by Larence Gold
“Jim Fixx, the runner’s guru, died at fifty-two of a massive heart attack with absolutely nothing to suggest heart disease.”
“Did Ross call you?”
“No call.”
Izzy shook her head. “You guys! Okay, did he contact you in any way, from talking to texting to carrier pigeon?”
“Well, he might have said something in the doctors’ lounge one morning.”
Izzy smiled. “Okay, but Arnie, you’re one lousy liar.”
“So you’d prefer that I was a more proficient liar?”
Izzy bent over and kissed his cheek. “Stay just as you are.”
A week later, Izzy and Ross read over the medical reports. Izzy smiled. “No excuses now, sweetheart.”
“Can I make one suggestion?”
“Shoot.”
“I know how much this means to you, and no insult intended, I don’t want you to overdo it. Despite your incredible physical condition, you’re no kid.”
“I’m waiting.”
“We’ve got to expect injury at this level of training and if you do get hurt, I want to know right away. Denial is a powerful mechanism and it’s no surprise that motivated athletes try to push through injury.”
“You’re sweet. Maybe when I was a teenager running cross-country that might have been a problem, but not now. Trust me, sweetie.”
“I’ll be examining you in detail after each run. I call that my Ronald Reagan approach, trust-but-verify.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
It was 6:30 a.m. when Izzy parked in Redwood Regional Park to meet with Mitch Silverman. He was standing next to a tall, lanky young woman in her mid-twenties. She was jogging in place and stretching in preparation for running. She had long, blonde, California-Girl hair and had platinum 2.00 carat round diamond stud earrings. She wore Athleta designer shorts and top, and Oakley polarized sunglasses.
Mitch introduced the young woman. “Izzy Kramer, meet Hunter Blake.”
Izzy stretched out her hand. “It’s nice to meet you Hunter.”
Hunter accepted Izzy’s hand with a slight sneer as if she were touching a dead fish. “Hunter Blake, of the Hillsborough Blakes.”
Izzy smiled. “Izzy Kramer, the Berkeley Kramers.”
Hunter looked at her with curiosity. “I understand that it’s Doctor Kramer.”
“Please call me Izzy.”
Mitch bent over to tie his shoe. “Hunter’s a grad student. She was number two on U.C. Berkeley’s cross-country team. She’s moving up into marathon and shows great promise.”
Izzy pointed to Hunter’s earrings. “Maybe you’d better put those away somewhere safe.”
“Oh, these things. I have three other pairs. Anyway, Daddy has them insured.”
Mitch reached into his backpack, opened a folder, and extracted two papers, handing one to each. “These are your training schedules for the next eighteen weeks. I expect that you’ll follow them to the letter.”
Izzy studied the schedule for Monday through Sunday that included rest days interspersed with a variety of distances, paces, and cross training. It showed increasing difficulty as they approached half marathons and full marathons with easier days before competitions. “You really meant thirty-eight weeks, didn’t you?”
“Very funny, Izzy. Soon, you won’t find much amusement in what we’re doing.”
Hunter sneered at the schedule. “You’re kidding, Mitch. I’m not going to get anywhere with this walk in the park.” She paused. “And, if you expect me to train with this senior citizen, you’re out of your mind.” She turned to Izzy with a sardonic smile. “No disrespect intended.”
“None taken.”
Mitch pulled the schedule from Hunter’s hand. “That’s it, Hunter. Take a hike, and tell the Hillsborough Blakes that their payments for my services are non-refundable.”
Hunter swallowed deeply. “Wait just a goddamn minute. You can’t do this to me. You do know who I am—who we are.”
“If you don’t know who you are, let’s check your purse for ID. Meanwhile, I said, take a hike. Izzy and I have work to do.”
Izzy turned away as she felt a smile coming.
Hunter paled. “You can’t do this—he’s going to kill me.”
Mitch looked up. “Who’s going to kill you?”
“My father. Please. I apologize—just let me stay.”
