Never Too Late (Brier Hospital)

by Larence Gold

  Izzy smiled and raised her arm in a salute to them as she ran by.

  When she began the downhill leg toward Newton Lower Falls, she felt tension in her quadriceps. She leaned forward and tried to let the hills do most of the work and slowed a bit.

  When she reached mile marker sixteen, she prepared herself for the climb ahead. When she crossed the small bridge over the Charles River, she felt herself trembling and her go dry. She swallowed a green cup of Gatorade, and thought, don’t do this, Izzy. You’re ready. Don’t make things worse.

  Ross and Jennifer stood at the side, waving and smiling. Ross mouthed, “Love you.”

  Boosted, Izzy climbed the ¾ mile leg over route 128 and mentally prepared herself for the three Commonwealth Avenue hills.

  She recalled Mitch’s comment, “these hills are like a punch in the face. The marathon is won or lost on these hills.”

  Izzy shortened her stride as she struggled up the first hill. The second hill had her battling as her legs weakened and she felt pain all over her body. She gritted her teeth as she forced her way up the infamous “Heartbreak Hill” where she passed Hunter, who was pale and gasping.

  Once Izzy reached the top, she was suddenly euphoric, having completed what runners call the first half, twenty miles, of the Boston Marathon. The second half, the last six miles to the finish line, was laid out before her.

  When she gazed into the distance, Mitch’s words echoed in her mind, “Nobody knows what will happen in the last few miles.”

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  When Izzy passed the mile twenty-one marker, she checked her watch. I’m three minutes ahead of my pace. She checked her watch again as she spied the leaders a hundred or so yards ahead. I can’t believe it, she thought.

  Marathoners had talked about it, and Mitch confirmed that the mystique of Heartbreak Hill wasn’t just climbing it, but was getting down. She counted her strides recognizing that the downhill run would be putting extra stress on her quads and her shins.

  When she reached the mile twenty-three marker, she tried to relax, but felt herself tensing. At this point the elevation descended from 147 to 20 feet.

  Several spectators looked at their watches, waved to Izzy, and gave thumbs ups. Izzy waved and smiled back. She recalled that many runners had characterized this segment as the equivalent of a black diamond run for skiers.

  Gradually, Izzy noted some tightness in her legs as her foot pounded the pavement down with each stride. After about three minutes, it subsided. Thank God, she thought.

  When she entered the five-way intersection at Cleveland Circle, which, as predicted, was filled with inebriated Boston College students, Izzy had to swerve to avoid a few who wandered into her path. As she jagged to avoid one, her right shin suddenly ached.

  Suddenly, there was the familiar face of her brother, Richard. He blew her a kiss and then lifted his hands in a two thumbs up salute.

  Izzy smiled and mouthed a “thank you” and trudged ahead.

  She looked ahead to the faint shadows of the Boston skyscrapers as she entered Beacon Street. The lead runners were still about a hundred years ahead. When she glance back, Hunter was about 50 yards behind and looked much more comfortable and determined than she had on Heartbreak Hill.

  At mile twenty-five, she passed the Boston City limits sign and looked ahead to the last incline of the race, Citgo Hill that ascended for approximately 200 yards. Suddenly, her shins were on fire with excruciating pain. Izzy gasped and immediately downed the Gatorade, she’d picked up at the twenty-five mile station. Izzy felt herself slowing as she passed Fenway Park, but the pain persisted and intensified. Each stride brought shock-like pain that made her gasp. She tried to shorten and then lengthen her strides, but the pain remained and even intensified.

  Kenmore square was just ahead. Crowds had gathered at least ten deep.

  With only a mile to go, Izzy gritted her teeth and struggled to move ahead. She was in so much pain that she barely noticed turning from Hereford onto Boyleston Street.

  Izzy sighed as her distance from the front-runners increased and Hunter was running beside her.

  “Izzy, what’s wrong,” Hunter managed to shout while gasping.

  She pointed to her legs, and said, “Get going. This is your chance.”

  Hunter studied Izzy for a long moment, and then moved forward. When she was thirty yards ahead, Hunter paused, looked forward to the finish line, and then turned back to Izzy’s side.

  Izzy shook her head ‘no’ and tried to push Hunter away.

  The crowds were roaring as Hunter slipped her arm around Izzy’s waist and supported her as they ran together the final 385 yards segment. In front of the Boston Public Library, Izzy’s legs failed completely and Hunter had to drag her across the finish line to the applause of thousands of spectators.

