Never Too Late (Brier Hospital)

by Larence Gold

  Lou hugged Izzy and whispered, “Don’t listen to her. To me, you look fantastic.”

  “Thanks, Daddy. I’m fine. Getting ready for a mountain run in less than two weeks.”

  Miriam turned to Ross. “How could you allow her to get this way? It’s unhealthy.”

  “Miriam,” Ross said, “I assure you that Izzy is in excellent condition. She’s healthier than 99 percent of women her age. Her weight’s down because of the marathon training.”

  Miriam stared at Izzy. “Well, I don’t like it one bit.” She turned back to Ross. “Does she really have to do this?”

  Izzy crossed her arms tightly. “Don’t talk about me in the third person, Mother. I don’t like it one bit.”

  Miriam’s eyes filled with tears. “You’re a mother. Regardless of age, a good mother never stops worrying about her children, and,” she paused. “I don’t like that tone of voice.”

  “That’s tough, Mother. I think I’d pass out from shock if one day you supported my efforts at anything.”

  Miriam wiped her tears then stood. “Your brother, Richard would never talk to me that way. I don’t need to listen to this from you, Isabel. Lou, take me home.”

  “We just got here.”

  Miriam placed her hands on her hips. “I said, take me home. Don’t you understand the English language?”

  “Don’t you dare talk to Daddy in that way,” Izzy said.

  “He’s my husband. I’ll talk to him in any way I please.”

  Louis stared at Miriam and then at Izzy. “You two drive me crazy. Whatever the rift between you two, grow up. Get over it.”

  Miriam picked up her coat and purse and marched toward the door. “I know when I’m not wanted.” She turned to her husband. “Lou, I’ll be waiting in the car.”

  After she left, Louis hugged Izzy. “She was never easy and aging hasn’t helped. Call me next week and we’ll have lunch.”

  “Love you, Daddy.”

  After he left, Izzy turned to Ross. “You don’t need to say it—I know.”

  “I envy women. They’re more thoughtful and collegial. Mother/daughter relationships may be the exception to that rule from time to time.”

  Izzy smiled. “I’m waiting for the ‘buts.’”

  “When I first went into practice,” Ross said, “I was sure the dictum, ‘a woman never forgets any slight, real or perceived’ was a stereotype—no, a caricature, but now I’m not so sure.”

  “And the past never bothers you?”

  “If I think about it, yes, but it’s rare. You, on the other hand…”

  “You’re right, of course,” she paused, “but I don’t understand how things don’t bother you.”

  “That’s the difference between men and women. I don’t get how stewing about the past does anything but torment.”

  “If I had the option, I wouldn’t do it, but do I really have a choice?”

  “You do. I’m not big on the ‘tapes playing in your head’ metaphor. Ruminating is a better one. You do have a choice: don’t ruminate.”

  “Okay, I’ll stop if you learn to ask for directions.”

  After a vigorous training session, Mitch stood in the Redwood parking lot with Izzy and Hunter.

  “You’re killing me with the speed work and the hills,” Hunter said. “I’m going home to rest and recuperate.”

  “I don’t hear Izzy complaining.”

  “Don’t compare me to Izzy; she’s not human. At the pace we’re going, I’ll never get to age sixty.”

  Mitch smiled. “Before you go, I have a proposal. I want you both in the Big Sur Half Marathon at Monterey Bay.”

  “What about the Mt. Diablo run?” Izzy asked.

  Mitch smiled. “Izzy, it’s the Big Sur Half Marathon.”

  “I appreciate the vote of confidence, Mitch,” Izzy said, “but that race has been sold out for months.”

  Mitch grabbed his attaché case, opened it, and handed Izzy and Hunter copies of their bib numbers for the Big Sur race.

  Hunter placed her bib number on her chest and smiled. “Unbelievable!” She paused. “How did you…?”

  “Gotta know the right people and I’ve been in this business a while.”

  Izzy shook her head. “We’re never going to get reservations anywhere near Monterey—rooms will have been booked a year or more and I would really want Ross and Jennifer to come. I don’t even know if they’re free.”

  “Talk with Ross. I think you’ll discover that he has everything covered.”

  “Ross?”

