“This was the first time I’d ever been to a shopping mall, the first time I’d even seen or been in an athletics-wear store. The store manager was sponsoring the athletes who were heading to the World Junior Championships. I’d never owned anything close to brand-new sports attire. They gave us a pair of sneakers, a pair of new track spikes, and a white and blue track suit. I was on top of the world.

“This was my first IAAF-sponsored World Junior Championships. I was coming in at a disadvantage. My injuries weren’t properly treated. I couldn’t afford any outside professional care. I was taping myself, bursting my own blisters, trying to figure out the best way to stretch pained muscles. I had never had the benefits of regular healthcare. Here, I got a taste of what professional athletes were offered in terms of meals and medical treatments in the Western world. Physiotherapy was available free of charge to all the participants and I, of course, wanted some of this modern treatment.

“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.

“I knew I wasn’t the same Caster. I was still nursing my injured leg and I was grossly overweight, but all I needed was a chance. The director offered me a three-year scholarship. I would study sports science. Soon after, I met with Jean in person. Even seeing how out of shape I was, he believed in me. Potch was about 180 kilometers away from Pretoria. Violet wasn’t happy about the distance, but I would no longer be sitting.

“Michael’s program improved upon whatever I’d built running barefoot and alone on those dusty grounds in Limpopo as a teenager. His philosophy was, “If it isn’t broke, don’t fix it.” “We’ll just keep doing what you’ve been doing, Caster,” he would say. He believed in stretching things out, moving along slowly, conditioning, and then when the body was ready, you hit it. He didn’t rush things; he didn’t push until he was absolutely sure. Michael was one of those coaches who didn’t believe in pain; he believed in slow buildups. Maria’s style was hardcore. If the plan for the day was to run 200s in 27s, then that is all we were doing, no matter what. Maria did not rest me well, but she made me a beast, she recreated in me an image of herself. Verster was different from them. Verster believed in gut feelings. Before every session, he would ask me how I felt that day. It was an interesting thing for me. And I could be honest with him. If I said, “I don’t feel like training hard today,” he would honor that.