  As Izzy lay on the ground holding her legs, Izzy’s fans wearing their Izzy t-shirts and waving support flags were in tears.

  Suddenly, Ross was at her side. He helped her sit and he fended off the EMTs who’d brought a stretcher. “Hold on for a second.”

  Izzy looked up at Ross, and said, “Sorry about that sweetheart. Just didn’t have it today.”

  “Oh, give me a break. You were fantastic. Mitch said that with your final kick, he thought you were going to win the race. Imagine that, if you can.”

  When Mitch rushed over, he and Ross, lifted Izzy to her feet, and placed her arms over their shoulders for support. The spectators erupted in cheers and applause.

  As Izzy stood between the two men, she looked over at Hunter standing six feet away, panting and holding her hands on her hips. Izzy signaled Hunter to come over. They came together in an emotional embrace that had both women bursting into tears.

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Cedric Blake was sitting with his attorney, Marcus Breland, reviewing strategy for the trial to come over the assault on Isabel Kramer.

  “I don’t know what the big deal is,” Cedric said, “the tiny dose of Androgel didn’t hurt her, and maybe it helped her sex life.”

  Marcus was studying his client with disbelief. “By anyone’s definition, administering a drug to a person without their permission is felony assault.”

  “Well,” Cedric said, “I had nothing to do with it. It was all Benson, my chauffeur.”

  “Listen, Cedric, I’ve been at this a long time, and I’ve seen just about every scheme to avoid responsibility, but, you, sir, are reaching new levels of maliciousness.”

  “I can do without the sermon, Marcus. I’m paying you to get me out of this.”

  “You can’t pay me enough to dump this on your loyal, long-term, and selfless employee. I won’t do it, and moreover, it won’t work. I’ve talked with Benson, and, sir, you’ll be making a huge mistake if you turn him against you. Remember, he knows where all the bodies are buried.”

  “My God, you mean I might go to jail—no Blakes have ever gone to jail. What should I do?”

  “Since you have a clean record, and I can sell this as a misguided effort to help Hunter, you may get off with a large fine and community service.”

  “Can you guarantee that?” Cedric demanded.

  “Of course not. It’ll be up to the judge.” Marcus paused. “That’s my best advice. Take it or not, or find another attorney.”

  Cedric stared at Marcus. He chewed on his fingernails, shifted in his chair, and said, “I had no idea that it could turn out this way.”

  “I guess that’s the problem. I need your answer. We’ll be in court tomorrow.”

  “Okay, Cedric said.

  “By-the-way,” Marcus said, “you must be proud of Hunter. She’s turned out to be a wonderful girl. Everyone is singing her praises for her generosity in helping Izzy finish the marathon in Boston.”

  “You, and I suppose many others, will find my opinion on Hunter to be offensive, but no Blake would knowingly compromise their greatness for a rank sentimentalism and an idle gesture.”

  Marcus shook his head i
n disgust. “If I were you, Cedric, I’d keep that opinion to myself.”

  The next morning in court, Marcus announced that the prosecution and the defense had reached an agreement.

  Dan Levitt was a judge in his seventies and had the reputation for intelligence and fairness. He studied the plea agreement, and then turned to the district attorney. “You agreed to this?”

  “Yes, your honor,” the DA said.

  “A fine and community service?” the judge asked.

  “Yes, your honor,” the DA said as he shrank back into his chair.

  Levitt turned to Cedric and Marcus. “I won’t participate in this travesty of justice. I’ll see the attorneys and Mr. Blake in chambers.”

  The judge sat behind his large oak desk, and said, “I say we start from scratch. As you can see, Mr. Blake, I’m no spring chicken. What you did to Dr. Isabel Kramer is an outrage. I’m outraged.” Levitt turned to the two attorneys. “I see no way in hell that the esteemed Cedric Blake won’t do some time. The public will demand it, and so do I.”

  Marcus sat back in silence. “With all due respect, your honor, your bias, your support for senior citizens, may be grounds for you to recuse yourself.”

  “Marcus,” Levitt said, “for an intelligent man, that would be the dumbest decision you could ever make in an otherwise distinguished career.” The judge paused. “Let’s look at public attitudes toward aging, ageism, and the average age of judges in this docket. Be smart, Marcus, I’m the best that you’re going to get.”

