Never Too Late (Brier Hospital)

by Larence Gold

  “Never too tired for play. What’s up?”

  “We’re scientists, but most VR for the moment is for entertainment. Have you ever been to Pamplona, Spain?”

  “No.”

  In a moment, the screen filled with men dressed in white with red bandanas. They were running through the spectator-lined streets of the ancient city. As Izzy ran among them, she looked back to the snorts and hoof beats of enormous black bulls. They snorted aggressively and held their horns down as they approached from behind. She shifted her body away, her pulse racing, as a huge horn nearly pierced her back. In a few moments, it was over.

  “Amazing. What would have happened if that horn hit me?”

  David smiled. “You’d have been gored—virtually.”

  Afterward, as Izzy sat next to the treadmill, the techs removed the sensors.

  Jodie smiled. “How was it?”

  “Next time it’s raining or cold, I’m coming in here for my run. It was fantastic. The computer-generated images looked almost real, and if I weren’t wired, I don’t think I could have told the difference.”

  “You exaggerate,” David said.

  “Just a little.”

  “In a few years, this will be as real as a trip on the holodeck of the Starship Enterprise.”

  Izzy showered and set up a series of appointments.

  When she returned to the office, Connie looked up. “How was your workout?”

  “Exciting.”

  “Exciting? Never heard you use that description before for a workout.”

  Izzy smiled. “Send my next appointment in when she arrives.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Napa Valley Marathon

  (March)

  Izzy and Mitch drove to Calistoga the evening before the Napa Valley race. They’d stay at his brother’s home.

  Izzy turned to Mitch. “Have you heard anything from Hunter?”

  “Not a thing. I know she’s registered for the race, but that’s about it.”

  Izzy looked down at her hands. “I still think it’s a shame.”

  “I agree, but she’s an adult and it’s time she took responsibility for her actions.”

  “It’s Daddy, Mitch. She’s not a free agent.”

  “That’s bullshit, Izzy, and you know it. Go shrink on me if you like, but I can’t forgive Hunter, and I sure as hell won’t forget.”

  When Izzy and Mitch arrived in Calistoga, they had dinner with Mitch’s brother. After Izzy managed to get the last bite down, she got up from her large plate of pasta and patted her belly. “That’s it for me. I’m hitting the sack. Big day tomorrow.”

  “Your entourage will be here in the morning?”

  “Ross and Jennifer will pick up Jodie. They should be here by race time.”

  Mitch gave Izzy a small squeeze. “Goodnight. You’re going to do well tomorrow.”

  Izzy awakened to a tug on her arm. She looked up into Mitch’s smiling face.

  “If you’re going to make history today, old lady, first you need to get out of bed.”

  They made it to the starting line in Calistoga at 6:02 a.m. just as the sun was rising.

  Izzy spent several minutes pacing and stretching and then spent twenty minutes in the port-a-potty line. She made it back to the starting point in time to for “The Star Spangled Banner.”

  Just before the starting gun, Ross, Jennifer, and Jodi arrived with barely enough time for a group hug.

  Mitch stood before Izzy, grasping her arms in his large hands. “You know how to play this race, don’t you?”

  “Of course, but just in case, I emulated Sarah Palin and wrote it on my palm.”

  “Good luck. I’m so very proud of you.”

  Izzy looked up at Mitch. “Did you see Hunter?”

  “Yes, but she looked away rather than meet my eyes. And, Izzy, forget about her. You have other things on your mind.”

  The weather was perfect as Izzy and Mitch joined the crowd on the starting line.

  Mitch hugged Izzy, and said, “Don’t forget my advice.”

  As Mitch turned to leave, a Napa Valley race official grabbed Izzy by the arm. “Listen grandma, you’d best get back in the rear before you get trampled.”

  Izzy pulled her arm away. “Don’t touch me.”

  Mitch stepped between the two. “What in hell are you doing? What planet are you from? This is Dr. Isabel Kramer and she’s among the highest rated runners in this race.”

  The official blushed with embarrassment. “My God. I’m so sorry, Dr. Kramer. Of course I know of you. I’m an idiot. Please forgive me.”

