Never Too Late (Brier Hospital)

by Larence Gold

“What?”

  “She simply won’t understand. Her attitudes are from the early twentieth century. I’ll be an embarrassment—something she’ll never reveal to others.”

  “You may be right. I don’t know her, but don’t exclude the possibility that she’ll rise to the occasion. She loves you, doesn’t she?”

  “In her own way.”

  “What about your sister—Shelly’s her name?”

  Karen looked up at Izzy. Her eyes were filled with tears. “Shelly may be the only one who can really understand as she, too, has had her bouts with depression.”

  “They talked for another ninety minutes, and then Karen looked at her watch. “It’s getting late. Don’t you have a husband who needs feeding.”?

  “Yes, but he’s a psychiatrist, too. He’ll understand.”

  “My God, Izzy,” Karen said, “a husband and a brother all shrinks. Family gatherings must be special. Don’t tell me your daughter is a shrink, too.”

  “No. She’s the sane one—a teacher.”

  Karen looked around the room. “Your husband may understand, but that doesn’t mean that he’ll like it. Go home, Izzy. I’ll be fine. Come see me in the morning. I may be a new woman by then.”

  Izzy became serious. “Showing concern for me is a good sign,” she paused, “but if you want to help both of us, keep it honest. You know that I care about you and will do anything to see you through this. Just give me the chance, will you?”

  Tears rolled down Karen’s cheeks as she leaned over and hugged Izzy. “I will. Please, don’t worry so much.”

  “Be nice to the sitter. She’s here to help. If you need something for sleep, I ordered Xanax. I’d prefer to avoid Xanax for the moment, but if you really need it, it’s available.”

  When Izzy got home, Ross was watching TV. “Got pizza tonight. Can I warm up a few slices for you?”

  “Sure, but let me have a glass of Chardonnay, first.”

  “That bad?”

  “I had to admit Karen Stack today. She was on the edge, and I wasn’t about to take chances.”

  “She’ll do well,” Ross said.

  “I hope so,” Izzy said, “but for Karen, it’s a long dark maze with uncertain twists, turns, and unforeseen obstructions.”

  “Did you call Rick?”

  “No, it was too late. I’ll call him in the morning.”

  “Well, at least he’s the one shrink who will get some sleep tonight.”

  Chapter Two

  Bay to Breakers Day

  Izzy groaned when her alarm clock sounded at 4:30 a.m. She wobbled into Jennifer’s room and shook her sleeping daughter.

  Jennifer stretched, rubbed her eyes, and slid back under the covers. “I’ve changed my mind, Mother. It’s too early.”

  Izzy pulled the covers off. “Let’s get going. Jodie will be at the curb in ten minutes.”

  “Okay. Okay. Give it a rest. I’m up.”

  Izzy went back into her bedroom and sat next to Ross, still sound asleep. She shook him gently. “Last chance sweetheart. It’s the one hundredth Bay to Breakers Race. You’ll be sorry you missed it and failed to see your sweet wife running in her first marathon.”

  “Some marathon. It’s only 7.5 miles and you’re more likely to be trampled than get to run.”

  “It’s a once in a lifetime…”.

  “A hundred and fifty thousand runners, everything from unicorns to dragons to penises. I’ll pass. Just the thought of those crowds, the alcohol, the drugs, and kooks trying to be the most outlandish–I think I can resist that temptation.”

  Ross pulled the covers over his head and was snoring at once.

  Izzy and Jennifer joined Jodie in her car. They drove to the Rockridge Bart station and parked.

  Jennifer pointed to the restrooms. “Be smart. Do what you need to do here. It’s a lot better than joining the long port-o-potty lines in San Francisco.”

  When they got to the city, they fought their way into the sub-seeded corral B. Izzy looked around at the runners. While obviously eager, they were older, heavier, and, in general, less athletic looking than typical long-distance runners.

  Izzy turned to Jennifer. “I’m guessing that these aren’t elite runners.”

  Jennifer smiled. “This corral is just above the walkers.” She paused, “You gotta start somewhere. If you get into running and have some reasonable times under your belt, next time they’ll seed you in a more advance corral.”

