Never Too Late (Brier Hospital)

by Larence Gold

  “No he won’t, Mother,” Hunter said, “and that’s okay by me. It’s a small price to pay for my freedom.” She paused. “I’m more worried about you, Mother.”

  Beatrice smiled paternalistically. “I have no illusions about your father, Hunter. My life with him has been a mixed blessing. But,” she paused, “we’re both too old to change now.”

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Izzy, Ross, Jennifer, and Mitch were sitting in Adam Spencer’s conference room in Emeryville. His west-facing window had a fantastic view of the San Francisco Bay and the city in the distance.

  Their mood was somber as Spencer and a young associate came into the room. The attorneys sat across from Izzy, placed the legal folders on the table, and gave instructions to the stenographer.

  Adam turned to Izzy. “I’m sorry, Dr. Kramer, but this isn’t going to go well. You’ve handcuffed me by prohibiting the most effective defense, challenging the tests and those responsible at all stages of the process. These people do make mistakes, you know.”

  “I’m sorry, Adam,” Izzy said. “It’s a matter of principle for me.”

  “When the USADA panel gets here, you’ll make your statement and we’ll present as many character witnesses as they’ll tolerate.”

  “What happens then?” Ross asked.

  “Based on what we have for them,” Adam said, “and, even if they believe you, and they might, they don’t have much leeway in making a decision.”

  “How long will that take,” Mitch asked.

  “Don’t think me cruel, Izzy, but I expect that we’ll have the answer in a matter of minutes.”

  “My whole life, everything that I’ve worked for,” Izzy said, “decided in minutes—that doesn’t seem right.”

  “I’m sorry, Izzy. We have no defense.”

  Moments later, three representatives from the USADA arrived. After brief introductions, the USADA’s chief counsel, said, “Let’s go on the record.”

  When chief counsel called the USADA agents, the collection personnel, and the head of the laboratory completing the analysis, Adam, each time, said, “No questions.”

  After the fourth “no questions” the chief counsel for the USADA said, “What’s going on here, counselor? We expected a vigorous defense, but this…”

  “I’m sorry, Sir,” Adam said, “but I’m acting on orders from my client. We are not going to challenge the testing results.”

  “How then do you plan to represent your client?”

  Dr. Kramer will make a statement, and you’ll hear from many respected individuals who know her well.”

  “That’s it?” the chief counsel asked.

  “That’s it,” Adam said.”

  “Go ahead.”

  Dr. Kramer has a statement.

  Izzy stood to face the panel. “This is an impossible task. We’re not fighting the test results as a testimonial for the respect we have for the USADA. I have been, and regardless of the results today, will continue to be, an ardent supporter of drug free sports. It’s the only thing that will bring respect back to amateur and professional sports. As a physician myself, I fully understand the adverse effects of performance enhancing drugs on the person, and as a psychiatrist, I appreciate the pressure that comes to bear on athletes competing at the highest level. Despite these problems, I applaud all those athletes who remain clean and work hard to achieve the highest levels of human achievement. They inspire us all.”

  Izzy talked for another twenty minutes detailing her entry and ascent to an elite runner. “I was as surprised as anyone that I could have reached this level.”

  After she was done, the Chief counsel, said, with a degree of sadness, “Thank you Dr. Kramer.”

  The panel listened to Izzy’s supporters in their praise and conviction that Izzy could not have willingly taken anabolic steroids.

  When Mitch stood before the panel, the Chief counsel said, “Thank you for coming, Mr. Silverman. Your reputation precedes you.”

  Mitch talked about Izzy’s remarkable achievements against all odds. “I, myself, didn’t believe in her ability until she left me in the dust. Her courage in the face of injury is inspiring to all, but especially to those of her age or older. She a living testament to the possibility of a full life as we get older.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Silverman,” a member of the panel said. “I have one question for you.”

  Mitch nodded.

  “Isn’t it true, Mr. Silverman, that three months into training, Dr. Kramer raised the issue of using performance enhancing drugs?”

