Fast Girl (5 page)

Luckily, this was a happy period in my family. Dan's doctors had found a cocktail of medication that worked for him, and he was following their orders. He got sober around the age of twenty-seven, which also helped his overall well-being. He was employed, had a great girlfriend, and was living in a medium-size city about forty-five minutes from my parents. He maintained his creative energy, and he even used it to come to my rescue once in college. As usual, I had put off an assignment until the very last minute because I was too busy running, and now I needed to create a sculpture for an art class
the next day
. I was visiting my parents when Dan stopped by.

“Oh, I've got a great idea,” he said.

I couldn't wait to see what he'd pull off on the fly. I knew it would be great. Dan found a piece of Styrofoam our dad had lying around and used an electric carving knife to carve a perfect three-dimensional fish. It was incredible. And my teacher thought so, too.

BY MY SENIOR YEAR, IT
was clear that academics were not going to be a strong factor in my college career—believe it
or not, my basketball theory class didn't turn me into a great philosopher—but I was going to manage to graduate. And my life outside the classroom was better than ever before.

That winter I was taking a sports psychology class, which I could have benefited from had I been open to it. One night, Mark picked me up from class around nine thirty. By this point, we were living together in an apartment off campus, and he often treated me to our idea of a nice meal after class—pizza or Kentucky Fried Chicken. That evening, Mark wanted to go to Pizzeria Uno, which was a fancy dinner for us, since that's where we'd had our first date. It was a thoughtful gesture, but Mark was always doing things like that for me.

The restaurant was nearly empty, and we relaxed into our booth and caught up on how our days had been. As usual, I was happy just to be with him.

The next thing I knew, Mark stood up for no apparent reason. I watched with curiosity as he got down on one knee by the booth. At that moment, I understood what was happening. I was already crying before he could pull out the ring.

“Suzy, will you marry me?” he said.

“Yes,” I said, kissing him with tears pouring down my face.

Our waiter came by, saw the ring and my tears, and congratulated us.

“I probably should have done something more elaborate,” Mark said as he got up.

“No, this was perfect.”

I wasn't sure how Mom and Dad would feel about my getting married at this point in my life, but Mark had already called them and asked for their blessing, which blew me away.
I didn't even know that was a thing people did, but it was just another example of Mark's thoughtfulness. We went home and took turns calling our parents, who were all overjoyed with the news. It was just this beautiful evening from beginning to end, and when we fell into bed together that night, we made love knowing that this was the start of our real life together. The next day, I had to catch a flight to Indianapolis for the national indoor track championships. I was tired, of course, from my exciting evening. I waited for the van to take me to the airport, getting drenched but still floating from the night before. When the van finally pulled up, I had the biggest smile on my face. My teammates started laughing when they saw me.

“You're drenched! Why are you so happy?” one of my teammates called out.

I pulled my right hand out of my pocket and held it up. The van erupted into screams.

I was the favorite to win the indoor track nationals that year, and I did. After the race, a sportswriter interviewed me. “Were you nervous?” he asked.

Normally I would have been plagued by nerves, but not that day.

“You know what?” I said. “Nothing could have upset me or made me nervous today! I just got engaged.”

My training with Coach Peter was really paying off. That January, I signed a six-figure, five-year contract with Reebok, which meant I was now a professional runner and getting paid to do what I loved most. At the time, it was common for the big athletic companies to approach the
coaches at the universities with the top student athletes, and Reebok had brought a deal to Peter for me. Because I didn't have an agent at the time and Mark was studying American Institutions, in preparation for law school, he negotiated the terms for me in a pretty amazing deal. It was incredible for a runner just out of college and far surpassed the deal Nike had on the table for me. My father felt left out of the negotiation process, but I was desperate for independence from my dad and preferred to receive help from my future husband than my father. Still, I knew my family was extremely proud of me, as was Peter. But I felt that the size of my various endorsements meant that I was now expected to run even faster, and win even more, in order to prove that I was worth the value of the contracts.

