Pictured L-R: Sarah Patterson, Dana (Dobransky) Duckworth, Dee Foster Worley

 

Excellence Conquered and To Be Continued...

by Dee Foster Worley

 

I first heard about it from a local reporter in my city. 

 

Dee... Figure you knew this, but thought you might want to read the release.

 

I didn’t know. 

 

I didn’t know that the two people who had been among the most instrumental contributors in my career as a gymnast (club and college), and as a person (during and after my gymnastics career) had retired after 36 years of unprecedented success and service to the University of Alabama as its gymnastics program’s leaders. 

 

And from what I understand, hardly anyone knew – including my dear friend, teammate and now Bama’s head coach - Dana Duckworth. 

 

Sarah and David Patterson have been in my life since I was a child. When my family moved from Michigan to Huntsville, Alabama, I was seven years old and dead serious about being an Olympic gymnast. Once we moved to Huntsville, I had two things to decide: 1. Was my collegiate allegiance to Alabama or Auburn (every child in the state of Alabama has to make that decision); 2. Who in Alabama would help me get to my goal?

 

After a year in Huntsville, I had firmly chosen to bleed crimson (doesn’t everyone?), and I kept hearing about two gymnasts in Tuscaloosa who were tearing up the Class 1 (equivalent to today’s level 10) circuit. Their names were Jamie Jenkins and Amanda Agnew, and their coaches were David and Sarah Patterson from Bama Bounders club. I saw them compete at a state meet. They just looked different. Their leos were brighter. Their routines were sharper. Their choreography was “like the Elite girls” and, most importantly, they were consistent. They hit. Every time. 

 

Because I learned early in life to go to the source of results – not to the results themselves – I begged my parents to send me to Alabama Gymnastics Camp the following summer. One thing led to another (translation: I told my parents I wanted David and Sarah to be my coaches...immediately), and before long I was moved to Tuscaloosa, enrolled in school and boarding with a family until my Mom could get a job transfer.

 

I was 10 years old when that happened. 

 

At the time, Sarah was also the head coach of the Bama gymnastics team and David was the assistant coach. To this day, I have no idea how they managed those dual roles. Recruiting alone is a beast (even back then). I can’t imagine the pressure of running a successful club (Bama Bounders was the club gym in the state) and building what would become a nationally relevant juggernaut. But they did it, and they never let anyone see them sweat. Sarah and David are, in a word, grace.
 

Pictured: David Patterson, Dee Foster Worley, Sarah Patterson
 

I’ll never forget the day Sarah informed all us Bama Bounders that coaching both on the club level and on the college level was proving too heavy a load, and that she would be focusing solely on developing the college program. We were, naturally, devastated, but for many of us the goal then became to reunite with her after high school. The pain of losing her was quickly soothed by the challenge of making her want to recruit us later. It was a critical event in my career.
 

For the next few years, David coached me to become the first Elite gymnast in the state of Alabama, and the first gymnast in the state to qualify as a USA national team member. Once I started traveling more (especially internationally), he couldn’t go with me to every meet, so he would prepare me in the gym and send me on planes with dozens of greeting cards – each one to be opened at various times during my road trip – with special instructions in each one. 

 

Remember to breathe.

I’m not there physically, but I’m with you. You’re going to be fine.

Don’t watch what everyone else is doing. Stay focused on you.

Stay tight, but also remember to relax. You’re better when you relax. Have fun.

Stay aggressive. Don’t hold back.

Hold your landings and hold your last pose in your floor routine. It makes an impression on the judges.

Smile.

I would cry on those road trips because I wanted my coach with me, but as soon as the first tear would drop (during a meet), I would remember I was supposed to read another card just before I competed on every event.

 

Don’t rush. Compete it exactly the way we practice it. You’ll be fine.

 

David taught me how to compete.

 

Years later, before I’d confirmed I bleed crimson, I was in my comeback season after quitting the sport for a year. I was training at Browns Gymnastics (after training at Scats and a short stint at Karolyi’s). I had qualified for the ’88 USA Championship meet and, if I hit my routines in two more meets, I was likely to be an Olympian. On the practice day at USA Championships, I tore all the ligaments in my ankle. Because of my ranking in the country (6th),  I was petitioned to Olympic Trials. I limped through compulsories, and had to scratch optionals. 

I didn’t want anything to do with gymnastics after that crushing blow. 

 

As my parents and I turned the corner to leave the arena, Sarah and David were there – Sarah was crying – and they hugged me, told me how sorry they were and said, “We’re here for you.”

