Gymnastics Don't Call Them Pixies!

They are so young and so tiny that spectators want to pat them on the head. When their eyes narrow and their faces scrunch up with concentration, audiences go squishy with the adorableness of it all. Sports commentators cooingly label them pixies and tots, then reach for adjectives like huggable, perky, cute. Sort of like puppies. Always they are described as "the next" Olga or Nadia or Mary Lou, as if anyone so small couldn't possibly have standing in her own right.

Let's get real. The young female gymnasts who will vie for medals in Barcelona are among the world's toughest athletes. They are not only strong, powerful and agile, but they also have a discipline, determination and dedication that would put many other athletes to shame. Two times daily, six days weekly, year after year, they labor in airless gymnasiums to master and reinvent the most difficult flips, twists and spins. Often they work in spite of painful strains, sprains and stress fractures. And always they work with the dark knowledge that the slightest bobble or a judge's caprice could mean the hundredth-of-a-point deduction that robs them of their glory.

This year the U.S. has produced two of the top picks for all-around gold honors in Barcelona -- an unprecedented American pair at the top. Not surprisingly, both are known for their doggedness and tenacity. Kim Zmeskal of Houston, the reigning world all-around champion, battles persistent pain from a stress fracture in her left wrist and the psychological pressure of being the person everyone else wants to beat. Shannon Miller of Edmond, Okla., who was sidelined in late March with a dislocated left elbow and bone chip, recuperated from surgery in record time, and is now stronger and more confident than ever. Spectators who favor a dynamic, explosive style will want to wager on Zmeskal. Those who appreciate technical brilliance and high-level difficulty, however, will prefer the graceful Miller.

But bettors beware. Hungary's Henrietta Onodi has a fluid, elegant presentation that pleases audiences as well as judges. And as always, the former Soviets of the Unified Team are formidable. Several of the competitors -- 1988 gold medalist Svetlana Boginskaya and the two Tatianas, Gutsu and Lisenko -- have a shot at the all-around title, and there may be some stealth talent in the wings. Nonetheless, in American gymnastic circles many think this is the year the U.S. women could upset the long dominant ex-Soviets for the team gold. "The Soviets are weaker financially and spiritually, and don't know who they're representing," says Steve Nunno, Miller's coach. "They don't have the emotional fire."

Zmeskal, 16, and Miller, 15, would find a kindred spirit in the other if their paths ever crossed long enough to find out -- an unlikely prospect, given the tense rivalry between their respective coaches. Zmeskal is giggly and seems more inclined to listen than talk, but next to the admittedly shy Miller, whose tiny voice barely rises above a whisper, she is positively gregarious. Though both are 4-ft. 7-in. standouts, neither is a prima donna. Each enjoys a reputation for being "sweet" and "friendly," two words not used casually in the hypercompetitive world of gymnastics. Unlike the many gymnasts who must train far away from their families, Zmeskal and Miller work close to home, enabling both to enjoy the steadying influence of their parents and two siblings apiece.