Never Too Late (Brier Hospital)

by Larence Gold

  “Will you say a few words about your experience with the USADA,” asked another reporter.

  “I have three things to say about that. First, I totally support the efforts of the USADA to keep sport clean. We’re already seeing what happens when performance-enhancing drugs give advantage to those who use them. Drugs have no place in sports, all sports. Secondly, I don’t need to introduce the concept of evil to a group of sophisticated reporters. You live with it every day. I was the victim of such evil by attempts to disqualify me, and by threats against my life. Thirdly, we’ve become too cynical. Although it’s difficult to deny that a certain amount of cynicism isn’t justifiable in our world, blank cynicism is destructive and makes our world less than it should be. Excuse the third person,” she said, “but Izzy’s success at age sixty-one, must have been because she cheated. Many people who should have known better, swallowed that all too quickly. Cheaters may get away with it for a while, but sooner or later, truth will tell.”

  The questions went on for the next forty minutes.

  Izzy stood and checked her watch. “Time for one more question. Make it a good one.”

  Lynda rose. “Tell us Izzy, how will you feel if you don’t do well?”

  “Look at the elite competition—fantastic runners all. Just getting to compete at this level is success enough. While I hate to disappoint my supporters, they too must live in the real world. I only make one promise—I’ll do the absolute best that I can.” She paused. “And, by-the-way, keep your eye on Hunter Blake. She may surprise us all.”

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Izzy’s training was going well through the week. She sat up and stretched as the sun shone into their suite at 6:15 a.m.

  She curled into Ross’s side placing her left arm over his chest. “Are you awake?”

  “Now, I am,” he smiled and pulled her closer. “How are you feeling?”

  “Let’s not start this beautiful day with that.”

  “Just an innocent question,” Ross said.

  “Right.”

  “The question’s appropriate, you know.”

  “I know,” Izzy said, “and I do it myself. I’ve been constantly monitoring myself for any hint of recurrent injury, but so far, so good.”

  “What is Mitch saying?”

  “He said that we’ve cast our bread upon the waters. The rest is in the hands of fate.”

  “So you have no part in the outcome, Izzy?” Ross asked.

  “Of course I do, but I sure as hell can’t control the effects of marathon running on my healing legs. That is, and will continue to be, a crapshoot until I reach twenty-six miles, 385 yards.”

  Sunday night, Izzy and Hunter met with Mitch for a last pre-race strategy meeting. Both were nervous and paced the room. “Please, both of you, take a seat. You’re making me anxious.”

  “But,” Hunter said, “it’s the Boston Marathon.”

  “Give me a break,” Mitch said. “While this may be the granddaddy of marathons, and a religious experience for some, it’s just a marathon—the same twenty-six miles you’ve run before. Everyone—runners, spectators, and the media will be going nuts. Don’t let it happen to you—you have a race to run.”

  “Easier said than done,” Izzy said.

  “I’m not worried about you, Izzy. You may be relatively new to racing, but emotionally, I see you as an old pro. You’ll remain in control.” He paused. “I’m more worried about you, Hunter.”

  “Why?” she asked, her eyes widening.

  “It has nothing to do with your skills, your preparation, or your drive to win. This may be the biggest race you’ll ever run, and I want you to be in control at all times. It’s easy to absorb the crowd’s emotion and their exhortations. Don’t do it. It will only hurt your performance. Trust me on that.”

  “I won’t,” Hunter said.

  “Adhering to my philosophy for the first half of the race is critical. It will prepare you for the second half. If you feel that you should be running a lot faster, that’s perfect—that’s exactly what I planned. I want you both to be keeping up a good rhythm and staying relaxed.”

  When Hunter turned to Izzy, and whispered in her ear, Izzy smiled.

  “What is it?” Mitch asked.

  “Hunter wants to know what she should do if she needs to go to the bathroom?” Izzy asked.

  “Women, in particular, have hit singles and doubles during the marathon. It a bit gross and if you perform your natural functions beforehand, it shouldn’t be an issue.” Mitch paused and then laughed. “By-the-way, we haven’t trained for it.”