  Izzy noted several middle-age men with the characteristic incisional scars typical of coronary bypass surgery. “I hope they have defibrillators along the way. I’m rusty on my CPR.”

  “They do, Mother. Don’t worry.”

  After the race began, they ran through the obstacle course of walkers, dancers, and aged runners into relatively clear space.

  Izzy felt great as she ran easily up Hayes Street Hill with Jennifer and Jodie. When she headed down Divisadero to Fell Street, she could feel her legs ache and tighten.

  Jennifer looked over her shoulder at Izzy. “How are you doing, Mom?”

  “Doing fine, but keep an eye on Jodie—she’s in new territory.”

  When they entered Golden Gate Park, Izzy suddenly felt fantastic—like she could run forever. The aching in her legs was gone.

  Izzy finished about two hundred yards behind Jennifer and joined her daughter, as she stood bent over gasping for breath.

  “Mom. You were fantastic. You’re not even breathing hard. If you were a few years younger, you’d be a real threat.”

  “Don’t write me off yet. I’m just getting started.”

  Izzy described her sudden euphoria when she entered Golden Gate Park.

  “It was a runner’s high. I’ve never had one. What was it like?”

  Izzy thought for a moment. “In addition to what I told you, the closest thing would be the aftermath of an orgasm.”

  Jennifer placed her hands over her ears. “I think I’ve heard enough, Mother.”

  Izzy shook her head. “You think your mother doesn’t have orgasms?”

  “I’d prefer not to think about it, Mother.”

  “You’re a throwback to my generation—no, to your grandmother’s generation.”

  “Enough.”

  When Jodie staggered across the finish line red and breathless, they rested awhile and then walked back through debris-lined street with men peeing against trees and women squatting.

  As they drove from the Bart station, Izzy was still excited. “I’m not sure how to describe the Bay to Breakers except as a three-ring circus. But the running—I’m hooked.”

  When Izzy arrived home, Ross was asleep before the TV. She shut it off and sat beside him rubbing his back. In a moment, he yawned, stretched, and smiled. “You’re back. How was the race?”

  “I’ll tell you tomorrow, but I did have my first runner’s high. Remember what you said the last time I got home from exercising?”

  He smiled. “Yes, how I like you hot and sweaty.”

  “Well, I did just run a marathon…”

  “And, you’re not too tired?”

  Izzy grasped Ross’s hand and pulled him up. “Had my runner’s high. I think I’ll try for a high of another type.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Izzy grabbed Ross’s hand. “The bedroom’s this way my well-rested friend. Let’s see who’s too tired.”

  Two months later, Izzy was running on a regular schedule five days a week. She’d joined the Cal Running Club and met with the group at 5:30 p.m. at the Kroeber Fountain at Bancroft and College on the U.C. campus.

  Izzy walked around the fountain searching for Margaret Kelly, her running buddy. Maggie was thirty-two and they’d been running together since Izzy joined the club. Maggie, like Izzy, had a runner’s build, thin with long legs, but Maggie was six feet one, two inches taller.

  As Izzy studied the group, Maggie came up from behind and hugged her. “Boy, you are getting skinny. How much have you lost?”

  “Don’t tell Ross,
but I’m down fifteen pounds and that’s off my ideal weight.”

  “What’s his problem?” Maggie said. “I think you look great.”

  “Curves… he’s into curves and mine are disappearing.”

  “He’s a shrink, right?”

  “Yes, and a good one.” Izzy paused. “And, he’s entitled to his peccadilloes.”

  “That’s a Spanish dish of tomatoes and ground meat, isn’t it?”

  Izzy laughed. “That’s picadillo.”

  “You guys must be lots of fun…two shrinks. Anyway, peccadillo?”

  “A small fault. Like enjoying curvy women. It’s in the DNA. Many reliable studies confirm the male preference for a waist to hip ration of 0.7.”

  “0.7?”

  “Like an hourglass.”

  “That’s a complicated way of saying that he’s a guy; a normal guy.”

  “But look at me, I’m too skinny.”

  “Has he lost interest in you?”

  “Not yet.”

