“I feel that the IAAF has confiscated a large part of my life. I’ve spent as much time fighting them as I have training and racing. They have stolen years of performances not only from me but also from the audience—their joy at seeing me on the track over the years, win or lose, has brought me joy. The blow of every insult hurled at me has been softened by the love and admiration of people who watch me run.

“I was a multi-use player; I could be a striker or a defender. I knew how to handle the ball, how to open space on the pitch, how to dribble. No one cared I was a girl, they just wanted to win. The kids and adults would all gather to see me play and they’d chant “Mokgadi!

Mokgadi! Mokgadi!” I loved to hear my name. I’d love to give those who came to see me a show. You could say I was a performer even from young. I enjoyed being the center of attention.

“I didn’t do well in the event. I came in fourth and to this day, I don’t know what happened except to say I couldn’t find the zone. I didn’t yet understand that racing wasn’t just about being fast, it was also about strategizing and quieting the mind. I was used to running alone, my only company at times just cows and sheep and goats. I was used to running in South Africa. I couldn’t yet control my nerves. I resolved to learn and never lose again.

“I knew from what happened to my father and what I’d seen on television that a career in sports didn’t last forever. Athletes have a small window of time to work with their body. And injuries don’t care whether you are young or old. The important thing was that if running didn’t work out for me, I would at least have a diploma from a respected university that would help me get a job. That would be my future, I decided, but for now, I had to get faster.

“The way Boss put it, being a clean athlete was everything. He told me not to trust people. To stay humble.