  Izzy laughed.

  Hunter blushed with embarrassment.

  “What about Heartbreak Hill?” Hunter asked.

  “You’re kidding,” Mitch said. “We walked it, drove it, and bicycled it. It’s just a hill, not Mount Everest.”

  “Still,” Hunter said, “just the name frightens me.”

  “As it should,” Mitch replied. “It’s the third of the Commonwealth Hills, and it’s a bear. Expect just about anything in your mind at that point, but mostly it will be internal ruminations about why in hell are you doing this to an irresistible desire to quit. Mile twenty-five starts downhill as you enter the city. Be careful going downhill, especially you, Izzy.”

  “What about the finish, Mitch,” Izzy asked.

  “When you see the Citgo sign, you have one more mile to go. Whatever you have left, especially you, Izzy, this is no time to hold back.” He paused. “Keep your mind clear, Izzy and pay attention to your body. It will be pleading with you to stop—that’s normal. But don’t push your amazing heart beyond its limits.”

  “Mitch,” she pleaded. “I’m fine. It’s not going to happen.”

  Mitch smiled. “If you drop dead on the course, Izzy, I’ll never speak to you again.”

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  “Wake up, Izzy, it’s Patriot’s Day,” Ross said.

  “Wouldn’t want to miss Patriot’s Day,” Izzy mumbled.

  “C’mon. We need to get you a good meal before the bus leaves for Hopkinton.”

  “How do you feel this morning, sweetheart?”

  “Tense,” Izzy replied.

  After a hearty, but not huge meal, they walked to the Boston Commons and the family meeting area. Ross, Izzy, and Jennifer searched the crowd for familiar faces, finally spying Mitch, Hunter, Beatrice, her mother, and Ben Crocker.

  Izzy hugged Hunter, and whispered, “Ben? I thought that was all over.”

  “No,” Hunter whispered back, “he likes the new me.”

  “Good taste, that boy.”

  Mitch brought them all together, and said, “Say your goodbyes now. I need a few words with my girls.”

  “Girls!” Ross said, “It surprises me that you’ve survived this long calling them girls.”

  Mitch studied Izzy and Hunter for a long moment. “They tolerate me and my chauvinistic attitudes, just barely, because the words have become terms of endearment. Can’t complain about that, right, girls.”

  “Don’t push it, Mitch,” Izzy said, “or you’ll be walking funny for a week.”

  “Anyway, say your goodbyes.”

  Suddenly, Lewis and Miriam came from the crowd and hugged Izzy.

  “Mommy—Daddy. What are you doing here?”

  “It was Miriam,” Lewis said. “She insisted.”

  Izzy embraced Miriam as her eyes filled with tears. “Thank you, Mommy. This means so much to me.”

  “I’m so proud of you, Isabel,” Miriam said. “I…”

  “It’s okay, Mommy. We’ll talk later.”

  Ross and Jennifer embraced Izzy.

  Beatrice and Ben embraced Hunter.

  As Mitch guided them away, Izzy and Hunter held hands.

  “Well, here we are,” Mitch said. “It wasn’t easy for any of us, but we made it.” He paused. “I couldn’t be more proud of any runners I’ve trained before. Win or lose, I’m completely gratified by your successes.”

  Tears flowed
freely down both women’s cheeks.

  Mitch faced Hunter. “While we’ve had our moments, you finally came through. Running or not, you have a bright future.”

  He faced Izzy. “I don’t know what to say about you. I’m fresh out of superlatives. It’s not just your ability; it’s your character. You taught me a lot.”

  Both women embraced Mitch, who struggled, at first, to escape, but finally yielded.

  “Enough,” he said.

  He took both their hands. I’m out of advice except for one suggestion—no, that’s too permissive. I have one demand and it’s important to both of you, but it’s especially important for you, Izzy. I want you to begin taking sports drinks and GU’s after fifteen minutes and no longer than every 30-45 minutes. Izzy, you know, up close and personal, what happens when you run down your glycogen stores. It can get ugly, very ugly.”

  He turned to Hunter. “This, too, applies to you, Hunter. Supplements and Gatorade at least once every forty-five minutes.”