Mitch moved to face both Izzy and Hunter. “What I say is the law—no ifs, ands, or buts. Do you understand?”
Hunter nodded vigorously.
Izzy smiled.
“Something’s funny, Izzy?”
“No, Mitch. I get it.”
Mitch placed his hand on Hunter’s shoulder. “Izzy, Dr. Kramer is an exceptional runner and you’re lucky to have her as a training partner. Work with her for a while before you shoot off your stupid mouth again.”
Hunter studied her feet and then nodded. She turned to Izzy. “I’m sorry. Sometimes I don’t believe what comes out of my mouth.”
Izzy grinned. “We’ve all said things we later regret. It’s part of being human.”
“Forget human,” Mitch said. “If you want human, find another trainer. We’re going way beyond human.”
Mitch put them through warm-up and stretching exercises, but when he stopped, Izzy said. “A few minutes more for me, Mitch. It takes me a little longer to stretch out so I can avoid injury.”
Hunter stared at Izzy. “Give me a break.”
Mitch pointed his index finger at Hunter, started to say something and stopped.
Hunter sighed, shrugged her shoulder, and rolled her eyes.
“Take as long as you need,” Mitch said, “but when we start, I expect that you’ll meet my pace requirements. Agreed?”
“No problem.”
Mitch returned the schedule to Hunter. “We’re off the week’s schedule, so we’ll start today with five miles. Just keep up with me.”
Hunter reddened and shook her head in disgust.
Mitch studied her. “You have something more to say, Hunter?”
She shook her head. “No, sir.”
They ran together at a brisk pace, but Izzy remained perfectly comfortable and enjoyed the run and the beautiful scenery. Izzy found Hunter sneaking a look at her and each time she caught her, she smiled back and Hunter turned away like a thief caught in the act. One time, when the trail narrowed, Hunter sprinted to get ahead of Izzy, nearly tripping her.
When Izzy told Ross of her new training partner, he smiled. “That’s a compliment, I think. Training you with a twenty-five year old.”
“Twenty-five going on eight and with inbred elitist sensibilities.” She paused. “I sure hope that she’s self-motivated because if she’s doing this for Daddy, the stress may be overwhelming and, I’m guessing, she may never meet her father’s expectations. I feel sorry for her.”
Chapter Four
In 1989, Cedric Blake married Beatrice Hopkins the day after her pregnancy test showed positive. They fought bitterly over his demand that she have an abortion, but, as a devout Catholic, she refused. “It’s a mortal sin—I won’t do it.” This was the only absolute refusal she would manage for the next thirty years.
They lived in the Hillsborough, California estate that had been the creation of Ogden Blake on the proceeds of his real estate empire. Cedric, an only child, took the estate and the empire when Ogden developed early onset Alzheimer’s.
Hunter saw her mother daily, but her care fell into the hands of one nanny after the next as Cedric found them, sooner or later, insufficient for his demanding daughter. For Hunter, each cycle of attachment to the new nanny, and their ultimate separation was traumatic.
“We don’t need a nanny,” the seven-year-old Hunter pleaded to Beatrice. “I’ll be good. It will be easy for you, Mommy, I promise.”
“I’d love to,” Beatrice said, “but I have too many obligations.”
“Please, Daddy,” Hunter begged.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Hunter,” C
edric said. “Your mother is a wonderful woman, but she doesn’t have the skills we need to train a girl of your status.”
From age seven until she graduated from high school, Hunter had enrichment lessons in just about everything from math, French, piano, art history, to social studies. She had joined the track team at Crystal Springs Uplands School, but demanded a transfer to Burlingame High School after their track team blew them away.
“I’m sorry, Hunter, but that school isn’t for people of our stature,” Cedric had said.
After three weeks of Hunter’s refusal to leave the house, and with Beatrice’s pleas, Cedric relented.
Hunter, in merely a month, became queen bee to a coterie of admirers. Her clothes, jewelry, and her BMW convertible had her a center of attention. When she outran all the women on the track team, she became a legend.
