Nobody’s perfect. Not even Tim McNeill. A three-time All-American gymnast and team co-captain at Berkeley, in April McNeill won two NCAA individual championships competing at Stanford’s Maples Pavilion. He keeps up a 3.5 grade point average despite a rigorous training schedule. He’s even managed to maintain a yearlong relationship with a nonathlete (a high-achieving sociology major). His latest titles, on both pommel horse and parallel bars, bring his career total to five—more
than any other Cal athlete. At the Stanford meet he was “just lights-out better than his competition,” says Ryan Cobb, head athletic trainer. This spring, the 22-year-old earned himself a spot on the U.S. Senior National Team, giving him a shot at the biggest prize of all this summer: a ticket to Beijing and a chance for Olympic gold.

“This is what I love to do,” he says. “I love going to practice and competing. If I could do this the rest my life, I would.”

If only he could.

Like some high-performance two-seater sports car in human form, McNeill’s 5-foot-6, 135-pound body seems ideally suited for its purpose: light and fast, strong and supple, arms a little long for extra elevation on the pommel horse. But even the most expensive Ferrari—or elite gymnast—can break down when pushed too hard.

McNeill has had severe knee problems ever since he tore a frayed patella tendon in a stiff-legged landing on Halloween of his freshman year. He’s had more than his share of shoulder troubles from his punishing routines on the rings. He takes strong pain pills daily, and gets spinal injections when the pills aren’t enough to cope with a back injury he suffered at 16. The pain was so intense he couldn’t finish a Conference meet in April—the first time in his career that had happened—and he could barely walk, let alone practice, leading up to the all-important nationals. At Stanford, he had to sit out the first day of the grueling three-day competition, saving himself for his best events.

After this year’s collegiate season ended, he strolled into Haas Pavilion to talk to me between classes and looked relaxed enough in loose jeans and untucked T-shirt. But even then, his pain level was barely tolerable, at least a 3, he says, on a scale of 1 to 10. “The pain is pretty constant. I’d say 90 percent of the time I am performing I am not healthy, or even close to healthy.”

So it wasn’t too surprising to find McNeill intrigued to hear about some potential new ways of tuning up the human machine—enhancing its potential, let’s say, to stick a dismount without tearing out a tendon. It’s speculation, of course, but clearly possible given enough advances in areas such as gene therapy, stem cells, and tissue engineering. Bioethicist Ronald Green, author of the 2007 book Babies by Design, presents the case for modification, arguing that although gene manipulation can be dangerous and lines must be drawn to guide its use, it can wisely be incorporated “into the ongoing human adventure.”

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