HANGING WITH HONEY

Honey, Here's a Gripping Tale: How Olympians Hang On to the Bar

Gymnasts Want Sticky Fingers When Grabbing for Gold; Molasses, Syrup

SAN JOSE, Calif.—Before climbing onto the parallel bars at the U.S. Olympic team trials here in June, gymnast Jonathan Horton stretched his arm muscles, steeled himself—and reached for his honey bear. (click below to read more)

Giving the plastic bear a gentle squeeze, Mr. Horton oozed a dab of honey on to his hands and slathered it around the bars, adding chalk to make a pasty slurry.

"I don't know why it works, but I always have a really good grip on the bars," he says. "I have tried not to use it, and I slip right off."

There's a recipe to winning an Olympic medal on the parallel bars, and the key ingredient is sticky fingers.

Gymnasts' hands sweat as they swing, putting them in danger of losing grip of the bar. They dust their hands with gym chalk to abate moisture. But as gymnasts attempt ever-larger swings, they are on the constant hunt for a little extra help holding on to those slippery wooden bars.

That is how the gymnast's arsenal has come to include honey, molasses, Lyle's Golden Syrup or pretty much any other substance one might serve over pancakes.

It is deliciously legal. Judges can deduct up to half a point for "marking the floor carpet" with chalk, along with other destructive behavior, according to the International Gymnastics Federation's point code. But there are "no rules or restrictions regarding these sticky substances," says a federation spokesman.

Most other gripping athletes use just chalk, although baseball sluggers famously put pine tar on the handles of their bats. Female gymnasts, who don't do routines on parallel bars, tend to use just water and chalk. On the uneven bars, many women use glovelike grips to help them hold on while they swing.

But most male Americans in the gymnastic competition, which begins Saturday in London, say they are honey men. Competitors from other countries favor sticky stuff ranging from Karo syrup to Coca-Cola.

U.S. gymnast Danell Leyva recalls a competition in France in which a gymnast used a beer-and-sugar concoction. "I smelled it and said, 'Dude what is that'?" says Mr. Leyva. "All right, whatever works for you."

Japanese gymnasts mix sweet and savory. Takehiro Kashima, a member of Japan's men's gymnastics teams in the 2004 and 2008 Games, says he experimented with his personal brew by adjusting proportions of sugar and water, then moved on to saltwater. He settled on a smear of honey spritzed with saltwater topped with chalk.

"It's odd, right?" he says. "But as you perform, you get this feeling of 'gu gu gu' like something is tugging on your hands," he says, using a Japanese onomatopoeia that denotes a sticking sensation.

Former U.S. national-team member Trent Wells melted gummy bears for competition in the mid-'90s. He says the idea came to a teammate who noticed the candies would stick to things if moistened and then shot out of a slingshot.

"We thought it might be a little bit stickier solution than honey or Karo syrup," says Mr. Wells. After some experimentation with boiling the gummy bears in varying amounts of water, they created the ideal viscosity in a reddish goop. Mr. Wells eventually moved to a special sugar water that a chemist friend helped him brew.

The right sticky formula is a matter of personal chemistry crossed with personal superstition.

Raj Bhavsar, who helped win a team bronze medal for the U.S. during the 2008 Games, started with pancake syrup when he was 12, before shifting to molasses and sugar water and eventually landing on honey. He judges the quality of honey by upending a honey bear and seeing how fast an air bubble floats to the other side. "I want it real slow," he says.

When he traveled to the Beijing Games, Mr. Bhavsar brought his own honey bear containing a honey he could only find from a Texas company.

"One of the most devastating things in the world would be to be at the Olympic Games and all of the sudden you don't have your particular honey," he says.

The U.S. team hasn't brought official team honey with it to London because each athlete's home gym has a favorite. A number of companies sell honey in bear-shaped containers.

Bruce Boynton, chief executive of the National Honey Board, says he knew some Olympians use honey for energy but was surprised to hear that they apply it to their hands. "We knew honey was versatile, but this is taking it to a different level," he says.

But it makes sense, says a Honey Board spokeswoman after talking with a Honey Board science consultant, Dave Ropa. Honey, consisting primarily of glucose and fructose, has a high "coefficient of friction," Mr. Ropa says, that makes it work as a "natural, nontoxic glue" when applied to gymnastics equipment.

Honey's gymnastic enthusiasts say it feels just right in the hand: not too thick and not too thin. During a routine, honey mixes with chalk and sweat to form clumps that look like pie dough.

Former bodybuilder Jason Blackwell brewed a honey alternative he calls Liquid Grip in 2010, after he says gyms kept getting angry at him for making a mess with chalk. His concoction contains chalk and tree rosin, often used as a gripping aide by bull riders, and is good for "anybody who wants a grip," he says.

After his product made inroads with tennis players and pole dancers, Mr. Blackwell is now courting gymnasts but says it is hard to break their honey habit. "A lot of these guys are stuck in their old-school ways," he says.

One advantage to the natural approach: It doubles as a tasty treat. Mr. Horton, joining his second U.S. Olympic team in London, has two honey bears: one for hands, one for tongue.

All that sticky stuff can leave a mess on the bars. "Some guys' techniques don't mix well with others, and that can be a little frustrating," says Brett McClure, a member of the silver-medal-winning 2004 U.S. gymnastics team who now coaches at Stanford with a Manischewitz-brand kosher-clover-honey bear.

A gymnast must clean up after his predecessor on the bars. Officials leave gymnasts about a minute to prepare before their routines, so most bring a pit crew to wash down the bars or even sandpaper stubborn gunk.

"That stuff can be really difficult to get off," Mr. McClure says.