Moskovsky Komsomolets. October 24, 1972. MUNICH, XX Olympics Games. Inside the arena of the Bavarian capital, a ceremonial awards presentation was underway for the gymnasts who had vied for medals in the pommel horse competition. Standing atop the highest step of the podium - flanked by two stars of world gymnastics, the Japanese athletes Shigeru Kasamatsu and Eizo Kenmotsu - was a Moscow university student and Soviet Army officer: Viktor Klimenko. As he accepted the first (and, it was hoped, not the last) Olympic gold medal of his life, the gymnast, during those brief, blissful moments, found his thoughts turning to the 'kind doctor' - the renowned surgeon Vladimir Baskirov - who has restored his ability to compete. A telegram sent by Viktor to his homeland directly from the arena contined words of gratitude for the physician whose 'magic hands' had once again gifted him the joy of an athletic life. And what a life it had been: Klimenko had first stepped onto the national gymnastics stage at the tender age of sixteen...
The year was 1965. The USSR individual and team championships were taking place in Moscow. It proved to be, in many respects, a watershed moment in the history of Soviet gymnastics. I recall someone describing those competitions as an 'optimistic drama' - and in that phrase, much was conveyed. To this day, for instance, certain images remain etched in my mind like frozen film frames: Polina Astakhova's fateful error, and the sorrowful smile with which she walked off the podium. Nor can I forget the inspiration, the verve, and the charm of the young champion Natasha Kuchinskaya, or the truly gripping duel between the young Voronin and Diomidov... The events of those days - now so distant - clearly demonstrated one thing: the youngest champions in history were ascending to the gymnastics throne. There was a certain logic to this. The onslaught of youth proved overwhelming; the veterans were ceding their ground. This trend would hardly surprise anyone today, but back then it seemed all but inconceivable. Yet, the brilliance of the senior competitions did not, for all that, divert the attention of experts and spectator away from the junior events. For this, too, there was a specific reason: amidst a multitude of talented gymnasts, one slender young lad stood out conspicuously. His name was Viktor Klimenko.
At that championship, a sixteen-year-old lad passed through a crucible of arduous trials - challenges that, perhaps, rivaled even the most elite-level competitions. It was no coincidence that, less than a year later, he won the All-Union youth championships - revived after a twenty-year hiatus - by a commanding margin. Yet the brilliance of this young talent, who stood head and shoulders above the rest, served only to underscore the dire state of men's gymnastics in our country. Meanwhile, Viktor was laying the first stones in the foundation of future great victories. Even then, at such a tender age, the difficulty of his routines yielded nothing to the programs performed by members of the USSR national team. Admittedly, Klimenko lacked a certain polish; however, given the path of increasing difficulty chosen by both athlete and coach, such initial shortcomings were simply an inevitable cost.
Viktor was also fortunate in his coaches. Initially, his older brother Mikhail - himself a talented gymnast who had been forced to retire early due to injuries - practically led him into the gym by the hand. In his brother, Mikhail sought to see a continuation of himself - a "better" continuation. Consequently, he recommended that Vladislav Brezhnev take the boy under his wing. Brezhnev was a distinctive kind of mentor: he placed his faith in an athlete's natural gifts, guiding him along a path of organic development. At the same time, he devoted considerable effort to the necessary task of refining the rough edges of the young gymnast's talent. And that talent was truly immense! And so the coach, recognizing this, personally took the young lad to Konstantin Karakashyants - arguably the finest mentor of that era, and a coach known for his experimental approach. You must agree: nowadays, it is rare for mentors to willingly part ways with their talented pupils. Vladislav Brezhnev thereby taught everyone a lesson in gentlemanliness: he understood that Klimenko belonged with Karakashyants alone, and he foresaw the spiritual kinship that would develop between them - their shared vision regarding the future trajectory of modern gymnastics.
At first, however, Viktor felt somewhat bewildered. Training sessions with Karakashyants were conducted in a completely different spirit; everything about them was strictly governed by a rigid rationalism. Karakashyants was one of the few who chose to pursue a path of drastically increasing the difficulty of gymnastic routines. A brilliant orator, he possessed a rare gift for convincing others of the soundness of his choices. Karakashyants was forever devising new elements and weaving them into unimaginable sequences - discarding some immediately, while constantly compelling his student to think, think, and think some more. Indeed, at times the training sessions resembled a university professor delivering a lecture to a class of freshmen. The 'student,' however, proved to have a mind of his own and refused to accept anything on blind faith. Yet the 'professor' effortlessly dispelled every doubt with unassailable logic - clearly, simply, and substantiating his reasoning with a magnificent command of human anatomy. Grasping the secret behind executing the most difficult elements - combined with a gift (for, initially, everything came remarkably easily to Viktor) - largely shaped his attitude toward his chosen sport. His love for gymnastics became the very purpose of his athletic life - rather than mere entertainment (alas, we know of such cases) or simply an additional means of building strength. Moreover, neither pupil nor coach could be accused of lacking diligence; indeed, at times the cleaning lady practically had to force them out of the gymnasium.
It is a notion that would seem to have long since become an axiom: hard work, multiplied by athletic talent, transforms a person - as if an unseen force were to lift them up and carry them to the very pinnacle of sporting glory. Of course, one is bound to collecct plenty of bruises and bumps during such a steep - and perhaps even excessively rapid - ascent. But there is simply no help for that. Once you've put your shoulder to the wheel...