  Mitch paled. “Where did you hear such a thing? Ridiculous.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Silverman, but you didn’t answer my question.”

  Mitch stood.

  “Sit down, Mr. Silverman,” the Chief counsel said.

  “Like hell I will.” Mitch took a deep breath. “You guys are supposed to be pros. You’re educated and experienced enough to understand the pressures on highly competitive athletes, but that question, and what it implies means you understand nothing.

  “These athletes commit themselves to a training regimen that would kill most people. You know, or should know the pressures on them to succeed, so is it surprising that many athletes at least consider using performance-enhancing drugs? Of course, some do, ergo the USADA, but most don’t.”

  When Mitch turned to Izzy, she smiled and nodded. “Did Izzy consider these? You’d need to be a saint not to at least think about it. When Izzy faced a plateau in her training, and was working hard to break through, she did think about human growth hormone (HGH), but rejected it at once. Then she asked me about amino acid supplements to stimulate the production of her own growth hormone levels, but I told her that the subject was too controversial, the supplements poorly controlled, and that I didn’t think they were worth the risk. That was the end of the conversation that your source failed to pass on to you.” He paused. “Perhaps when neuroscience has reached its highest levels of achievement, you can monitor an athlete’s thoughts, and convict them even before they do anything.”

  “We can do without the hyperbole, Mr. Silverman,” the Chief counsel said. “I understand your dedication to Dr. Kramer, but you should know—you must know that we’re not the bad guys. Do you have any idea about the extremes that some athletes go to thwart our efforts? They’re unconscionable.”

  “I’m sorry, Sir,” Mitch said, “so for what it’s worth, note that Dr. Kramer has refused to engage in those sorts of action.”

  “We appreciate that. We’ll adjourn to consider this case.”

  “One thing more,” Mitch said.

  “Go ahead.”

  “You have a canyon-size gap in your approach to doping, and I doubt that Dr. Kramer’s the first nor will she be the last to be injured.” He paused. “We assert that the presence of anabolic steroid in Dr. Kramer should not, by itself, require a USADA sanction. It’s all too easy with today’s pharmaceutical to slip steroids into a person without their knowledge or consent. Banning Izzy from competition, especially with her history and the support of trustworthy people is an unjust act, one that strikes at the ethical principles that are the foundation for the USADA.”

  The chief counsel smiled at Mitch. “You raise a compelling question, Mr. Silverman, but as Hamlet said: there’s the rub. What’s to stop every athlete with a positive test from claiming that someone else did it? I, we, need, at the very least, an iota of evidence supporting that fact. Absent that, our hands are tied.”

  Thirty minutes later, when the panel reconvened, Izzy stood to hear their verdict. “We’re sorry Dr. Kramer, we have no choice but to ban you from all competitive sports for one year.”

  After the panel left, Michael and Al burst into the room.

  “What happened?” Michael asked.

  “They banned me for one year,” Izzy said. “At my age and in the marathon, that might as well be a lifetime ban.”

  “But,” Al said. “We have the evidence to absolve you. It was Cedric Blake. He bribed
Kelly Potter, the masseuse, to add Androgel to the massage oil she used on you. That explains everything.”

  Suddenly, Adam Spencer rushed from the room. He raced down the stairs, and caught the Chief counsel as he was entering his car in the parking garage. In a moment, he passed on the new information. “We have it all. How it was done, and who did it.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Spencer. The full panel is no longer available. It’s simply too late.”

  “What do you mean, too late. We have incontrovertible evidence that clears Dr. Kramer.”

  “Such as,” the Chief counsel asked.

  “We’ve identified Cedric Blake. He arranged for the introduction of Androgel into Dr. Kramer through massage oil, and we just received the blood tests proving that Dr. Kramer was clean after the Napa Marathon and positive only after exposure to the adulterated massage oil. There is no question that Dr. Kramer is innocent.”

  “I’m sorry,” said the Chief counsel, “I don’t have a mechanism to deal with this.”