Despite her popularity, she had only one close friend, Michelle Crocker. People speculated that Hunter had her sights on Benjamin, Michelle’s brother.
When Michelle’s parents discovered that she was pregnant, they removed the girl from school.
Michelle begged Hunter, “Please, we can still be friends,” but Hunter turned away, Michelle’s pleas falling on deaf ears.
When Michelle’s mother approached Hunter, she said, “You two had been so close. Why make things more difficult for your friend?”
Hunter smirked. “I’m afraid that a person of my status, can’t be seen with the likes of her.”
Hunter’s pattern of popularity continued at UC Berkeley, where she’d entered with an athletic scholarship. She had solicitations from the best sororities, and the most desirable men’s interest came easily, but personal isolation continued, so that she remained unhappy.
Hunter fought against her father who finally coerced Hunter to see Lola Weizman, a prominent psychotherapist. Lola was eighty-five and still practiced part-time. She, with her physician husband, Jacob, were holocaust survivors and no nonsense practitioners.
“She can’t help me,” Hunter said, she’s older than Methuselah.
Lola, deploying infinite patience as only an old pro could do, worked hard with the girl, but one day, she threw up her hands. “For me especially, life is too short. I want you to take your business elsewhere. You are the most obnoxious, pretentious, narcissistic young woman that I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting. I predict a life of misery for you, a result you so readily deserve.”
As Lola studied the startled woman, she thought, there goes my psychotherapist of the year award.
Hunter looked up at Lola. “Does that mean that you don’t want to see me again?”
Lola laughed. “You bet. And, thank you. As Dirty Harry said, you’ve just made my day.”
That night, back in Hillsborough, Hunter was sitting with Beatrice and Cedric tearfully recounting her final session with Lola. “Nobody ever talked to me that way. It was horrible.”
“Now, now,” Beatrice said, “I’m sure that she didn’t mean it. Perhaps she was just having a bad day?”
Cedric snorted. “People like that, people of that class, can never understand us. We might as well come from different planets. Don’t worry, sweetheart, Daddy will get someone qualified to help you this time.”
Chapter Five
Into the seventh training week, Izzy’s mood varied. She was elated at one moment, and then physically and emotionally fatigued at others. Often, she’d become sullen and non-communicative.
After dinner while they were having coffee, Ross studied his wife. “We’ve never had secrets or even left things unsaid, but now we’re having difficulties.”
“We?” Izzy asked.
“Jennifer and I. We’ve been supportive because we know how important this is for you, but you need to know that we’re paying a price.”
Izzy clenched her jaw. “I’m not going to stop, dammit. This is my chance. I’ll never have one again.”
Ross shook his head. “That’s a perfect example. Nobody has asked you to stop anything, yet you’re in full defensive mode.”
Izzy looked down.
“Do you want to hear our concerns?”
“Of course I want to hear your concerns,” Izzy said with a strident tone.
Ross sighed and spoke in a carefully modulated manner. “Perhaps another time. You’re obviously not ready for a conversation.” He stood. “I have work to do.”
“Don’t you dare use that shrink voice on me. You’re going to leave this thing hanging? I think that’s manipulative.”
“Listen to yourself, will you? Manipulative—what’s my motive? What will I get from manipulating you? Give me a break.”
Tears filled Izzy’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“You’re tired. Everything looks gloomy when you’re fatigued.”
“What else?”
“We had a life—a good life and it’s taking a hit—nothing dramatic, yet, but a hit nonetheless. It’s not just the marathon; it’s how you’re dealing with it.”
“I’m working so hard.” She paused. “I just can’t stop.”
“Just listen, will you?”
“Okay.”
Ross leaned over and took Izzy’s hands. “Initially, I was concerned with time and how little we’d be seeing each other, but that’s not the problem. You’ve become obsessive about your running.”
“I just want to do well.”
