewards she earned to those she never received.

Ecaterina Szabó, 1984
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1990 Age Romania WAG

1990: Ecaterina Szabó Admits Her Age Was Falsified

In the spring of 1990, just months after the Romanian Revolution, Ecaterina Szabó became one of the first Romanian gymnasts to publicly confirm what insiders had whispered about for years: the systematic age falsification of competitors by the Romanian Gymnastics Federation. Speaking to journalist Thomas Schreyer in Deva, Szabó revealed that she was born in 1968, not 1967 as her official gymnastics documents claimed—making her one year younger than the world had been told.

Despite the courage it took to come forward in a still-uncertain post-revolutionary Romania, Szabó’s confession was largely overlooked by the gymnastics community. Perhaps this was because the revelation didn’t retroactively change any of her competitive results. Even with her true birth year of 1968, Szabó would have been age-eligible for the 1983 World Championships in Budapest, where her international senior career began—she would have turned 15 that January, meeting the FIG’s minimum age requirement.

Ironically, this article would become a touchstone in gymnastics history not because of Szabó’s admission, but because of a single sentence about her close friend Daniela Silivaș. The article claimed Silivaș was “one year younger than previously stated,” and that news ricocheted around the globe. But the truth would prove even more dramatic: Silivaș was actually two years younger than her competitive age, making her age falsification far more consequential for the record books.

In this remarkable interview, Szabó discusses life after the Revolution, the mechanics of age falsification, and what it meant to be a gymnast in Ceaușescu’s Romania.

Ecaterina Szabó, 1984
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1980 Age FIG Bulletin FIG Congress WAG

1980: Setting the Age Limit for WAG at 15

In 1970, the Women’s Technical Committee set the competitive age limit at 14, arguing that elite gymnastics was endangering children through uncontrolled, overly intensive training that treated them as “competitive animals” rather than developing athletes. Raising the minimum age was meant to ensure a slower, pedagogically sound progression that protected gymnasts’ physical and psychological development.

A decade later, the FIG voted again, this time raising the age limit to 15. Once more, the decision aimed to protect young girls. Here’s what the FIG Bulletin recorded at the time.

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Age Romania WAG

How Romania Broke the Age Rules and Why the FIG Looked Away

While gymnasts from North Korea and China have been penalized for age falsification, Romania never was. The logic was paradoxical: a consistent lie looked like the truth on paper.

“How should I put it… an uncaught thief is…”

Nicolae Vieru trailed off. It was early April of 2002, and the president of the Romanian Gymnastics Federation had just been confronted with a troubling contradiction: Gina Gogean’s birth certificate said 1978; her international competition records said 1977. Vieru, agitated, insisted he had never seen such a thing. When the ProSport journalist pressed—wasn’t this irregular?—Vieru laughed. “What sanctions could they take? I’m a vice president of the FIG, responsible for regulations and the statutes. There’s nothing in the rules about this.”

Weeks later, speaking on TVRM television, Vieru told a different story: “Altering ages was a worldwide practice. Just as others copied us, we copied others.”

Between those two statements, the evidence had piled up too rapidly to contain. Journalists located birth certificates in village archives. Former gymnasts confirmed that the documents submitted in their names did not match their actual birthdates. The denial collapsed within a month.

But what did that collapse mean? If passports submitted to international competitions had been accepted years earlier, did a confession in the press matter now? If the documents had been internally consistent when the FIG reviewed them, was there any mechanism to revisit what had already been approved?

Celestina Popa, 1988
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Age Romania WAG

Daniela Silivaș and the Birthdate Romania Let Slip Away

Daniela Silivaș’s age falsification is the case every gymnastics fan can name, but few know that it took more than a decade for her real age to appear. It’s a story built on a false confirmation, an overlooked sidebar, and the quiet mystery of why no one bothered to look sooner.

In 1990, after years of rumors about age falsification, the world thought it had finally learned Daniela Silivaș’s real birth year: 1971. But that certainty turned out to be misplaced. The question of her actual age would remain unsettled for another twelve years. Only in 2002, when ProSport began collecting documents and retracing old accounts, did Romanian reporters finally dial Silivaș’s number to ask.

By then, the pattern had already revealed itself twice over. First came Gina Gogean, whose birth certificate told a story that contradicted a decade of official records—a contradiction she declined to acknowledge. Then Alexandra Marinescu, who did what Gogean would not: she confirmed that her passport had been altered and pointed to her damaged body as proof of what that alteration had cost.

And then came Silivaș. ProSport’s headline put it bluntly: “The Nightmare Continues: Silivaș’s Age Was Falsified, Too!

Three gymnasts. Three falsified ages. And for Silivaș—the most decorated of them all, with six Olympic medals from a single Games—the truth was finally being spoken in her own voice.

Here is the story that took more than a decade to come into focus.

Daniela Silivaș, 1988
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Age Romania WAG

Stamped into Seniorhood: How Romanian Gymnastics Aged Alexandra Marinescu

The federation manipulated Alexandra Marinescu’s age on paper; the training regimen carved lasting injuries into her spine. Together, they shaped a career that ended far too soon.

The week after revealing Gina Gogean’s age falsification, ProSport published a second case. But where Gogean’s career had been “fulfilled” and “decorated with medals,” Alexandra Marinescu’s story ended in spinal surgeries and permanent pain. Between April 15 and April 17, 2002, the newspaper documented how the Romanian Gymnastics Federation falsified Marinescu’s birth date, who made the decision, and what it cost her. What follows is a synthesis of that three-day investigation.