  “Any other words of wisdom, Mitch,” Izzy asked.

  “Look for friends and supporters along the way. I’m placing them strategically.”

  They came together in a final hug.

  Izzy and Hunter, still holding hands, waved to friends and family, and then mounted the bus for Hopkinton and the start of the Boston Marathon.

  Chapter Sixty

  Izzy and Hunter were sitting on the elite runners’ bus still holding hands.

  Izzy winced. “Take it easy, Hunter, you’re going to break my fingers.”

  “I’m sorry—it’s nervousness.” She looked out the window. “My God, look at the number of busses.”

  “That’s only a fraction,” Izzy said. “It’ll take approximately 700 busses to transport 35,000 runners to the start line.”

  “It’s going to be a zoo.”

  “Not for us. We’ll start after the wheelchairs, before the elite men, and well before that entire mass of humanity hits the road.”

  When they reached Hopkinton, the streets were crowded with spectators. Many still in their pajamas.

  “I read that they start queuing-up at four a.m.” Izzy said. “How’s that for devotion?”

  “Better them than me,” Hunter said.

  The elite runners found refuge in a church some 50 yards from the starting line. Runners were either chatting nervously or had withdrawn into meditation.

  Izzy pointed to the church. “We’d best use their restroom while we can.”

  When they returned, Izzy and Hunter stood together, while runner after runner came up and shook their hands, wishing them well.

  One runner in her early twenties, smiled at Izzy. “If you beat me, grandma, I’ll never live it down.”

  Izzy returned her smile. “You’re young. You’ll get over it.”

  “May I give you a hug,” she said.

  “Of course,” Izzy said as they embraced.

  Izzy scanned the elites. “It’s surreal. I’m old enough to be their mother, and almost old enough to be, for a few, their grandmother.”

  “Right,” Hunter said, “If they were all the products of child brides.”

  They both wore Golden Bear t-shirts, Izzy gold with black Berkeley lettering, and Hunter black with gold lettering. Both had matching sweatshirts tied around their waists. Hunter wore a Cal visor, and Izzy wore a gold baseball cap with the bear logo.

  Izzy and Hunter went through their stretching routines, but Izzy’s was much longer as she remembered Mitch’s admonition about older runners needing more stretching to prevent injury.

  The weather’s just about perfect,” Izzy said. “Light winds and about 65 degrees max. We’ll dump the sweatshirts as soon as we see a friendly face.”

  Just then, a middle-aged woman walked up carrying a bag. “Someone named Mitch asked me to deliver this, and,” she paused, “I’m to make sure you get it all down.”

  Izzy reached into the bag and then smiled as she extracted two bottles of water and two Noah’s bagels.

  “Mitch,” Izzy said. “He never leaves a stone unturned.”

  After they ate the bagels and drank the water, Hunter said, “That was perfect. Just what we needed.”

  Hunter faced Izzy and then hugged her. “I want to do well, but I want you to do well, too. Neither of us is likely to win, but…” she began to tear, “but you’ve worked so hard—put yourself through so much, that you deserve to win.”

  “My God,” Izzy cried, “you’ve become a mensch.”

  “That’s good, right?” Hunter asked.

  “It means that you’re the best.”

  Hunter looked into Izzy’s eyes. “This may be inappropriate, Izzy, but I need to know.”

  “Know what?”

  “We’ve become close, but I don’t want that to interfere in any way with the race.”

  Izzy shook her head. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”

  “This may be off the wall, but if you let me win, we’re through. I’ll never speak with you again.”

  Izzy laughed. “Thank you for the compliment, Hunter, but if you think I’d let you or anyone else win, you’re not only mistaken, you’re delusional. First of all, this may be my only shot, and secondly, it’s an insult to you. Imagine how you would feel if there were even a hint that you didn’t win on your own. Neither of us wants any part of that. Win or lose, I’ve come to love you, Hunter, and I hope you feel the same about me.”

  They embraced again.

  “What are you going to do with your prize money, Izzy?”

  “Have to come in at least fifteenth to make anything.”