  “Okay,” Izzy said, “if you promise to leave your preconceptions about seniors behind.”

  “I will,” he said as he walked away.

  The temperature’s in the mid-forties. A runner’s dream, she thought.

  Izzy checked the plastic timing chip attached to her shoe. It was secure. She then completed her pre-race ritual.

  It’s so senseless, she thought.

  The crowd gathered at the red Napa Valley Marathon arch and the gun went off at 6:59. Soon, the runners thinned. Izzy didn’t note much jockeying for position as they ran the Calistoga Trail.

  As Izzy hit her stride, the discomfort in her legs above the ankles drew her attention. She felt anxious, but after the first mile, it disappeared and she relaxed into her running.

  At the end of mile three, Izzy dropped her jacket as planned and Ross grabbed it giving her two big thumbs up.

  While she cruised the next thirteen miles running over rolling hills and through vineyards, it surprised her to see so many young runners, men and women, falling behind. Several times, she barely missed stepping on frogs as they hopped across the roadway.

  As Izzy headed downhill at mile eighteen, her silver-haired fans raised a large sheet on the sideline with pink letters: SENIOR POWER: SHOW ‘EM, IZZY. She grabbed a small pretzel and water at the aid station.

  At mile twenty, a continuous uphill leg, Izzy flew by Hunter, whose face was contorted with anguish as she struggled up the hill. Izzy smiled to herself.

  As she passed a woman in her mid-thirties wearing a grey T-shirt with red Stanford lettering, the woman glared at Izzy and sped up to match her stride and tried to force Izzy off the road. Izzy picked up her pace, shook her head in disgust, and after a minute, the woman grimaced and fell back.

  You’re too damned civilized, Izzy, she thought. Where’s that killer instinct?

  When she hit the aid station at mile twenty-three, she downed a cup of orange sorbet.

  At mile twenty-four, the high hit her, and she sped to the finish line at Vintage High School. She stared at the two time clocks, the gun clock read 2:37:23 and the chip clock read 2:37:20. Izzy shook her head in disbelief.

  After she flew past the finish line, she felt an ache in both lower legs, the right much greater than the left. Izzy forgot the pain as moments later, a crowd of fans, friends, and relatives surrounded and congratulated her. Ross and Jennifer gave her a big hug. Mitch forced his way through and hugged her, too.

  Mitch was smiling broadly.

  Izzy looked into Mitch’s eyes. “The time clocks—they were wrong, right?”

  “No, you just set a new record for the Napa Valley Marathon.”

  “In what age category?”

  “Izzy, you just ran the Napa Valley Marathon faster than any woman in history.”

  “No!”

  “Believe it,” Mitch said, glowing with pride.

  As Izzy stood with Mitch and her family in the parking lot, the woman with the Stanford T-shirt walked up to Izzy, red with anger. She was dark-skinned and spoke with a middle-eastern accent. “This is crap. If you believe you’re going to get away with it, think again.”

  Izzy started for the woman, but Mitch blocked her. The woman flipped Izzy off, turned, and stalked away.

  “Pay no mind,” Mitch said. “I know the type. Aggression may create good competitors, but it makes for rotten people.”

  The fol
lowing day as she left her office for her next class, a middle-aged man and an attractive young woman approached. Both produced laminated identification badges from the United States Antidoping Agency (USADA).

  “A moment of your time, Dr. Kramer,” the man said.

  Izzy tensed. “What is it?”

  “It’s routine,” the woman said reassuringly. “We need urine specimens for testing.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “This is no kidding matter, doctor,” he said, producing two plastic specimen containers labeled A and B.

  “Why two containers?”

  “The A specimen we test at once, the B specimen will be for confirmation if the A’s positive.”

  Izzy shook her head in dismay. “I have fourth and fifth amendment objections to this procedure.”

  The young woman smiled. “We’re not the bad guys, Doc. We want the sport to be clean. I’m sure you want that, too. You can refuse, but I’d advise against it.”

  Izzy looked at the man and grabbed the specimen containers. “I certainly don’t need his help.”