Pictured: Dee Foster Worley and Sarah Patterson
 

That was all I needed to hear. Once Sarah said that, my career had already been resurrected. I had ahead of me a year of ankle rehab and two years of high school to cram into one (so I could graduate on time), but Sarah and David faithfully helped me plow through the uphill climb. They recruited me without taking for granted I would sign with Bama. They were as thorough in recruiting me as they would have been had they never known me as a club gymnast. 

 

I never told them, but I was always grateful they didn’t assume I would sign with Bama. It was a wise approach considering the coaches who assumed I wouldn’t sign with Bama, and recruited me accordingly.

 

But then again, that’s why Sarah and David are the ultimate power couple. They are masters of discerning a moment.

 

After I’d confirmed I bleed crimson, I showed up in Tuscaloosa with doubts about my ability to continue training at a high level after a major injury (and being in my late teens). College gymnastics had certainly taken a back seat to club gymnastics at the time, and it was erroneously considered the last bastion of hope for sputtering gymnasts who wanted to squeeze one last drop out of their careers while getting an education. Again, this was an erroneous consideration given the incredible talent permeating college gymnastics in the 80s. Talent I used to watch train – every day after school for just a few minutes before my practice started – in the old armory building in Tuscaloosa. I adored them all, and I tried to mimic their training protocol once my practice started. As a very young gymnast, Sarah and David developed a desire in me to have both Olympic and collegiate aspirations. They just made gymnastics look good.

 

High standards are infectious.

 

I was back home. I was back with Sarah and David. We were all getting another shot at doing something great together. There was one other person in my freshman class: Dana Dobransky. I’d seen her compete (she was from Michigan), and I knew her Mom was a club level judge, but I didn’t know her. 

 

Freshman dorm fixed that.


Pictured: Dee Foster Worley and Dana (Dobransky) Duckworth

 

Dana and I won the SEC championship together with the team our freshman year. We won it at the University of Georgia (that’swhen “The Rivalry” really started to heat up). Winning as a team was a totally foreign concept to both of us, but we caught on quickly. 

 

Winning is addictive.

 

Dana and I went on to win four combined team and individual NCAA championships between us during our competitive careers at Bama but, for whatever reason, we weren’t close in college. We were comrades. We were teammates. We just weren’t buddies. We were the lone two in our class – each of us battling our own individual challenges – and we were just...preoccupied. 

 

But, when Dana was pregnant with her first child, she came out to California (where I was living) as a volunteer coach with Bama for the NCAA Championship. When I saw her there – both of us grown women – I suddenly felt protective of her. Sarah and David have always been family to me, but during that road trip, Dana became a sister. I realized how much I had taken for granted during the four years – and the day-to-day student-athlete experiences – we’d spent training, traveling, rehabilitating injuries, laughing, crying, losing and winning together. The memories of all four of those years came flooding back in an instant, and I vowed I would never waste another moment of our inseparable bond. When she had that first child – a girl – she gave her my middle name, which happens to be a family name. I don’t have children (yet), so the honor of my family name continuing despite that fact is a most precious gift.

 

Dana and I forged a powerful, fresh new friendship from that day on, and I am humbled by her relentless optimism, her tireless dedication and her uncanny ability to make everyone with whom she comes in contact feel as if they’re the only person in the world. This is a remarkable feat, given the overwhelming demand for her attention (which is about to amp up exponentially).

Pictured: Dee Foster Worley and Dana (Dobransky) Duckworth
 

So, today when I learned Sarah and David were stepping down as one of the most dominant coaching tandems in any sport – and that Dana had been tapped as the new head coach – I cried.

 

I cried for the 35 years Sarah and David have been in my life, teaching me to properly steward my gifts and my womanhood. 

 

I cried because I know that Sarah’s passionate commitment to the University of Alabama gymnastics program is an eternal flame that will never extinguish.

 

I cried because David, who is one of the best coaches that has ever or will ever grace the planet, will end his gymnastics coaching career as he lived it: humbly in the background, holding everyone up with his quiet might and taking none of the credit for his immeasurable contribution to their success.

 

I cried because, although I will miss seeing my mentors at the helm, I am almost airborne with joy because my good friend has earned the opportunity of a lifetime. 

 

I cried because I know Dana will be heavily armed with the beautiful burden of continuing a legacy of – not just excellence – but supremacy.

 

I cried because I can see what’s ahead for my good friend. And it’s the same thing that’s always been ahead for her: a steady, sturdy, next-level rise and a long, fruitful trailblazing journey.

 

Roll Tide.