Who is she? Who is she? In the mixed zone, the journalists look at each other a bit bewildered. Who is Manon Veenstra? The 26-year-old Kerkenvelder has just provided a resounding surprise in the BMX stadium of Saint-Quentin-en-Yvelines, just outside Paris. A silver medal hangs around her neck. Now the press can ask her questions, but who is she?
Someone read on a Wikipedia page that she was stuck in New Zealand during the corona period. Another knows that she took a very unusual path to achieve this Olympic success. Not via the Dutch talent program, but far away. Veenstra keeps us waiting a long time. Interviews, the medal ceremony, happy family, even more interviews. Finally, a large head of blond hair lights up in the distance, coming closer. There she is.
Wow, hello, she laughs at the group of journalists who are jostling for position with their dictaphones. She is not used to that. “I think I still don’t fully understand what just happened, and I think it will take a while. It’s bizarre to be standing here.” She answers almost routinely, so many journalists have asked the same question by now.
The story of the Kerkenveldse is one of knowing what you want. And of persevering. Or, as her coach Matt Cameron says: “Manon is really stubborn.” Because what 18-year-old decides based on research that the best coach who can train her lives in New Zealand, and that she should go there? What 18-year-old comes up with a counterargument to every objection her parents might make, so that they have no reason to stop her?
Manon Veenstra, then. “I also really looked at other coaches and called them. But Matt just seemed the best to me. He worked with me for ten coaches: on my technique, on the physical side, but also on my strength, really on everything.” Veenstra also looked for and found exactly what she needed in other areas, such as a psychologist, who made her mentally stronger. “I really needed her, but I didn’t have a cent to spare. She still said: yes, I’m going to help you. If it gets better, then we’ll talk about the money.” By which she just means that there was a great deal of goodwill from people who believed in her.
Precisely because she believes so strongly in herself, perhaps. “It’s too strong a word to say that I was undervalued in the Netherlands. But I couldn’t find my way. If place A says ‘no’, then you can either give up, or you can look for place B. I looked for place B.” The result is impressive. During the ceremony, Veenstra lets out a visibly deep sigh as she looks at her medal.
For many people she comes from nowhere, but not for herself of course. “What makes the difference is that I have had A-status for two years.” That means she receives a top athlete’s income from NOC*NSF. “I no longer have to have all kinds of side jobs in nursing homes or McDonald’s to be able to pay for my sport and travel to New Zealand. I no longer have to get up very early to train first, then work and then go to bed much too late, so that I am never really rested.”
“It seems easy now when you look back. But all my euros went to New Zealand in the hope that I would end up here. I only now see how bizarre the journey has been. When I started I just thought: switch off my brain and go. I will do anything for my sport. It was not a sacrifice for me. I was looking for a team that believes in me. I found that. I can’t thank them enough.”
The journalists nod. They still have a hundred questions, but time is up. Too bad, they sigh, what a story. You could write a book about that girl. Manon Veenstra, winner of Olympic silver. I bet they will never forget who she is?