A week after we graduated from college Mark and I got married in Madison. We'd planned every detail ourselves, and I loved that day so much because it was a total representation of who we were. The university let us get married in an alumni building right on Lake Mendota. Even though I had received the first installments from my Reebok contract, we were on a budget, especially because we'd invited 250 guests. The university gave us a great deal on food and went out of their way to make the day special. Mark made the wedding programs on his computer and printed them off at the local copy shop. I didn't realize it was customary to order flowers for the church, so we didn't have any, but it didn't matter. All of our friends from the baseball and track teams were there, and the men in the wedding party wore Reebok high-tops, donated by the person who'd signed me to my contract, who
was also there. It was casual, to say the least, but it was beautiful in its simplicity, and an amazing day.

Mark's parents sent us to Hawaii for our honeymoon, and then we prepared to drive from Wisconsin out to Malibu. Mark would attend Pepperdine for law school, and I would train for my first Olympics the next year. I cried as we left Wisconsin, but as Mark predicted, my tears only lasted five minutes. It was time to go for the gold. I had wanted to leave Wisconsin before I'd even started college or met Mark, and now that my horizons had been expanded so much in the past four years, I was more than ready to go. I don't think I realized at the time how much Peter did to help my running through our day-to-day training, and so I figured it would be fine for him to send me workouts via fax, as we'd planned when I decided to move away. Any anxiety I felt had to do with my running, and how well I would or wouldn't live up to Reebok's expectations and find my place within the professional running world. But, for the moment, I was excited to see what would come next.

I
loved Malibu right away. It was everything Wisconsin wasn't: perpetually sunny and warm and possessed of a casual, anything-goes vibe I instantly adopted as my own. Just as Mark had been attractive to me because he was so different from the men I'd grown up with, Malibu was a whole new world, and I loved it. Maybe I hadn't made it to UCLA for college as I'd dreamed, but now I was finally free to start living my own life, and I was going to do so in California.

We used the money from my Reebok contract and the endorsement deals I'd also signed with Proctor & Gamble (Pert Plus), Clairol, Blue Cross Blue Shield, and Kikkoman
Soy Sauce to put a down payment on a 1,300-square-foot house in a more affordable section of Malibu and soon settled into the laid-back beach lifestyle. Even though Mark was busy with law school and I was in training, with my sights set on the 1992 Olympics the following summer, we still managed to find time for nights out at our favorite restaurants and afternoons by the Pacific with friends. Having grown up in landlocked Wisconsin, I found the ocean mesmerizing and could spend hours walking along the shoreline, picking up shells and sea glass. And I loved to run down to the beach from our house as part of my daily training.

I was happier than I'd been in a long time. Best of all, I was free of the watchful eyes I'd constantly felt on me in Wisconsin. It was such a relief to get a break from always feeling that I had to be perfect, that everyone was watching me, that I was living for other people's happiness. I'd sensed that my father didn't completely support my decision to marry and move away. Of course, true to form, he'd never said anything outright, but there had been tension in the months leading up to our wedding and departure for California. I could sense that my dad felt that I didn't fully appreciate all he had done to support my career. It seemed he felt left behind, that I had replaced him with first Coach Tegen and then Mark. I didn't want to hurt his feelings, and I definitely didn't want to discuss them. It was easier to be far away. I was finally getting a taste of the independence that I had craved. The trouble is, I didn't know what to do with it. I didn't even know who I wanted to be. After having the Olympics in my sights for more than a decade, I'd be trying out for my first Olympic
team in a year. But, for the first time since I started running, it wasn't my sole obsession. I didn't want to train constantly. I wanted to let go and live for once and enjoy our new life as newlyweds.

A few months after we arrived, I noticed that Peter seemed less engaged with my training and less interested in my opinion. Around the same time, I took a job as the assistant coach for the cross-country team at Pepperdine. The running coach there, Dick Kampmann, began taking over the workouts Peter sent me, making them his own. He was a more low-key coach, and his relaxed approach to running suited my new laid-back California lifestyle. As much as I knew Peter had done for me, I could feel the beginnings of burnout, and I wanted my life to contain more than just running. That summer of 1991, my success on the track was modest, but it seemed like I was getting more press and attention than ever. As we went into the Olympic trials in the spring of 1992, my image as the all-American golden girl brought all sorts of opportunities that went far beyond the track. I was approached about doing a line of fitness videos. And not only did I land on the cover of
Olympian
magazine and
Runner's World,
but I found myself in the pages of
Rolling Stone, Vogue,
Cosmopolitan,
and
Elle
. I liked all the attention and I was having fun, for once in my life as a runner. The years of anxiety and self-doubt had taken their toll, and I was eager to push those feelings aside and bask in the glow of this new attention. I still loved to run, but the thrill of modeling and being a celebrity became more and more attractive to me. And Reebok, seeing all of the positive attention
I was garnering, liked what they were getting, even though I wasn't dominating on the track. When I was asked—via my Reebok boss—to pose for
Playboy,
I was excited, but I immediately knew I couldn't actually do it, not only because of how my family would react, but because in my mind, an all-American golden girl wouldn't do something like that. By this point, I was very aware of my brand, and I also turned down a deal from Miller Brewing Company.