But first, Romanian gymnastics goes to war…

Alexandra Marinescu, 1996
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Age Romania WAG

“The Uncaught Thief”: Unraveling Gina Gogean’s Age

Gina Gogean’s birth certificate said 1978. The passport said 1977. And no one could explain where the truth went.

In April 2002, Romanian sports fans woke each morning wondering what ProSport would publish next. For the first set of articles, the sports daily had sent reporters to a small commune in the Eastern Carpathians, to village clinics and town halls, searching for birth certificates. What they found—tucked into green folders bound with string, recorded in yellowing registries—contradicted a decade of official documents for Gina Gogean.

The newspaper published its findings as the story developed, revelation by revelation. What follows is a distillation of the newspaper’s day-by-day reporting, the details of which did not circulate widely outside Romania. Revisiting them now offers a clearer sense of what the episode revealed and what it ultimately obscured.

Gina Gogean, 1996

Note: This is the first installment in a series on Romanian age falsification. Future pieces will examine other gymnasts’ cases, the relevant Romanian laws, and the FIG’s statutes and regulations.

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Doping East Germany FIG Leadership WAG

Clearing Their Names: Three GDR Gymnastics Figures in a New Germany

When the German Democratic Republic collapsed in 1990, thousands of coaches, doctors, trainers, and officials from its elite sports system entered a unified Germany that was still trying to understand what, exactly, the GDR had been. Their reputations now depended on how their pasts were interpreted—by newspapers, by athletic federations, by former teammates and rivals, and sometimes by courts. Some sought to defend themselves through interviews. Others tried to fight damaging statements in court. Still others discovered that defending themselves was complicated by missing documents, conflicting testimony, or shifting expectations in a country still learning to read its own history.

Three figures from GDR gymnastics—Ellen Berger, Klaus Köste, and Gudrun Fröhner—each confronted the same problem: how to assert their own account of the past in a new Germany where the rules, the evidence, and even the moral categories were changing under their feet. Their cases did not follow the same path, nor did they end in the same place. But all three illustrate how difficult—and sometimes impossible—it was to clear one’s name in the 1990s and beyond.

Ellen Berger, 1985
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East Germany Training WAG

Training in East Germany: The System That Never Grew up

Across two decades, in the same city, two East German girls lived out almost identical stories.

In the 1960s, Christiane Fröhlich was a sturdy child with quick reflexes and the kind of discipline coaches called turnerisch veranlagt—born for gymnastics. By seven, she was training five days a week; by sixteen, she was broken. Her coaches pried her knees backward to force flexibility, held a lighter under her calves when she could no longer lift her legs, and starved her until her vision went black. When she finally retired, her body was permanently damaged—spine fused with metal, nerves shot, walking possible only with crutches.

Two decades later, Antje Wilkenloh, the last East German champion, followed the same path through the same city. She, too, was chosen young, molded by repetition, and told to ignore pain. By thirteen, she was training up to six hours a day, her childhood disappearing into drills and conditioning. Fear of the coaches kept her silent as injuries accumulated: swollen fingers, a broken nose from the uneven bars, operations on her elbow, toe, ankle, and knee. Like many girls around her, she took painkillers before practice because she knew what training would demand.

Despite the difference in years, their experiences map onto each other with striking precision: early talent, escalating injuries, pressure to perform, and an adult world that treated their pain as routine. Both entered the system healthy and hopeful; both left it with bodies that would shape the rest of their lives.

Their stories, told here through two contemporaneous Der Spiegel profiles—one published in 1994, the other in 1995—show what remained after the routines ended and the state itself was gone.

Antje Wilkenloh GDR
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Doping East Germany WAG

Blue Pills and Broken Spines: How East Germany Destroyed Its Young Gymnasts

Rotterdam, October 1987. Dörte Thümmler stood before the uneven bars in Amsterdam’s Ahoy Hall, knowing what she had to do. Her teammate Gabriele Fähnrich, the reigning world champion, had only just returned to competition after a long injury layoff and had fallen during compulsories. Now the fifteen-year-old Berliner—just 1.47 meters tall and 36 kilograms—was suddenly East Germany’s best hope for gold. She executed her routine flawlessly: the Tkatchev, the Deltchev, the toe-on front with a half turn, landed with just a small shuffle backward. When the score appeared—a perfect 10—she had won the world championship title on uneven bars, sharing the gold with Romania’s Daniela Silivaș. Dutch journalists were stunned. “Thümmler?” one said. “In a poll of favorites, her name would not have appeared on a single ballot.” In claiming this title, she continued a long tradition that included Maxi Gnauck and Fähnrich herself.

Thirty years later, Dörte Thümmler spoke publicly for the first time about what that victory had cost. At a press conference held by the Doping Victims Assistance Association in April of 2018, she stood alongside other former gymnasts, all of them bearing similar damage. For eight years by that point, she had been unable to work, living on a full disability pension. Medical specialists at Berlin’s Charité hospital had diagnosed her with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. She had only thirty percent of the strength typical for people her age. She was forty-six years old.

What Thümmler and the others revealed that day was something far worse than simple overtraining. Across East Germany’s gymnastics program, young girls had been fed into a system that treated them as experimental subjects rather than children. They trained seven hours a day, six days a week. They lived in boarding schools separated from their families. They were told the pills were vitamins. And when their bodies inevitably broke down—often before they even reached adulthood—they were left to live with permanent disabilities.

Dörte Thümmler, 1988 Olympics