Fast Girl by Suzy Favor Hamilton Page A

him, and even though I’d always leaned on him for advice and support, when it came down to it, he’d been conditioned to go along with whatever I said was best for my training, and so he didn’t intervene now.
    At the urging of an incredible doctor I’d found during our time in L.A., I finally forced myself to go see a sports psychologist for the first time in my career, in order to discuss what had happened. But even in the safety of her office, I was never really honest. I told her that I had fallen on purpose, but I didn’t reveal just how dark my mental state had been going into the race. She decided the fall in Sydney was due to the extreme stress of having so much riding on a single race, and nothing in our discussions led her to suspect there was any more to it.
    When the dust finally cleared, it was time to take stock, of my running career and of the life Mark and I had built together since our marriage. I didn’t want to race anymore. I was terrified that the minute I strapped on my spikes I’d be crippled with panic. But I was too proud to end my career on such a low note. I rallied, kept training, and in 2001 things were on the upswing again. I actually had quite a good year in 2001. Or at least I had a good running year. My life continued to be dictated by my obsessive focus. I spent most of my time with my coach, Peter, and Mark. In his dual role asmy husband and part-time manager, Mark was aware of my every move. I had remained close to Mary, even though she had married an old contact of mine from Nike we’d set her up with and moved to Portland to be with him. We talked on the phone frequently and saw each other as often as we could. Later that year, she called me with terrible news.
    â€œSuzy, I have to tell you something,” she said, slowly and quietly.
    â€œWhat is it?” I asked, instantly worried because it was unlike her to sound so serious. I was sitting at the kitchen table drinking tea, and I looked up at Mark, who was standing across from me.
    â€œI have cancer,” she said, her voice shaking. “But don’t worry, I’m going to fight it, and I’m going to win.”
    My heart tightened up and tears rolled down my face.
    If anyone could beat cancer, it was Mary, who was still the most dynamic, charismatic force of nature I’d ever known. But her diagnosis—a rare cancer—and ensuing need for a particularly intense form of chemotherapy meant she had a hard battle ahead. I made a point to get to Portland several times that year to be with my dear friend. She always amazed me with her energy and good spirits, even when she was sick, and it was easy to pretend she’d be back to normal in no time. Plus, I knew that was what Mary wanted, and wanted me to believe.
    I had a great season in 2002, running three 1,500s under four minutes and earning a ranking of number three in the world. My training was going so well that I began looking toward competing in one more Olympics, in 2004. But as thetrials approached, my nagging injuries began to get the best of me. I was traveling to Limerick once a month for deep-tissue treatment, and also making trips to Germany for injections to remove scar tissue. My body was telling me: enough. Although I had run through worse injuries many times, I was worried about my mental state more than my physical body. I was terrified of what might happen if I tried to race when I knew I wasn’t at my best. I pulled my hamstring during the preliminary round of the Olympic trials, and I just didn’t have it in me to push through the pain and the fear. I had learned something from Sydney at least. So I pulled out of the final race.
    Mark and I had been talking seriously about starting a family. We’d both always wanted children, and now that we had a space in our life that running used to fill, it seemed like the perfect moment to welcome a child. When I found out I was pregnant in early 2005, we