Going into the 1992 Olympic trials, I was a favorite to make the team. Not only had I won a record nine NCAA championships as a college runner, but I was running for Reebok, and they'd launched a huge promotional campaign around me going into the trials. I'd also qualified for the final of the Olympic trials in 1988, but my insecurity and anxiety had made me so convinced I didn't belong on the team that I'd pulled out before the race. This time, there was no question I was a professional runner, but another problem presented itself.

I was nervous. This was what I had been working toward for most of my life. And to ratchet up the tension, among the competitors in my best event—the 1,500 meters—was my childhood idol Mary Decker Slaney. I couldn't believe I would be sharing a track with the woman who had always inspired me. I didn't know it, but I'd also be facing my future nemesis, Regina Jacobs, who I would regularly compete against throughout my professional career. It seemed like I was forever coming in second to her at U.S. Nationals, which messed with my mind to no end. No matter how hard I trained, she always had the ability to finish races strong in a way I often
couldn't. I cannot say I was surprised when she tested positive for steroid use in 2003, validating my long-held suspicions.

As we lined up at the starting blocks the day of the Olympic trials finals, it was hard not to watch Slaney's pre-race ritual out of the corner of my eyes, even though I knew I had to focus on my own performance and quiet the jitters that could cause me to tighten up and choke midstride. Thankfully, when the gun went off, I was all instinct, all body, and my mind went quiet. This was the zone that I felt most comfortable in. I had been so focused on Mary Decker Slaney that I almost didn't notice when Regina Jacobs suddenly pulled ahead to win the race. She was followed by her former Stanford teammate PattiSue Plumer in second place. I was stunned, but then, there I was, crossing the finish line in third place, with Mary Decker Slaney actually finishing
after
me in fourth place. I had run faster than my hero. And, most important, I had made the Olympic team.

It was traditional for runners who earned a place on the team to be given an American flag and sent on a victory lap. As I jogged down the track, waving my flag, it was as if my feet were bouncing a few feet off the ground, I was so buoyant with happiness. And then, there was Mark, wrapping me in his arms. That might have been the best moment of my professional running career to date. Everything I had wanted since I was twelve had finally come true. I was going to the Olympics in Barcelona.

This was before cell phones, so as soon as we got back to our hotel room to get ready for the celebratory dinner hosted by my Reebok rep, I called home. My mom and dad had seen
my race on TV and were overjoyed for me. That felt so good after all they had done to support my running and how much I had longed to make them proud. Since leaving Wisconsin, I'd missed many family dinners and holidays, which especially displeased my sisters, and made us grow further apart. At the time, I was so focused on my new life that I didn't really register their reaction. And since we never talked about anything as a family, it was easy to pretend nothing was wrong. My running trumped everything else in my life, distorting my view of what was important. After my sisters became moms, I felt I couldn't be around their kids as much as I would have liked for fear I might get sick and miss a race or training. I knew my siblings were excited for me, but none of them called me to say so, and I didn't think much about this omission. I also knew signs had already gone up in the gas stations and supermarkets of my hometown, congratulating me on my win and cheering me on to the Olympics. Unfortunately, such vocal support from my home state quickly turned my euphoria into a feeling of pressure, as my short-lived victory high was replaced by the greatest anxiety of my racing life. Now that I had accomplished my dream of making the Olympic team, I had to run in the Olympics and risk disappointing everyone who had believed in me and supported me along the way.

Sure that I wasn't training or running at the level of the world's best, I panicked. Peter agreed to meet me in Norbonne, France, where the U.S. Olympic track team was staging a prep site for the two weeks before the Olympics. I desperately tried to make up for lost time under his guidance.
But before I knew it, I had to leave him behind and travel on to the Olympics in Spain alone.