  “That’s why I’m here, Doc,” the woman said. “I need to observe, and I promise not to sit on your lap.”

  Izzy held the specimen containers as she walked toward the lady’s room. She smiled seductively at the woman. “Too bad. You had my interest there, for a moment.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The day after returning from the Napa Marathon, Izzy limped into Mitch’s office.

  He watched as she grimaced, moving to the chair. “Izzy, what’s wrong?”

  “Shin splints. I’ve had them before. They always go away in a few days.”

  “Not shin splints, Izzy,” he smiled. “It’s the medial tibial stress syndrome.”

  “Will that make it hurt less?”

  “Smart-ass. It’s a syndrome because the pain has several possible causes. Runners call shin splints ‘the terrible toos’; running too hard, too fast, or too long.”

  “Guilty on all three counts, Mitch.”

  He bent in front of her chair and examined her legs, pressing his thumbs up and down her tibias. “Any pain or discomfort?”

  “A little, right where your thumb is now,” Izzy said. “Let’s not make a big deal about it.”

  “Okay, shin splints, but injuries go their own way, especially if you ignore them. You need to get out the ice packs and take a few days off.”

  “Like hell, I will.”

  Mitch stared at her. “That’s not a suggestion, Izzy, it’s an order.”

  By day five, she was feeling much better, but still limping. “I’m ready to resume my workouts. I’m better now. I won’t doubt you again.”

  “You mean you’ve had doubts before?”

  Izzy leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Never.”

  “Give me a day to consider what we can do with your training that won’t make the injury worse.”

  “Think hard and fast, Mitch.”

  Mitch smiled and shook his head.

  As soon as Izzy left, Mitch went to his desk. He’d been returning call after call from runners and coaches seeking advice. He had many requests to take on additional runners. He’d politely refused most, but agreed to place several names on his growing wait list.

  After a tap on his office door, Cedric Blake’s chauffeur, Benson, stuck his head it. “If you have a moment…”

  Mitch stood. “Send Mr. Blake in. I’ve been expecting him.”

  The chauffeur left and then held the door open for Mr. Blake to enter. Hunter followed, head down and arms wrapped around herself.

  “I just saw your star horse limping down the hallway,” Cedric said. “Too bad.”

  “It’s just shin splints. She’ll be fine.”

  Cedric gave a thin smile. “You know what we do when one of our horses goes lame?”

  Mitch tightened his jaw and reddened. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “It was just a joke, my man,” Cedric said.

  “Some joke.” He paused and shook his head. “What do you need?”

  “Thank you for seeing us, Mitch.”

  “Of course, Cedric. And, why wouldn’t I agree to see you? Why don’t you just get to it?”

  “It’s Jerry, if you recall. And please, Mitch, don’t play games with me. It’s disrespectful.”

  “No disrespect intended, Cedric, but we do have a history, and not a pleasant one.”

  Cedric reddened with anger. “It’s Jerry.”

  “Yes, Cedric,” Mitch said impassively.

  Cedric shook his head. “Congratulations on Izzy’s performance in the Napa Valley Marathon. Of course, you were right about her, she’s a superstar.”

  “Thank you, Cedric. Izzy’s an extraordinary runner, perhaps a once-in-a-generation athlete.”

  “What did you think of Hunter’s performance?”

  When Hunter stood and headed for the door, Cedric turned to his daughter, pointed at the chair, and ordered, “Sit.”

  Hunter returned to her seat, her eyes downcast.

  Mitch studied Hunter. “To be perfectly honest, Cedric, I’m unable to give you an informed opinion about Hunter’s performance. Since she left my program, I have no idea how she’s been training and how she’s been running. I can’t tell if her poor performance was due to training issues, race strategy, or just a bad day. All runners have bad days.”

  Cedric turned to his daughter. “Hunter?”

  She faced Mitch, still staring at her lap. She spoke in a near whisper. “I’m sorry, Mitch. I’m so sorry, I…”

  Mitch sat upright. “I what?”

