‘Should I turn the heater up?’ Lee inquired. ‘We don’t want you catching cold.’ His use of English was unerring; the only indication that he was an Oriental was his inability to convey secondary meanings through stress. In an analyst, that could be an advantage.
‘I’m just fine, thanks.’ She raised a smile and toyed with the ends of her hair, fine against the coarse fabric of the sweatsuit. She wore the black suit exclusively for late sessions. It was pure wool. Even in July there was a chill in the air before sundown.
‘You’re not disheartened by anything?’ asked Lee. There was a comforting ritual between them that always prefaced the sessions. He could be as piercing in his questions as anyone, when he wanted. Never at the start.
‘Should I be?’
He raised his shoulders a fraction. His smallest gestures were eloquent, he used them so sparingly. His unusual height had not impaired the command of the physique that dignifies the Chinese.
‘Perhaps I am,’ she conceded.
Lee waited.
‘I’m not hitting the targets set for me in training sessions. Not most times.’
Lee asked, ‘And do you interpret that as a shortcoming on your part?’
‘Pete does.’
‘You haven’t answered my question.’
She creased her brow slightly. ‘If I’m not satisfying my coach, I figure I’m failing.’
‘So you measure your progress by the degree of satisfaction your performances produce in Peter Klugman.’ A flat statement. If there was irony intended, she had to extract it for herself. In all their sessions, Lee had never said a word in derogation of Klugman.
‘He is an Olympic coach,’ she said in defense of her statement. ‘I’m bound to be influenced by his estimations of how I’m doing.’
‘Naturally,’ said Lee. ‘He is qualified to judge.’
‘And as he sets the targets,’ Goldine went on, ‘he must believe I’m capable of reaching them if I work at it.’
‘If that is the purpose of the targets, yes,’ said Lee. ‘Would you feel better if you achieved them?’
‘I’d feel better if Pete treated me like I was a member of the human race. He used to, you know.’
‘I remember. You often spoke highly of him.’
‘He bought a lot of mileage with me then. He’s a fabulous coach, and he’s taught me everything I know about track, but lately he hasn’t related to me at all. One day he slaps me down, the next he just clams up, and gives me a look like I’d be better off baton-twirling.’
Lee listened, but made no comment.
She gave an illustration. ‘This afternoon, I ran six repetitions on the two-hundred strip. The idea was to go through my regular routine and sharpen up on finishing as well. We’ve put in a lot of work on my finish since San Diego. He had Harry Makepeace chase me and try beating me on the dip. He did — five times in a row.’
‘And the sixth?’
‘He switched to Elmer Brannon. If Elmer nipped me, I’d give up. He’s an old man.’
Lee let that pass.
‘Yesterday I was on hundreds,’ Goldine continued. ‘Eight altogether. The first six were around eleven-three, the others one tenth slower. That’s slow running, Sammy, but I was bucking a headwind all the way. The other direction I could have made inside eleven each time. Pete knew it. We both knew it. Sometimes I run the other direction, but he wasn’t having that. After four eleven-threes, the look on his face was unbelievable. I suggested we reverse for the other runs on account of the wind. You know what he said? Maybe I should ask the consortium to provide me with an astrodome, where the temperature is constant and the wind never blows and there’s no rain. I thought that was mean. I sometimes think he wants to deprive me of any sense of achievement in my training. It makes me burn inside.’
‘And when you burn inside, do you perform better?’ asked Lee.
She reflected on that. From the quick movements of her eyes, the question raised a conflict in her mind. ‘You could be right,’ she finally admitted.
‘You said you beat Brannon in the final run this afternoon.’
‘Sure.’
‘Could injured pride have had some influence on that?’
‘You mean I was sore at Harry beating me?’
‘Or that you were denied the chance of beating him,’ said Lee. ‘Why didn’t he make the sixth run?’
‘He was used up,’ she answered matter-of-factly. ‘They’re not so fit as me.’
‘So if Peter Klugman had insisted Makepeace make the sixth run, you might have beaten him. You weren’t given the chance. It made you angry, and you translated your frustration into action by defeating Brannon.’
‘Elmer’s not much of a scalp,’ said Goldine with a grudging smile.
Lee developed his thesis. ‘It may not be a bad thing for you to feel things are being made difficult for you. If frustration produces a positive response, makes you angry, stimulates you to greater efforts, that is a valuable discovery to have made about yourself. It is quite inevitable, isn’t it, that over the course of five days of competition in Oregon, and again in Moscow, you will encounter setbacks and frustrations? An official penalizes you for a faulty start, or fails to penalize another girl. You draw an unfavorable lane three times in succession. Someone makes a personal remark while you are warming up for a race. These things are unpredictable; the only thing you can bet on is that something will occur that could upset you. The way you respond is vital to your success.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Is that why Pete is bugging me?’
Lee drew back from that. ‘I couldn’t say. I’m simply making the point that it is not a bad thing for you to know what it is to battle against odds. Most of the great champions had to learn that. Babe Didrikson tore a cartilage in her first event in the 1932 Olympics and still beat world records in other events. Fanny Blankers-Koen had to wait till she was thirty and the Second World War was over before she became an Olympic champion. People had written her off. A calculated taunt from her husband that she was too old gave her the determination to dominate the London Olympics. Wilma Rudolph lost the use of her left leg when she was four, and couldn’t walk till she was seven, but she got to be the golden girl of 1960.’
‘Okay,’ said Goldine, unimpressed. ‘We’ve been over this. It’s all in the positive mental attitude. I have some fight in me, Sammy. I may seem like a spoiled kid up here with all these facilities, but I know what it is to have things tough. Pete doesn’t need to knock me to teach me that. I don’t expect training to be a pushover, but there could be a little joy in it, couldn’t there?’
‘The joy comes later,’ said Lee.
‘I know, but—’
‘Have you tried to understand the training sessions from Peter Klugman’s angle?’
She sighed. ‘I wish I could. I don’t know whether he hates me, or what.’
‘The relationship between a coach and an athlete has overtones neither may completely understand.’
‘Meaning he drives me hard because he wants me to succeed where he failed?’ said Goldine, casually slotting Dryden’s theory into the discussion.
Lee gave her a longer look before replying, ‘Certainly that could influence his attitude. A coach might sublimate disappointments in his own achievements by transferring his ambitions to athletes he helps, yes. But there can be a conflict, too. In passing on his knowledge and experience he can feel something being drained from him. Your acquisition of technique is his loss.’
‘That I don’t understand.’
‘When you mount the victory rostrum in Moscow, the glory will be yours. Little, if any, will reflect on anyone else. The pride Peter Klugman, or any of us, will take in your success will be personal. We shall have the satisfaction of a job well done, a contract completed. But a coach may not see it so dispassionately. It is difficult to be dispassionate about an ambition that has dominated your hopes and efforts since high school, and become the mainspring of your life. On that day in Moscow, Peter could be forgiven for thinking some of your success might have been his, even for feeling some resentment toward you.’