  Adams crimsoned with rage. “We have the man on tape, a full confession—absolute proof of Dr. Kramer’s innocence, and you refuse to look at it?”

  “I’m sorry,” the Chief counsel said. “We can try to put something together in the near future.”

  “But, not in time for the Boston Marathon?”

  “Please tell Dr. Kramer that I’m truly sorry.”

  “Your three ‘sorrys’ aren’t worth a damn. Trust me, counselor, we’re not done.”

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Izzy, Jennifer, and Ross sat before the computer reading the latest from the AP Wire. It carried the story that the USADA had banned Izzy for one year for the use of a performance-enhancing drug.

  Within hours, the phone calls began.

  “Refer all of them to me,” Adam Spencer had said. “They have only half the story. I’m going to give them the rest. If we can’t win with the USADA, we certainly can win in the court of public opinion.”

  “Won’t going to the press just anger the USADA all the more?” Izzy asked.

  Adam shook his head. “Do me a favor, and get pissed off for a change. They’ve wronged you. Let that show.”

  Later that day, Lynda Levy called. “I’m so sorry, Izzy. This is so unfair.”

  “What’s unfair, Lynda is that we have the proof of who was responsible. We know how and why they did it.”

  “The USADA knew this,” Lynda said, “and they still imposed a ban? I don’t believe it.”

  “I’m not quite sure what to tell you, Lynda. Perhaps you should speak with my attorney.”

  “I’ll do that to confirm, but for the moment, everything you say to me is off the record. I can never attribute it to you.” She paused. “Now, tell me everything.”

  Izzy told her every detail about Cedric’s plan to disqualify her, and how he did it.

  “It worked all too well,” Lynda said.

  “So well,” Izzy said, “that it’s too late to do anything about it.”

  “Well, Izzy, you’ve seen the negative effects of a powerful press, now it’s time to see that the press and the media in general can do some good.”

  “How?”

  “Leave it to me,” Lynda said, and smiled. “I’ve learned how to unmask, distort, exaggerate, and ambush in furtherance of the story, now, for the first time in a while, I can go with the unvarnished truth.”

  “You exaggerate,” Izzy said.

  “Only a little—a story like this, I could make a habit of that.”

  As Izzy rode her bike onto campus, she thought, people are staring at me.

  She locked her bike and walked to her office where Connie rushed up as she entered.

  “You won’t believe it,” he said.

  “Believe what?”

  “Social media, especially Twitter is going wild over your story,” Connie said. “They reported four million tweets and retweets in the last twelve hours. Moreover, in the sports section of Morning Joe, they interviewed Lynda Levy. She blasted the USADA for refusing you justice based on a technicality.”

  “What good can all this do? The Boston Marathon is in ten days, and although I’ve improved, Mitch is not sure that I’ll be ready.”

  By the next morning, Izzy’s story appeared on the front pages of major newspapers across the country. The Internet was going wild with demands that Izzy be reinstated. The President of the Boston Athletic Associates issued a statement, “If we can get Dr. Kramer cleared in time, we’re prepared to offer her a seated position based on her past performance.”

  Major network newscasts carried videos of demonstrations across the country and an especially large one in front of the Boston Athletic Association.

  The First lady, to the chagrin of the president’s press secretary, issued a statement of support for Izzy. Dr. Isabel Kramer represents the best that sports can offer. Her determination, courage, and willingness to ignore the calendar inspires us all. In the United States of America, truth and justice must override mere technicalities.

  Politicos of all stripes tried to find support for their positions on the issue of reinstatement.

  “The damned liberal press is standing behind the UC Berkeley professor,” a noted conservative talk show host said. “Would they do the same for a professor from the conservative Liberty University?”

  All the Sunday morning talk shows on TV devoted a segment on the Izzy/USADA controversy.

