The Journey to the Interior

“Kalasinga explained to him the mysteries of the engine, and Yusuf grasped something of this but was happier watching him magically coax the tangle of pipes and bolts into life. He heard about India, where Kalasinga had not been for many years, and South Africa, where he had lived as a child. It’s a madhouse in South. All kinds of cruel fantasies have come true there. Let me tell you something about those Afrikander bastards, though. They’re crazy. I don’t just mean wild and cruel, I mean round the loop. Hot sun has turned their Dutch brain to soup.

“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 wondered, years later, if my mother knew what would happen, in the way that only mothers know about their children. I don’t mean that she knew what would happen, exactly. My parents, such as they were, what knowledge they had about the world, could never imagine it. How the world would consume me, how perfect strangers would treat my body like a science experiment. They had no idea that whatever was going on with me was a “medical issue” to the outside world, or that what should have been my private business would be used to continue a public conversation about gender and biological sex that the world had been having for thousands of years.

“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.