MEDAL FATIGUE

F amed around the world for efficiency and brutality， inside the Li Xiaoshuang Gymnastic School children prepare， train and push themselves to new feats of corporeal impossibility， a symbol of a nation with an insatiable hunger for international sporting supremacy. This is the catalyst for Olympic success， the grinding wheels of a national obsession， children leading the charge to a patriotic domination of the world of sport…“I think you’ve misunderstood us，” says Yang Rui， principal of the school， confused at this outdated mindset. “We are not really into competitive sports. We are more like a kindergarten.” Though the London Games are long over， schools like this continue to train athletes for their next chance at Olympic glory， but the world is changing and China along with it. For years， practices here have been criticized for their cruelty and for good reason， but no one really complains as long as China keeps bringing home the gold. As such， little seems to have changed on the surface. But the world outside those walls has been irreversibly altered.

“The parents entrust their children to us because they want their kids to become braver， stronger， and more independent. Nowadays， most of the kids are the only child in the family， and—unless the kids choose to—the parents do not want their children to go through the kind of pain it takes to be a champion，” Yang says. “No， most of our children are not here for gold medals.” As lifestyles improve， fewer parents want to sacrifice their children to the hope of sporting glory； no one is really sure if these gold medal factories will be able to withstand the market economy’s foray into professional sports.

“The old system is failing，” Yang says. “The market economy has already changed how the sports system works in China.” Schools like this give kids a chance at a lifetime of success， but it’s more likely that they will just end up undereducated and underprepared in a competitive world. This athlete shortage is a serious problem for those who still take Olympic gold seriously.

In 2012， Huang Yubin， the coach of the national gymnastics team lamented in the Jinling Daily that the best days of Chinese gymnastics were coming to an end. “We just don’t have enough talented athletes. The root of the problem is that professional gymnastic teams at the provincial level are failing. The best of our athletes used to come from Hubei， Guangxi， and Hunan Provinces， but they are not delivering athletes that are as good as they used to be.” He was so pessimistic before the London Olympics that he predicted， “Although we got seven gold medals in the 2008 Beijing Olympics， it’s possible that we will not harvest any gold medal in London at all.” Wrong as he was， this disillusionment is not being taken lightly. Getting to the bottom of the training pyramid reveals at least part of the reason for this athlete shortage. Recruitment， it seems， is where the problems begin. For some sports， it just doesn’t pay to play.

Deep in a Beijing basement， a heavy metal door opens to a spacious hall with bright red walls and row after row of green tables. A mixture of crisp ping pong clicks and short sneaker screeches flood into the hallway. Children， from eight to 12， bob up and down in front of tables that look just a bit too tall for them. Every day， these young athletes spend five hours training and only take a 15-minute break for a three-hour session. Their moves are so unbelievably repetitive and uniform that they look like little gifs on a loop， bashing balls back and forth. This is the ping pong training center at Shichahai Sports School. The school is known as “The Cradle of World Champions”， and its alumni include first class athletes and even a few kung fu stars， such as Jet Li （李連杰）. Its history can be traced back to the mid-1950s， when sports schools sprang up all over China， following the Soviet Union’s lead in the race for sporting supremacy. Gu Yunfeng， 47， is the general coach of ping pong here， and， like many coaches at the school， he is a former national champion himself.

When speaking about the sport directly， he is not concerned about whether or not his students will excel. “In China， we have the best resources for ping pong. There is a large population of ping pong players， and we have the best coaches in the world. You see， kids are coached by national champions like me from eight-years-old. The problem is， we are so good at it that China is monopolizing the gold medals. It is not a good thing for China to have all the gold medals.”

Employment is a big problem， according to Yang Yang， largely because of how sports education is conducted. “Their intensive training keeps them cut off from the outside world. The training system has not changed that much over the years， but the outside world has. There is a huge gap.” What’s worse， there is a great deal of negative social stigma attached to being an athlete.

“To a lot of Chinese people， being an athlete is associated with being undereducated， having underdeveloped social skills and possessing few connections with other people，” Yang Yang claims. “Our skills are not recognized， as if we became worthless after we retired. What we try to do at the Champion Foundation is to try to make them realize that they have useful qualities too， that they shouldn’t feel inferior to university graduates.” The former skater believes these athletes have something to offer， saying they can handle pressure， have a good team spirit and are reliable and trustworthy.

However， while the Champion Foundation may be a boon to athletes who have fallen on hard times， it is hardly a stellar review for the system at large. There is little in this equation that would motivate an average student to devote their life to Olympic success， something with which the public and authorities have seemed utterly obsessed for decades.

Chinese sports were not always so gold greedy. The people of China had their first taste of sporting ecstasy in 1984， when shooter Xu Haifeng （許海峰） won the first Olympic gold in Los Angeles， creating a propaganda firestorm. His story went into Chinese primary school textbooks， which described his last gunshot in excessive detail： “The last bullet， the air around him was frozen. People held their breath. Xu knew the weight of the last bullet—the pride of his motherland was hanging on it…Finally， he pulled the trigger. The ninth ring！ Xu won first place by just one ring！... With his last gunshot， Xu Haifeng not only won the first Olympic gold medal for China， but also announced to the whole world that a strong competitor has been added to the arena of the Olympic Games！”

For some time， it was unforgivable for athletes to fail. The ups and downs of Li

Ning （李寧）， a star athlete in the 1980s， perhaps best embodies the gold fever in the early days of Chinese Olympic hopes. Li was hailed as “The Prince of Gymnastics”