  Mitch nodded.

  Izzy turned to Hunter. “If you can’t find a place to stay, maybe we can help.”

  Hunter smiled. “It’s okay. Daddy has a cottage in Pebble Beach on 17 Mile Drive.”

  “A cottage?”

  “We like to call it a cottage.”

  When Izzy returned home, Ross was at his desk working on a report. She came up behind him and threw her arms around his neck. “I don’t believe you conspired with Mitch. You make me so happy. How did you get reservations so late?”

  “I didn’t have much choice, but you’ll be pleased to hear that I managed to find a mountain-side house at the Post Ranch Inn at Big Sur. We’ll be there one day before the marathon and two days afterward.”

  “Did we have to float a loan?”

  “Nearly, but what the hell.” He paused. “We’ll be celebrating your completion of the half marathon.”

  “Completion isn’t the issue. Performance is.”

  “I’d love you regardless of your performance.”

  Izzy smiled. “That’s my line, right?”

  “And, it always works.” He paused and looked at Izzy. “I know you want to do well, and I’m betting you will.”

  They checked into the Post Ranch Inn and their spectacular room on the hillside with a panoramic ocean view. As they sat on the patio breathing in the fresh ocean breeze, Ross grasped Izzy’s hand. “It’s wonderful being here with you.”

  She kissed him softly. “I can’t tell you enough how I appreciate your sacrificing so much for me. I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” He paused. “They have a fantastic gourmet restaurant.”

  “Yes?”

  “Are you eating tonight like a person or a runner?”

  “You can’t be both?”

  “Just asking.”

  “As long as they have pasta on the menu for carbohydrate loading, nobody will ever know the difference.”

  When they returned to their room, Ross undressed preparing for bed. “I have a historical question for you.”

  “Shoot.”

  “In 444 B.C., Plato wrote that Olympic competitors should avoid sex before races, but many years later, Pliny the Elder wrote to the contrary, that: ‘Athletes, when sluggish, are revitalized by lovemaking.’ The choice is yours, rest or revitalization?”

  Izzy smiled. “Well, I am feeling kinda sluggish.”

  Chapter Seven

  Sunday at 6:15 a.m., the horizon to the east glowed with the anticipated sunrise as Izzy and Ross stood near the starting position in Monterey on Del Monte Avenue near McDonalds. A huge banner blowing in the wind read: Running at the Edge of the World. Spectators and runners were milling about.

  After Izzy picked up her race packet and running bib, she spied Jennifer, Connie, and Jodie. They had come for the day and probably had left Berkeley around 3 a.m. to get there for the start.

  As they approached, Izzy beamed. “Wow, you’re here. You didn’t have to…”

  Jennifer hugged her mother. “No way would we miss your coming out party.”

  “No coming out, that would be for Hunter. She turned. “To speak of the devil.”

  Hunter was walking down the street with her boyfriend, Benjamin Crocker. She came up to Izzy. “So you didn’t chicken out?”

  “Not one drop of chicken in this old body.” Izzy looked around. “Mitch’s here somewhere, but we won’t see or hear from him until it’s all over. Run your race. Stay calm, but i
f you’re feeling it at the end, go for it. I know you’ll do well.”

  Hunter lifted her nose. “I can do without your gratuitous advice. You run your race, I’ll run mine.”

  As Hunter walked away, Ross looked after her. “She’s a real sweetheart.”

  “I think her Daddy got the daughter he deserved,” Izzy said. “If she wasn’t such a bitch, I’d feel sorry for her.”

  “Whoa. You hate that word,” Ross said. “She must be getting to you.”

  “You’re right. I shouldn’t react, but Hunter’s not only insufferable, she’s relentlessly negative.”

  Izzy kissed Ross. He held her tight for a long moment and then she hugged Jennifer, Jodie, and Connie. “Gotta go. See you in Custom House Plaza.”

  Izzy found her way into the grey, bald, and wrinkled runners’ corral. She wore her black running shorts and gold U.C. Berkeley T-shirt with California printed across the top and a bear below. When she kneeled down to tighten her favorite Asics Kayano running shoes, her hands were shaking.

  A woman about seventy smiled at Izzy. “I’m Alice—Your first race?”