And Klimenko set to work with fierce determination. I have already mentioned his success at the 1966 All-Union youth competitions in Voronezh. The following season brought Viktor a gold medal - the title of champion of the Spartakiade of the Peoples of the USSR - in the vault. At just 18 years old, the gymnast secured a permanent and lasting place on the national team. And a year later, he went on to capture gold medals - the titles of USSR champion - in three individual events: the vault, the floor exercise, and pommel horse. Finally, following the Mexico City Games, medals of Olympic caliber - a silver and a bronze - were added to his collection.
Such success could easily have gone to anyone's head - and all the more so for a 19-year-old youth. Yet Klimenko continued to train with such ferocity and competitive intensity, as if every medal he had won thus far were a testament to his failures rather than his triumphs. Perhaps it was a healthy vanity that drove the young athlete; or perhaps, even then, he understood that he was just a hair's breadth away from reaching the very pinnacle of the sport - close enough, if not to surpass Mikhail Voronin (the undisputed leader of Soviet gymnastics in those years), then at least to stand on equal footing with him.
But fate seemed to be mocking Klimenko. He simply could not catch up with Voronin. In Warsaw, at the 1969 European Championships, Viktor finished second once again - and once again, right behind Mikhail. At the 1970 national championships, his collection was enriched with yet another silver medal, while the gold once again went to Voronin. Finally, in Ljubljana, host of the latest world championships, Voronin appeared one line higher on the results sheet: he took fourth place, while Klimenko finished fifth. True, in April of the following year in Leningrad, Klimenko won the USSR Cup - but...Voronin was not present at that competition. You must admit, not everyone possesses the patience to wage a struggle against an acknowledged favorite for so many years - to remain his perpetual shadow. Yet, Karakashyants never allowed the gymnast to slacken his efforts. "Not a day without training" - this maxim of Konstantin Sergeyevich was a precept the gymnast would likely carry with him for the rest of his life. Karakashyants 'molded' Klimenko into a modern gymnast, teaching him to think strategically within the sport and to approach it with thoughtfulness and seriousness. The teacher, however, was no longer destined to experience the joy of standing by his student's side when the latter achieved the greatest victory of his life. In 1971, Karakashyants transitioned to a teaching role, and Viktor began training under the very person who had first brought him into the gym - his older brother, Mikhail, now a Merited Coach of the USSR.
Despite being a young educator, Mikhail nevertheless refrained from making any drastic changes, fully realizing that in lopping off branches, one risks damaging the tree itself. Everything of value from Viktor's legacy was carefully preserved. Yet Mikhail - outwardly quiet and taciturn - proved to be remarkably resolute in executing his plans. And they had set their sights high - aiming for nothing less than championship medals.
Days, weeks, and months flew by like a single hour. And then came May 1971. Madrid - the European Championships. As is well known, the continental championship is contested soley based on the optional program, and in this regard, Klimenko arguably held a certain advantage over Voronin. Admittedly, Viktor sometimes lacked the precision and classical polish that characterized Mikhail; yet, his routines were overflowing with risk, imagination, and daring. And still, the anxiety he felt before stepping onto the Madrid podium was greater than ever before. Later, Klimenko would remark: "It's funny - you know the entire routine inside out; it feels as though there isn't a single place where you could stumble - yet right before you go out there, your knees are shaking. It's no small thing, after all - it's the Championships..."
But that was only until he stepped onto the podium. There, we saw a new Klimenko - Klimenko the champion. He ascended the steps of the all-around competition with confidence, advancing toward his cherished goal: the cup and the gold medal of the all-around European champion. And success followed. It was achieved in a direct duel with Voronin himself - the man who, until that moment, had represented the gold standard in Soviet gymnastics. Indeed, in Madrid, Mikhail ceded the top spot to Viktor for the very first time. Yet, one feels that Klimenko's victory was a natural outcome, for he more fully embodied modern gymnastics - its spirit and its demands. His routines captivated audiences with their complexity, their daring execution, and the novelty of their technical solutions.
The coveted victory had arrived. Yet Viktor did not even have time to savor it. His ascent had been so soaring that the pendulum of fortune could not withstand the strain. The very next day - when medals were being contested in the individual apparatus finals, and when Viktor stood poised to reap a bountiful harvest of gold - during the warm-up for the floor exercises (the first event on the schedule), Viktor stumbled and...a short while later, returned to the arena on crutches. What, then, had happened?
Unfortunately, injuries are not particularly rare in sports; they affect two to three percent of athletes. It would seem to be a paradox: sports - intended to strengthen human health and foster physical development - suddenly turn into a form of 'self-harm.' It is a sad but undeniable fact that individuals who engage in sports seriously and over-extended periods do, at times, sustain injuries. This is primarily attributable to the significant strain the human body endures during excessively intense training sessions. When this strain becomes chronic, it can lead - among other consequences - to the premature 'aging' of the Achilles tendon. Just such an incicent befell Viktor Klimenko when he landed awkwardly during the warm-up after performing a double somersault. The result was a ruptured Achilles tendon.
Statistics record very few instances of athletes returning to elite competition following such an injury. Yet Klimenko returned. Vladimir Bashkirov performed a brilliant surgery, not only achieving complete anatomical restoration of the tissue but also restoring the athlete's self-confidence - his belief in his ability to overcome the psychological banner of fearing that treacherous gymnastic element. And today, Viktor remains among the country's top gymnasts.
His numerous fans were able to witness the truth of this firsthand when he competed that summer at the USSR Cup in Luzhniki. He claimed three gold medals - on the pommel horse, the parallel bars, and in the vault. And shortly thereafter, in Munich, the most significant award of his life was added to that tally: the Olympic gold.
Thus, the Klimenko family - he is married to the renowned gymnast Larisa Petrik, an Olympic champion from Mexico City and now a circus performer - gained yet another Olympic medal: the gold - the most cherished of all awards for athletes.
L. KULESHOV