  “I was stupid. What more would you like me to say? I need your help. You know how to work with me. How to get me to succeed. Please…”

  Mitch looked from father to daughter. “You know, Hunter, or you should know, that training an elite athlete, and you are an elite athlete, is more than winning or losing. I committed myself to you as a person and you walked out on me, and Izzy, too.”

  Hunter had tears streaming down her cheeks. “I…”

  “Izzy asked for you. She’s worried about you. God knows why.” Mitch paused. “People don’t change. Despite the pressure on you,” he stared at Cedric, “I can’t see you back in my program.”

  Hunter placed her face in her hands and sobbed.

  Cedric turned away from his daughter, disgust on his face. He turned to face Mitch and pointed to his daughter. “This is what I get for all my efforts.”

  Mitch stared at Cedric and scowled. “Listen Jerry, Cedric or whatever, I don’t get how such an intelligent and accomplished man can be so stupid.”

  Cedric sat upright. “How dare you…”

  “Stupid, uncaring, insensitive, cold, callous—I’m running out of adjectives. You, sir, are not Hunter’s greatest supporter. You’re her greatest obstacle.”

  “I think I’ve heard quite enough, especially from the likes of you.”

  “Most fathers want their daughter’s love and respect. You seek neither, and all you get from her is fear. Hunter has the potential for greatness, but she’ll never attain that with you on her back.”

  Cedric turned to his daughter. “Hunter?”

  She turned away still wiping the tears from her cheeks.

  Cedric stood. “I’ve had enough of this shit. What will it take, Mr. Silverman? You people have an affinity for money, I believe.”

  Mitch came around his desk, but Benson moved into his path, pulled out an extendable baton, and flipped his wrist extending a two foot steel rod. “Put that away, Benson, before I shove it up your pathetic ass.”

  “Stay back,” Benson said, as he pulled the baton back getting ready to strike.

  Mitch charged into the smaller man, grabbed his wrist, and wrenched the baton away. Benson fell to the floor.

  When Benson started to rise, Mitch wagged his finger at the man, who remained seated on the floor.

  Cedric was hiding behind Benson when Mitch grabbed him by the shirt, and escorted him brusqu
ely into the hallway. “Even you don’t have that much money,”

  Cedric stood there for a moment until Benson came out, took his arm and started to guide him away. Cedric turned and glared at Mitch, pointing his finger at him. “You fucked with the wrong man.”

  When Mitch took a step forword, Cedric hurried down the hallway, Benson pulling him.

  Then Mitch returned to his office, he sat next to Hunter and grasped her hand.

  Hunter used her free hand to wipe away her tears. She looked up at Mitch. “You just don’t understand him.”

  “I understand him perfectly. He’s a bully. A cold hearted son-of-a-bitch who cares for nothing but himself. He’s a sociopath.”

  “Tell me what to do. Mitch, please tell me.”

  “Izzy was right about you. Despite your obnoxious behavior, she understood that you were a victim. I didn’t believe it or I didn’t give a damn. I’m tempted to take you back just to spite your son-of-a-bitch father.”

  Hunter stood. “Oh, please do, Mitch…please.”

  “You want back? I have terms. Take them or leave them.”

  “I’ll take them.”

  “You’ll say anything now, but listen up. Your father is persona non grata regarding you and your training. I don’t want to see or hear anything from that man. If he interferes or you allow him to interfere, that’s it, we’re done.”

  Hunter grasped Mitch’s hand and kissed it. He pulled away at once.

  “I’m not in a position to advise you. Maybe Izzy can or she can refer you, but you have major problems with your father, problems that you should have dealt with well before now. Don’t minimize. Don’t deny. Don’t make excuses. Deal with it, deal with him, whatever it takes.”

  Mitch stood, walked to the door, opened it and waited until Hunter walked toward him. “See you Monday. Same time. Same place.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  When Izzy arrived Monday morning, she pulled in next to Mitch’s car, a vintage Jensen-Healy. A red BMW 3 Series convertible was parked several spaces away.

  Mitch sat under a tree tying his laces while Hunter sat on a separate bench chewing on a fingernail.