Not every athlete participates in the opening ceremonies because it means standing for hours, which is exhausting. But this was my first Olympics, and I wouldn't have missed the opportunity for anything. It felt amazing to be out on the field with the most elite athletes in America, all of us dressed in matching uniforms and basking in the culmination of years, even decades, of work. We were all big sports fans, of course, and so athletes kept popping away from where they were supposed to be standing with their team in order to go get their picture taken with someone they particularly admired. A seven-foot-tall man approached me, and as he smiled down at me, I recognized him as former Duke star basketball player Christian Laettner. He was there to play on what had been dubbed the “Dream Team.”

“Hey, Suzy, I remember watching you at your NCAA race our senior year in college,” he said. “Can I get a picture with you?”

“With me?” I said, laughing that a Dream Teamer could want a photo with
me
.

As we posed, he looked over to where his teammates stood, hulking above all of the regular-sized athletes. “Do you want to come meet the Dream Team?” he asked.

“Oh my gosh,” I said. “Of course I do.”

I felt a little nervous as we approached Charles Barkley, David Robinson, and Magic Johnson, but they were so incredibly nice, it quickly put me at ease.

“Suzy, I just saw you in that Pert Plus ad you did,” Magic said.

What, Magic Johnson knew who
I
was?

He leaned down and kissed my cheek.
Mark is not going to believe this,
I thought, knowing what a huge Lakers fan he was and had turned me into.

By the night before my preliminary, all the good feeling I had experienced at the opening ceremony had evaporated, and I was back in the dark, extremely negative head space that plagued me during competition. In a panic going into the Olympics, I had redoubled my training with my college coach, Peter Tegen, but there was only so much we could do in that time. I knew I was in no condition to beat the world's best, and Peter was not with me, so he wasn't there to give me any final words of wisdom now. And I was without my security blanket, Mark. Per official rules, no spouses were allowed to stay at the Olympic Village, so he stayed with my boss from Reebok. Little did I know that the mood at the Olympic Village was more spring break than a focused training zone. The athletes who had already competed in their events were ready to
party,
and the building in which I was staying had the chaotic vibe of a college dorm, complete with loud music, drunken shouts, and laughter. I was shocked to learn that thousands of condoms are made available in the village each year, and the Olympians were apparently making good use of them. As the minutes ticked by, I lay in bed, listening to the chaos, growing more and more agitated about my race, and thinking about how the less sleep I got, the worse I would do. Images of my upcoming race flashed through my mind, only they were the inverse of the positive visualization exercises recommended by coaches. I saw myself failing again and
again and again. Finally, it was time to get up. I don't think I slept at all that night. I was very tired and dazed. I would have rather done anything than run an Olympic race that day, but I didn't have a choice.

I started my pre-race ritual, warming up and stretching. By the time I took the bus over to the warm-up track, my head was plagued with the familiar litany:
Why can't my leg be broken? Why am I here?
I didn't have Peter or Mark, who wasn't allowed access to me, there to calm me down. Of course, I was so used to doing what I was supposed to do that it never would have occurred to me to tell Mark how nervous I was or tell him that I didn't want to run. I just pretended everything was fine, like I'd been doing for years, even though I felt absolutely terrible. I was thrumming with anxiety, to the point where I could barely focus on what was happening around me as I took my position. And then, I started running. I was putting on a good face, but I didn't feel like I belonged there among these elite runners. And then the worries flooded me. I tightened up with a lap and a half to go. I was living the nightmare that many runners have: my limbs became impossibly heavy, and it felt like I was dragging my arms and legs through quicksand. It was over, and I knew it. The other racers flew past. I finished last.

I was devastated. But the humiliation wasn't over. My parents had flown to Spain to watch me race, as had a benefactor from Wisconsin who had given me money to help pay for my training. My parents told me that he was expecting to have a meal with me, and I had to attend. The last thing I wanted to do was sit through a meal with a fake smile on my face while
everyone tried to make me feel better, but I couldn't speak up. I went to lunch, suffering through the hour until I could go hide. I couldn't bear to go back to the Olympic Village, where I was sure everyone knew who I was and that I'd let down my team and my country by losing when I'd been expected to do more. That night, Mark and I went to sleep early on the floor of the hotel room rented by my Reebok liaison. We got up early in the morning while he was still asleep and went straight to the airport. My first Olympics were over.