  “You guys could have an obnoxiously prolonged discussion over that ‘not yet’ comment.”

  “We don’t do shrink stuff at home,” Izzy said. “We use the couch for recreational rather than therapeutic purposes.”

  “Well, Izzy, I think you’re thin enough. Lose any more and you may stop your periods.”

  Izzy choked with laughter. “Thanks for the compliment, but I can barely remember when I had my last period—eighteen years ago, I think.”

  Maggie smiled and slapped her palm against her forehead. “Stupid. I’m so dumb. When I look at you, I think of you as my contemporary, not sixty—I should look so good.”

  “Of course,” Izzy said. What woman doesn’t appreciate a compliment about her youthfulness, but the big plus is that I feel younger.”

  “Better watch it, Izzy, you’re becoming a running fanatic.”

  When Izzy got home, Ross was sitting at the table eating a TV dinner. He looked up and smiled. “How was your run?”

  She looked at the aluminum foil plate before Ross. “I’m so sorry that you’re resorting to TV Dinners. It’s so unfair.”

  Ross swiped his index finger through the thick, brown gravy and licked it off. “It’s not too bad. Anyway, you didn’t create the running club’s schedule. Maybe it’s about time I learned to cook.”

  Izzy sat beside Ross. “Get pissed off or something. Being so nice only makes me feel more guilty.”

  “Listen, if you can find a running schedule that’s better for our home life, that’s great. Otherwise, I’ll deal with it.”

  “Maybe I can get Maggie to run with me in the morning before work.”

  “How was your run?”

  “This may sound strange, but the group is holding me back. I think I can do better.” Izzy paused. “How would you feel if I hired a professional running trainer?”

  Ross looked into Izzy’s eyes. “I don’t see a problem, but I’m curious.”

  “About what?”

  “What’s your objective? Where is this whole thing going? You’re making an enormous investment of time. Where’s the payoff?”

  Izzy thought for a long moment. “We have a fantastic marriage. In part, it’s because we’ve kept the shrink stuff out of the house. Here at home, a cucumber is just a vegetable.”

  Ross smiled. “I read that Islamic clerics ban women from touching bananas or cucumbers.”

  “Those women have bigger problems than that.” She paused. “Being born in the right place is the solution, yet we all have our problems. Like you, I’m introspective. I don’t think I was particularly needy as a child, but I sure never got much support from Mom and Dad. My high school cross-county coach said I had promise. He even talked with them, but they wouldn’t lend a hand. I resented it then, and still do now.”

  “You gave them too much power…”

  “I know, but I was just a kid. Now, I need to work these things out in my own way—not necessarily the best way, but at least my own.”

  “Running is part of the plan?”

  “Partly. I love it. It’s a physical and emotional high, and don’t laugh…”

  “I wouldn’t dare,” Ross said.

  “I originally thought I could compete successfully in the sixty plus group. Now I think I can do even better.” She paused. “And I want to try.”

  Ross smiled. “Just don’t take me off your speed dial list.”

  Izzy embraced and kissed Ross. “You’re simply the best.”

  He pulled out his iPhone. “Say that again so I can remind you when necessary in the future.”

  Chapter Three

  Izzy identified several well-respected running coaches in the San Francisco Bay Area. Her conversations with them went well until she slipped in her age. Suddenly, despite the fact that she had excellent running times, each was “too busy” to take on additional clients. Two were more forthcoming, but no less sensitive when they suggested that she was “too old”, and that she’d “never become a marathoner of substance.”

  Finally, the running coach at UC Berkeley set up a meeting for Izzy with Mitch Silverman, an internationally known trainer. They met at Starbuck’s just off campus. Silverman was fifty-eight. He was tall and thin with dark curly hair and a dour demeanor.

  “What can I do for you, Mrs.—or is it Doctor Kramer?”

  “It’s Isabel or Izzy.” She paused. “I’d like to hire you to train me.”

  “For what?”

  “For a marathon—that’s what you do, isn’t it?”

  He laughed. “You must be kidding.”

  Izzy tightened her jaw. “Is being obnoxious, bigoted, and narrow-minded part of what it takes to coach long distance runners?”