  When they returned to court, the judge announced that they were back on the record. “The court has come to an agreement between the DA and the defense. Mr. Blake will serve two years at a minimal security prison and pay a fine of two million dollars.” He turned to Cedric, “That may be a pittance for you, sir, but I hope that it draws the attention of those who think that they’re beyond the law.” He turned to the bailiff. “Take Mr. Blake into custody.”

  With an audible gasp from the courtroom, all turned toward Beatrice Blake who stared at her husband and wept openly.

  Cedric rose. He turned ashen as the police applied handcuffs and escorted him from the courtroom.

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  The San Francisco Chronicle carried the Associated Press article about the Boston Marathon.

  FEEL-GOOD SPORTS STORY OF THE YEAR

  Byline: Lynda Levy

  The Boston Marathon set a new emotional high for sports fans with this year’s race.

  The hopes of senior citizens around the world were shattered when Dr. Isabel Kramer, Izzy to those who know and love her, faltered near the finish line.

  Her highly respected coach, Mitchel Silverman, said that Izzy was on pace to win the race when she collapsed before the Boston Post office Building with leg injuries. This location is particularly poignant as it will forever be associated as the second bomb site in the 2013 marathon.

  Izzy had been fighting leg injuries for months, but it recurred at the most inopportune time for this senior runner.

  Dr. Kramer had been the subject of investigation by the USADA, but had been cleared of all charges when authorities discovered that a supporter of a competitor had given her anabolic steroids without her knowledge.

  The race finale was most dramatic ever seen when a friend and competitor, Hunter Blake, curtailed her run to return and support Izzy across the finish line. This selfless act moved this reporter more than anything I’ve seen in sports in all my years of reporting.

  Izzy is recovering well and will return to Berkeley in a few days. Her future running plans, if any, remains unknown.

  The day after the marathon, Izzy limped into Mitch’s room with Ross at her arm. Mitch was waiting with Hunter.

  Izzy and Hunter came together, holding hands and embracing.

  “I’ve had gratification through helping others as a therapist,” Izzy said, “but this is so much more. Regardless of the age, psychotherapy, for me, is an act of maternalism—an intense desire to really help someone. You were needy, but didn’t know it. I wanted to help, but I became analytic rather than human—motherly.”

  “Oh, Izzy…”

  “When you turned around and came back for me, I was pissed—how could you do that? Then my anger melted away by your kindness. I hoped, but didn’t expect—It overwhelmed me—it still overwhelms me.”

  “But, Izzy…”

  “The old Hunter would never have done that. She would have completed the race and gathered her laurels, never knowing how much a simple act of human nobility would change your life forever.”

  Hunter placed her hands on her hips. “Are you through? May I say something, now?”

  Izzy smiled. “Of course.”

  “I saw myself through my father’s eyes—not the most perceptive or caring eyes in the world. I had everything but what I needed most, the love and acceptance of my father and mother. I’d given up until you came along, Izzy and accepted me as I really am.”

  She turned to Mitch. “You saw that, too—with a rougher hand, for sure, but you saw it.”

  Mitch shook his head. “Women! Can’t live with them. Can’t live without them. If you two continue this, I’ll be needing to medicate myself with insulin.”

  Mitch responded to a soft knock on the door. When he opened it, Ernestine Blair entered.

  “Ross, Dr. Cohen, said you were here…is it okay?”

  “My God, Ernestine,” Izzy said. “It’s really you.”

  Ernestine made a slow pirouette and smiled.

  “Flesh—I see real flesh. You look wonderful,” Izzy said.

  “I was at the finish line. I tried to get to you, but I couldn’t,” Ernestine said. “I was so worried. Please don’t do that to me again.”

  “I won’t,” Izzy said with a smile. “I scared myself and my loved ones, too.”

  “I’ll be at the eating center for another month or so, but they’re proud of my progress and so am I. This was a life-changing experience, and I have you to thank.”

  “Thanks, Ernie,” Izzy said, “are you coming back to Berkeley?”

  “You bet. And I owe you a humongous dinner. It’ll be on me.”

  After they hugged again, Ernestine left.

  Ross held Izzy’s hand. “You’re on a high, sweetheart, but if you become over-impressed with your successes, it’ll be my responsibility to take you down a notch or so.”

  “You’d better up your insurance, first.”

  “What are you going to do with your running, with Mitch, and with me,” Hunter said, “when we return to Berkeley?”

  “Take a few days off, Hunter, then we’ll see. Meet me and Mitch Monday at the usual time and place.”

  Ross shook his head and smiled. “Gladys Burrell, get out of the way, Izzy Kramer’s coming.”