About
I spent two decades learning where my balance lives.
The beam taught me that. What I do now, the coaching, the advocacy, the conversations, comes from the same question: who are you when the thing you were known for is behind you?
Two Olympics, one I almost didn't make
I started gymnastics at seven. Balance beam and floor were always mine. At Rio in 2016 I was 18, and it went better than I had any right to expect: gold with the team, silver on floor, bronze on beam, and fifth in the all-around.
Then, qualifying for the 2017 World Championships, I wrecked my ankle. Multiple surgeries. Nearly two years out. A lot of people were kind enough not to say out loud that they thought I was done, and plenty of others said it anyway.
Tokyo came a year late, in 2021, and I was 23. I won gold on beam, and gold again with the team. People still describe that beam routine as a perfect one, under more pressure than I'd ever felt. I'll let them.
Some things aren't meant to be perfect.
A thing I actually believe
| Games | Gold | Silver | Bronze | Total |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| Rio 2016 | 1 | 1 | 1 | 3 |
| Tokyo 2020 | 2 | · | · | 2 |
| Total | 3 | 1 | 1 | 5 |
Where I'm from
Home is a cattle and quarter-horse ranch in the Texas Hill Country, about 45 minutes west of Austin. My family has worked that land since 1938. I'm the youngest of four and the only girl, which means I grew up with three older brothers and learned early how to hold my own.
My dad is a fourth-generation rancher. My mom taught middle-school science. I'm Anglo-Texan on one side and Mexican-American on the other, and both of those are home to me.
I went to LSU from 2016 to 2020 and competed for the gymnastics program there. Now I'm headed back for a master's in sports psychology. The plan is to coach at the collegiate level, which is really just the same work I keep coming back to: helping people figure out who they are, on the beam and off it.