“No, Izzy, it’s much more than that. Wanting to do well is healthy, but running has taken over every aspect of your life. You eat, sleep and drink it—it’s all we ever talk about. It’s marathon 24/7.” He paused. “I hate the way this sounds, but there’s little room left for me or for Jennifer.”
Izzy paused for a moment of deep thought, and then said, “You’re right, of course, but I’m struggling to deal with it. The best at anything are, by necessity, a little nuts, yes, and compulsive. Maybe that is too high a price, but it’s not forever. Can’t you stick by me for a while?”
“We’ll support you no matter what, but I’m…we’re worried about you.”
Izzy looked up to the soft knock on her office door. Jodie stuck her head in. “Are you free for lunch?”
“Sure. Come in. Give me a moment and we’ll go.” After five minutes, Izzy closed her folder and put it in the outbox. “Where to?”
“Let’s get off campus for a change. How much time do you have?”
“I’m teaching at two.”
“How about Adagia?”
“Across the street is barely off-campus, but great,” Izzy said. “I love that place.”
Jodie winked. “It’s not too far for you to walk, is it, Izzy?”
Izzy laughed. “Not going, but maybe coming back after the chocolate bread pudding.”
Izzy and Jodie crossed the campus and came to Bancroft and College, where they stood in Adagia’s entrance for a moment until the hostess guided them onto the sunny patio.
“You’re not going to eat like you’re in training, are you?”
Izzy smiled. “I eat everything—often a lot of everything. You order the wine.”
After great service and a wonderful meal, they sat drinking coffee and sharing the bread pudding.
“You’re an inspiration to us all, Izzy. So how is the training going?”
“I’m seven weeks into Mitch’s schedule. It’s tough. It’s even more difficult than I thought it would be.”
“It’s tough for twenty year olds. You probably can’t remember when you were twenty.”
Izzy took a sip. “Trust me, I remember all too well.” She paused. “It’s not the work or even the expected aches and pains. It’s my progress…it’s slow.”
“Since you shared Mitch’s schedule with me, I took the time to study it. He designed it to gradually build you up by a variety of runs and rest periods where your muscles can recover and incorporate new protein.”
“But, I’m due for a half marathon in two weeks. I’m petrified that I’ve been kidding myself all along—fakin
g it. Moreover, this whole thing is taking a toll on Ross and Jennifer.”
“They’re supporting you, aren’t they?”
“Of course, but I know it’s been difficult for them. It might be easier for me if they hadn’t been so nice about it.”
Jodie shook her head. “How dare them—being nice about it. Maybe you should report them or head for a women’s shelter.”
“Whose side are you on?”
“I’m on the side of the angels, but for the moment, you’ll do.”
“Your lab is working to optimize athletic performance, isn’t it?” Izzy asked.
“Like most sports psychologists, we rely primarily on motivational techniques. If you were any more impassioned, we’d have to keep you on a leash.”
“You’re doing other stuff, aren’t you?”
“We’re employing virtual reality techniques oriented toward motivation. We have some early experimental physiological trials, but it’s too soon to tell if they’ll be effective.”
“Two weeks from today,” Izzy said, “I’m doing the Mount Diablo Trail Adventure & Summit Run. Ross and Jennifer will be there. Can you join them?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Chapter Six
When Izzy got home Friday noon, a shiny champagne-beige Lincoln Town Car sat in the driveway taking two spaces. She shook her head in disgust and parked at the curb. When she came through the front door, Ross was sitting in their great room with Izzy’s parents, Louis and Miriam Aaron, both in their early eighties.
Both parents had lost height over the years. Miriam was now five feet, seven inches, two inches taller than Lou. She wore a flowered housedress and had curly, short, grey hair. Lou’s hair was long gone and he wore his pants up just below his rib cage. Lou always smiled. Miriam rarely did.
Miriam rose and walked to her daughter. Her eyes widened and she placed her hand across her mouth. “My God, look at you. You’re skin and bones.” She turned to her husband. “Lou, look at what’s left of our darling daughter.”