  “Remember, Izzy, that our qualifying times suggest that we might do that and perhaps even better.”

  Izzy grinned. “Let’s say that I’m glad we have round-trip tickets.”

  The elite runners came to the starting line and after the band played the Star Spangled Banner, the announcer said, “We’ll take a moment of silence in memory of the 2013 marathon, its victims and its heroes.”

  As Izzy and Hunter stood side by side at the starting line, Hunter turned to Izzy. “I know you, Izzy. Don’t space out and forget your fluids and carbohydrates.”

  “I won’t.” Izzy paused. “And don’t you get carried away. Pace yourself. Stay relaxed.”

  As the start time neared, the crowd murmur became a roar. Race officials in green, the state police in yellow jackets, spectators, the media, and uniformed security teams had lined up on both sides of the street. The pace car, motorcycles, and media trucks were well ahead of the start line.

  Izzy, Hunter and most runners readied their watches for the start.

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

  With the sound of the recorded cannon shot, the race was on.

  Chapter Sixty-One

  A group of runners sprinted to the head of the pack, but Izzy and Hunter stayed back, taking time to adjust into their running patterns. As in every race, Mitch’s words echoed in Izzy’s mind, “Stay in the pack. It saves energy.”

  The spectators roared as the runners passed by. Many, when they spied Izzy, raised signs saying, “Go Izzy”, “We Love you, Izzy”, and “Izzy, you’re our hero”. They held up their thumbs.

  Young men carried signs saying, I Love You, Hunter, and Please Marry Me, Hunter.”

  When a photographer stepped out, Izzy was sure that Hunter had slowed and posed, batting her pretty blue eyes and expanding her chest with a deep breath for the photo. When a loud wolf-whistle ensued, Hunter smiled and returned her attention to running.

  My deepest breath won’t do much for my chest, Izzy thought.

  As they knew, the first four miles were downhill, and as Hunter moved ahead, Izzy said, “Slow down. Remember what Mitch said.”

  “Okay,” Hunter said as she fell back to Izzy’s side.

  At mile six, they slowed for some Gu gel and Gatorade. This se
ction was relatively flat. Jodie was standing at the sideline waving. They threw their sweatshirts to her.

  Jodie smiled at Izzy and Hunter and gave them two big thumbs up.

  Several times, spectators stepped into Izzy’s path and she nearly collided with one.

  Hunter had to sidestep another photographer who suddenly appeared to take a picture.

  Izzy starred daggers at the stupidity of those who would interfere with the marathon. She took a deep breath and tried to relax back into her stride.

  By mile seven, Hunter looked increasingly distressed as runner after runner passed by. She gave Izzy a pleading look. “Too many passing. We have to step it up.”

  I’m staying back as Mitch suggested, Izzy thought as she checked her watch.

  Izzy shook her head, no, and said, “Go ahead if you like. Holding back is the better strategy for me.”

  Hunter nodded and moved up closer to the leaders.

  At mile eight, Izzy was running comfortably. She’d been monitoring her legs and smiled at her complete ease and comfort. At this point, the Boston Framingham train tracks racks ran parallel to the racecourse.

  As planned, Izzy stopped every fifteen minutes for fuel and water. She’d lost sight of Hunter so she didn’t know if she had stopped as well.

  The rolling hills had Izzy daydreaming. She recalled the thrill of her first cross-country race and the disappointment of being unable to pursue it further. She inhaled deeply and sighed as suddenly a bicycle almost sideswiped her. She felt her pulse rate increase even as she tried to remain calm. That could have been it, she thought.

  For long periods, Izzy wasn’t sure how long her brain had turned off. She couldn’t remember the last mile or so.

  By mile ten, some who had taken the lead were starting to slow down—running out of gas, Izzy guessed. Their faces were beginning to show the strain.

  Thank you, Mitch, she thought.

  At mile thirteen, the elevation gradually dropped. Izzy paid attention to both her quads and her shins. As her quads felt a little tight, she eased back a bit and they felt better. Hundreds of Wellesley College women stood on the sidelines, shrieking and screaming to boost the runners’ energy levels.