  “My first half marathon. I’m a wreck. My stomach’s killing me.”

  “Once you get going, the anxiety will fade. Don’t worry. Enjoy the race. It’s one of the most scenic in the world.”

  As the corral came to the starting line, several seniors looked expectantly at the ambulance and the EMT crews standing by with their defibrillators and emergency packs.

  Alice turned to Izzy and pointed at the medical crew. “Encouraging, isn’t it?”

  Izzy clasped Alice’s hand. “Let’s disappoint them.”

  Izzy checked her hat, shoes, and sunglasses. She touched her nose, and took ten deep breaths to complete her pre-race ritual.

  The race was off in an instant and Izzy found herself passing men and women of all ages including two pregnant women. She pushed on and found herself way ahead of the women and half the men. As they exited the tunnel on Del Monte Avenue, Izzy grinned as she had easily stayed with the men. They ran past Cannery Row, the aquarium, down West Ocean View, and then on to Pacific Grove. It was only when she got to the coastline from Lover’s Point to Point Piño that she took a moment to enjoy the spectacular blue water with rolling waves crashing onto the rocky beach. She inhaled the fresh salty air and smiled.

  Izzy entered a dream-like state. Memories flashed through her mind—images and aromas of the past, especially those of running cross-country through Valley Stream State Park with the lake constantly on the left. She was running effortlessly through mature Balsam Fir, Sugar Maple, and Oaks. Suddenly, with a gust of briny mist, she was back in Monterey.

  She felt strong, light, and relaxed, like running on air. Sounds seemed far off and colors were intense. When she turned to head back, the runner’s high hit her and she easily shifted into higher gear.

  Take it easy, Izzy thought as she passed runner after runner. A few stared at her in amazement. Several runners, mostly men, tried to speed up to match her pace, but ultimately fell back. One woman in her thirties “accidentally” stepped into Izzy’s path, almost causing her to fall. When she cleared other runners, it felt surreal, as if flying over the ground, as she headed for the finish line in a sprint.

  Izzy leaned over holding her thighs to catch her breath. She stood and shielded her eyes from the overhead sun as she looked around for a familiar face. Suddenly, Mitch Silverman came up and gave her a big hug. He handed her a large sugar cookie and an iced glass of lemonade. After she took a bite and a drink, he asked, “How are you? How do you feel?”

  “Wonderful—I feel wonderful. How did I do?”

  Just then, Ross, Jennifer, and Connie surrounded Izzy, each taking their turn at a hug.

  Ross was holding Izzy’s hand. He turned to Mitch. “So, how did she do?”

  Mitch shook his head sadly.

  Izzy paled. “That bad?”

  Mitch smiled broadly and winked. “Excuse my pathetic sense of humor, but Izzy, you were incredible. You ran 1:40:02 and you beat everyone in your class, male and female and except for the winners; you outran most in the thirties plus group. You had an age grade of 85.”

  “What’s age grade?” Ross asked.

  “It puts all race participants on a level playing field by factoring in age and gender.”

  Ross looked at Mitch. “What does 85 mean?

  “Over 80 means National Class Running. Over 90 means World Class Running.”

  “I can’t believe it,” Izzy said. “How did Hunter do?”

  “Hunter was terrific. She ran 1:29:04 with an age grade of 71. That puts her in regional class.”

  Suddenly, Hunter walked up with Ben Crocker. She’d let her hair down and looked fantastic.

  “Great run,” Izzy said.

  “It was okay. Next time I’ll do a lot better. You can bet on it.” Hunter introduced Ben to everyone. “Yes, he’s part of a venerable San Francisco family, the Crockers.”

  Ben was tall and painfully thin, but had a ready smile. “I’m so pleased to meet you all.” He turned to Izzy. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

  Hunter smiled and turned to Izzy. “I hear you did well with the geriatric crowd. You can be proud of yourself.”

  Mitch frowned. “She did a hell of a lot better than that, Hunter…”

  Izzy interrupted, giving Mitch a warning glance. “Don’t, Mitch…”

  Hunter stared at Mitch. “From this point on, we really push it to the next level, right?”