  “Ouch,” he said.

  “Ouch indeed,” Izzy said, “be a mensch, if you can.”

  “I simply won’t waste my time with bored senior citizens who need to indulge their degenerating egos and aging bodies with fantasy.”

  Izzy smiled. “Aging—My, you’re a charmer, aren’t you, Mr. Silverman.”

  “You may call me Mitch.” He studied Izzy. “Neither charm nor good manners has any place in the marathon business, especially if your objective is to compete. In addition, I have no interest in the senior marathon program. I’d put you in the fifty plus category.”

  “I’m sixty, Mitchell, and I’m not looking to compete in any senior program.”

  “You’re out of your mind.”

  “I’m in a better position than you to assess my mental status, Mitchell, and I can assure you that I’m perfectly sane.”

  Mitch shook his head. “Sane or not, you’re wasting my time.”

  “Do you work for love or money?”

  “Both, but I’m not interested in the whims of a dilettante.”

  Izzy grinned. “You’ve been waiting all your life just to use that word.”

  “Untrue. I find it increasingly appropriate these days.”

  Izzy took a sip of her coffee. “Run with me.”

  “Coach said you were a decent amateur, but I have no interest in amateurs.”

  “Run with me.”

  “And, what will that prove?”

  “Run with me. God forbid that someone might challenge your rigid preconceptions. Run with me,” she paused to stare into his eyes, “if you dare.”

  Mitchell cracked the slightest smile. “Okay, Izzy. You’re on.”

  They met the next morning in the parking lot of Redwood Regional Park for the ten-mile East Ridge - West Ridge loop.

  They ran together from the East Ridge that started flat and then dropped steeply down to the Stream Trail. They continued side-by-side on the West Ridge that headed down stream. When the West Ridge Trail climbed steadily, Mitchell winked at Izzy then turned on the gas and sprinted away.

  Izzy smiled as she pushed onward. She maintained a gap of no more than fifty yards between them. As they neared the Chabot Space Science Center, the gap shortened and she raced ahead sprinting back into the parking lot.

  W
hen Mitchell joined her seconds later, he was bent over gasping for breath. He wiped sweat from his face, took a large drink, and then faced Izzy. “Okay, Izzy, but understand that while you may find me unpleasant now, when we’re done, you’re going to hate my guts.”

  “I can deal with that. Just get what you can out of me.”

  When Ross arrived home from work, Izzy came up and gave him a kiss. “I’m so glad you’re home. I have news.”

  “Should I sit?”

  “Sit, stand—whatever.”

  “Mitch Silverman has agreed to train me to run a marathon.”

  “How did you persuade him, or perhaps I don’t want to know.”

  “Maybe forty years ago that might have worked. We ran the Redwood Regional Park ten-mile East Ridge-West Ridge loop and I whipped his ass. Now, he’s impressed enough that I’m serious.”

  “Great, but does that mean I’ll be seeing less of you?”

  “That’s the best part. He’s laying out an eighteen-week program in preparation for a full marathon, but that requires three rest days each week. You’ll be seeing more of me than ever.”

  “I have one suggestion before you get started.”

  “Okay.”

  “Make an appointment to see Arnie Roth, our GP. He’s first rate. Let him evaluate your fitness for training and for a marathon. I don’t want to take any chances with you.”

  She caressed his cheek. “Always the voice of reason. I’ll call him tomorrow.”

  A week later, Izzy walked to Arnie’s office two blocks from Brier Hospital. After he completed an updated history and physical examination, they sat in his consultation room.

  Arnie shrugged his enormous shoulders. “I’ve rarely seen people of your age in such good shape.”

  Izzy scowled. “People of my age? Shame on you.”

  “Getting sensitive in our advancing years, are we?” Arnie said.

  “I don’t think my chronological age is pertinent, do you?”

  “Probably not, but I’m going to ask you to indulge me.”

  “I’m waiting.”

  “My stamp of approval will cost you a cardiac stress test and a calcium scan.”

  “You’re kidding,” Izzy said. “I’m running 10 miles at a clip. Isn’t that stress enough?”