Komsomolets Uzbekistana. March 2, 1971. A year ago, I happened to be on a business trip to Karshi. The chairman of the regional sports committee showed me the city's sports facilities and construction sites. They were excellent facilities and construction sites, but a full day wasn't enough to inspect them. "We have everything," he complained, "but no coaches. Or rather, they do - they recruit specialists from institutes, but we don't value just any coach. Is an employee truly valuable if their ultimate dream is to train a city or regional champion? A republic or national champion, no less, is a different matter. We need a dreamer. An enthusiast."
I'd like to tell you about one such enthusiast and dreamer - Vladimir Filippovich Aksyonov. Aksyonov, head coach of the Uzbekistan women's national gymnastics team. Aksyonov is thirty-three years old. An age when few can boast of great achievements. An age when much lies ahead. He was born in Turtkul. His family then moved to Nukus, where he graduated from high school and the physical education department of the Nukus Pedagogical Institute.
He was not what you would call a success in sports. Having achieved the Second Class standard at sixteen, and the First Standard a year and a half later, he still did not become a Master of Sports. True, he entered the Masters program and even scored the required number of points, but for a number of reasons he did not receive the coveted badge.
Vladimir's first experience with coaching was as a third-year student. After landing an internship at the school he'd recently graduated from, he organized a gymnastics section there. A year later, when the school's administration offered him the opportunity to recruit and manage a group of gymnasts, he, after some hesitation (would he be up to the task?), agreed.
Aksyonov had to lead a group of girls. It was difficult, very difficult at first. He spent nights poring over textbooks on choreography and rhythmic gymnastics (assisting a choreographer was only a dream back then), selecting everything that could be useful for floor exercises, and then, having processed it all in his mind, he brought it all to the gym. His weapon at that time was work, tireless and detached, without end, like a holiday or a battle. Even then, he had already grasped the truth: the roads to the goal are straight, if they were well lit.
Finally, the day came when his girls, who no one had even taken into account, created a sensation by winning the title of champions of the Uzbek schoolchildren's sports championship in 1963.
A few years later, already in Tashkent, he became a champion of sorts. He worked with Elvira Saadi and Elena Korobeinikova. Saadi is now a member of the national team, and Korobeinikova is a member of the republic team.
It's interesting to follow Vladimir Filippovich's typical workday. He gets up at seven. He doesn't always make it in time for breakfast - it's a good hour's ride to the gym in an overcrowded warehouse, and his first training session is at 8:30.
At 8:30 a.m. a group of little girls came in to start their own gymnastics classes. And at 11 a.m., Elvira Saadi came with Nadya Yushkova, who regularly trained with Elvira.
Rarely have I seen coaches who managed to achieve such absolute and unwavering devotion from their students. I never heard a word of protest of complaint, nor even noticed a displeased grimace. Even more so, training alone in the gym, without his supervision, with the task of somehow mastering something on their own, they are just as diligent as under the coach.
The essence of his method is in the chronological formula he instilled in them: "I know everything and can teach you everything, as long as you listen." If he sometimes sowed doubts, no one noticed; for his students, he was the embodiment of confidence.
His stream of gymnastics research is endless - a race against time, because a trick that is unique today has already been around for a while and he needs to come up with something new. And he thinks and composes all sorts of spins and mounts on the uneven bars that no one else has yet attempted.
The training pace has been accelerated. He's standing near the uneven bars. "Come on, Elvira, try that dismount again..." "I'm not thinking, that's why I can't do it. I need to practice!"
Elvira is 19 years old. She has a clear and straightforward character, is sweet, cheerful, and friendly. Besides her hard work, she has one important quality for a gymnast - charm.
There she is on the beam. Her balance is not only exquisite, but also sculpted, and her hand is tremblingly delicate. But as soon as she steps onto the carpet, she seems transformed: even in the whirlwind of the dance, one can hardly recognize the angular, somewhat shy Elvira.
Elvira and Nadya are busy until three.
Now Aksyonov has an hour to relax. He can't go home in that time - he only has time to make the one-way trip, grab a bite to eat, and then head back to the gym. From four to eight, it's more training: there's the junior, middle, and senior groups.
Without exception, all training sessions are as I said, otherwise Aksyonov cannot do it.
He comes home late. It's good that Rita (his wife) understands the specifics of his work. After all, he's rarely home: he's either getting ready or traveling.
Finally, some late hour remains for reading. Morning, seven o'clock - and it starts all over again. Practically without breaks or vacations.
And now, to all his worries, he has added one more: he was recently elected secretary of the party organization of the Republican Higher School of Sports Mastery.
Well, you say, wow. He's successful. That's why he's so enthusiastic. Right, that's why. But is everything correct in this mechanics?
I'm not even talking about a break, which is probably necessary, since even with such enormous natural energy, a person may not have enough to sustain it for long, I'm talking about free time for work. Sometimes you need to calm down, recharge, look at yourself, at the world. Unfortunately, we often overlook people with such a creative fervor, who need simple human compassion, even a modicum of attention to their work. And the hotter the fire, the more necessary is its care.
V. IVANOV