  Mitch stared at Hunter, bit his lip, and shook his head.

  “Don’t worry, Hunter, I’m up for it.” Izzy smiled. “I’ll do well if I stay healthy.” Izzy paused, staring at Hunter. “Perhaps you’ll join us for lunch?”

  “No, thanks. Daddy has prepared something special for us.”

  Hunter grabbed her boyfriend’s arm and walked away.

  “Thank God,” Jennifer said. “That woman’s some piece of work.”

  “Let’s celebrate,” Ross said.

  Izzy smiled. “Take me anywhere, but first I need a chocolate milkshake.”

  Chapter Eight

  Monday, when Izzy arrived at her office, Connie stood and made an exaggerated bow.

  Izzy smiled, “Give me a break, Connie.”

  “You’re a celebrity, Izzy. Better get used to it. It’s all over campus.”

  “People have too much time on their hands if this is all they have to focus on.”

  “I don’t think so. In the outside world, ageism is commonplace, but surprisingly, on campus, we celebrate seniors, especially seniors who refuse to yield to the calendar.”

  “Well, I don’t think of it as a big deal.”

  “AARP thinks it’s a big deal,” Connie said.

  “AARP’s business is making a big deal over seniors.”

  “Izzy, you’re not getting it. AARP called this morning. They want to interview you for a full-length article in their magazine. You’re going to be famous.”

  “What if I don’t want to be famous?”

  “Too late now.”

  Izzy tried to work at her desk, but her phone continued to ring with congratulations. Just before noon, Jodie Kaufman stuck her head in. “Can you make lunch or should I schedule it with your publicist?”

  “Okay, but what’s going to happen when I really accomplish something?”

  “Don’t go there. The world makes these decisions. You’re the flavor of the week, Izzy. Enjoy it while you can.”

  At lunch, Jodie asked, “What’s your ultimate objective?”

  “The Boston Marathon, of course. That’s been my goal from the outset.”

  “What does Mitch Silverman think?”

  “I’m training well, progressing slowly, and if I don’t overdo it and injure myself, Mitch thinks I can run a decent marathon.”

  “That’s wonderful.”

  Izzy remained silent.

  “It is wonderful, isn’t it?”

  “You’re going to think that I�
��m crazy or egomaniacal, or both,” Izzy said, “but I can’t—I won’t settle for ‘decent.’”

  “You’ve reached National Class. What do you want?”

  “World Class, and I think I can do it.”

  Jodie studied her friend. “It’s not going to be easy.”

  “You’re right. It’s going to be difficult, very difficult.”

  “You’re risking your health and your family. Is it worth the effort?”

  “I really don’t know. I’d be all over one of my patients for such obsessive and potentially destructive behavior. I can spend the next decade on an analyst’s couch for an answer, but between you and me, I don’t have the time or the energy.”

  Later that week, Izzy met with a reporter from AARP Magazine. They talked for an hour and he took photographs.

  A week later, Izzy opened the PDF file from AARP with her smiling face, a photo from the half-marathon, and the headline: “At Sixty, Izzy Kramer Never Looks Back.” She read the copy and highlighted, six times, the reporter’s use of the word, inspirational.

  Chapter Nine

  A month later, Izzy, Hunter, and Mitch stood together in the Redwood parking lot. Izzy’s face was red and wet with sweat as she bent over holding her knees. “That was sadistic, Mitch.”

  “No pain, no gain.” He paused. “I’ve arranged for massages for you two at the Claremont Spa. Ask for Heather. She’s great. The first three are on me, the rest is up to you.”

  “Heather?” Izzy asked.

  “Try her. That girl has terrific hands. She’s helpful with injuries, too.”

  “No thanks, Mitch,” Hunter said, “Daddy arranged a personal masseur for me.” She grabbed her backpack. “I’m out of here. See you in the a.m.”

  Izzy and Mitch walked to a shaded bench and sat. He stared at her. “Are you okay? You look down.”

  “I’m fine, just frustrated. I’m working so hard, but it looks as if I’ve reached a plateau.”

  “I can add a few wrinkles, pardon the expression, to the program, Izzy. Sometimes that’s necessary to push through to a new level.” He paused. “I do have one concern.”