  Gradually, rumors circulated that the USADA would be reconsidering their decision. This sparked even more controversy among dedicated advocates on all sides of the political spectrum. Finally, a week later, came the announcement from the USADA Chief Executive Officer, “We’ve just received notice from the USADA court of Arbitration in Switzerland. They have reviewed all the evidence against Dr. Kramer and we’re lifting the ban on her ability to compete at once.”

  The next morning, when Izzy arrived at the Redwood parking lot, Mitch and Hunter were waiting for her. As she approached, both raised and lowered their outstretched arms in supplication.

  Izzy laughed. “Keep it up. I could get used to that.”

  Hunter and Mitch embraced Izzy in turn.

  “I couldn’t be happier,” Hunter said.

  “We owe this all to you, Hunter,” Izzy said. “Without your efforts, none of this would be happening.”

  Hunter paused, clearly upset, turned away, and blew her nose.

  “What?” Izzy asked.

  Hunter wiped her eyes. “It was really you, Izzy, and Mitch, too. You took my crap, and instead of dismissing me as the spoiled and self-centered narcissist, I was, you accepted me—the real me. Without that, I could never have confronted my father.”

  Hunter embraced Izzy. “You saw something in me that I never saw myself. How is that possible?”

  “You know the importance of first impressions, Hunter?” Izzy asked.

  “Of course, but I was obnoxious from the start,” she said.

  “Not to me,” Izzy said. “I saw a troubled girl, unhappy with what she’d become. Malcolm Gladwell in his book, Think, codified the value of first impressions, and in your case, I was right.”

  Mitch laughed. “It was much easier for me. You just pissed me off, and it showed.”

  Izzy suddenly became silent. “Getting me back in the race was the easy part. How in hell are we going to deal with the Boston Marathon?”

  Mitch looked at Hunter. “For you, it will be easy. You’ll just complete our plan up to the day we get on the plane for Boston. I don’t see any reason to change that now.” He faced Izzy. “You, my old friend, pose different problems. Of course you’ll continue with your healing treatments, but I can’t see pushing your training too hard until the race. I’m guessing, yes, that’s the word, that if you have any chance to do well, you’ll need to be completely rested. The water work has kept you fit—more than fit, so we’ll need to pray that you’re healed enough to run twenty-six miles.”

  “In any case,” Izzy said, “the Boston Marathon will be
my last hurrah.”

  “Win or lose, do well or don’t, Izzy, I want you to think about joining me in training marathoners. Your experience, your understanding about the psychological factors in runners, and your example, make you an ideal associate.” He paused in thought. “Silverman/Kramer, I like the sound of that.”

  Izzy smiled. “How about, Kramer/Silverman?”

  Mitch pointed at Izzy and laughed.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  The day after Cedric Blake’s arrest, Izzy’s phone began to ring, and had not stopped. She had been trying to control her irritation, even at the well-wishers. She’d refused all interviews except for a segment on Charlie Rose that Lynda Levy had arranged.

  “He’s the most honest interviewer on TV, Izzy. I trust him. He won’t sandbag you.”

  Izzy shook her head. “My story’s just not that interesting.”

  “Right,” Lynda said. “That’s why your phone has been ringing off the hook.”

  They were sitting in the green room waiting to go on when the producer came in. “You’re up in five minutes.”

  Izzy stood and headed for the door. “I just can’t do this, Lynda.”

  “Get back here and relax,” Lynda demanded. “This will be the easiest thing you’ve done in some time.”

  The producer led them to the round table with Charlie Rose at one end, and the women at the other. Charlie stood, walked over and shook their hands, introducing himself. He smiled and said to Izzy, “You’re an inspiration.”

  When the program came live, Charlie said, “I’m pleased to welcome my next guests, Lynda Levy from Marathoner Magazine, and Dr. Isabel Kramer, who, I’m guessing, needs no introduction. Thank you both for coming.”

  “Thank you for having us,” Lynda said.

  Izzy nodded.

  Charlie looked directly into the camera. “Lynda and I are old friends, despite the fact that she regularly beats me at tennis.” He paused. “Let me start with you, Lynda. Tell us how you became involved with Dr. Kramer.”