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“I can count on one hand in thirty years of coaching the number of athletes I’ve seen who have Jannie’s potential,” she replied. “Barring injury, the sky is the limit.”
“This is just mind-boggling,” I said.
“I imagine so,” Coach Fall said. “So anytime you or Jannie are confused or want to talk about her training or how things are going, feel free to call me. Whatever she chooses to do and whatever college she chooses in the long run is beside the point. Okay?”
“Okay,” I said, and I shook her hand.
“Take care of her,” Coach Fall said. “She’s a thoroughbred.”
“What kind of bread is thor-oh?” Ali asked afterward.
“A thoroughbred is a racehorse,” Nana Mama said.
“Jannie’s a horse?”
“She runs like one,” Bree said, and she squeezed my hand.
I squeezed back, full of pride but also anxiety. I felt like I was in way over my head when it came to making decisions about Jannie’s future.
“You going to tell Jannie?” Nana Mama asked. “About the offer?”
“I have to,” I said. “But I’ll wait for somewhere quieter.”
When Jannie came up into the stands smiling, Ali said, “You got an offer.”
“What?”
“I’ll tell you later,” I said, and hugged her. “We’re very proud of you.”
She beamed, said, “Who knew?”
“God did,” Nana Mama said. “You’ve got something only God can give.”
We walked out into the parking lot and found Ted McDonald waiting. He shook Jannie’s hand, told her what he’d told me, and led us to a nearby café that offered organic sandwiches and the like.
We ordered, and he asked who would be making decisions about Jannie’s future training. I said I hadn’t even begun to think about that process.
McDonald said, “Then I’m very glad I happened to be here.”
He filled us in on his impressive background, including his PhD in exercise physiology from McGill University and his stints as a top coach with the Canadian and French national track federations. McDonald currently served as an independent training consultant to athletes at a number of U.S. universities, including Rice, Texas, Texas A&M, UCLA, USC, and Georgetown.
He said, “I’m also a scout for—”
Our lunch arrived. McDonald had ordered a salad for Jannie—vegetables, broiled chicken, and hard-boiled eggs—and a smoothie made from Brazilian acai berries that she said was delicious. I tried a sip and ordered my own.
While we ate, McDonald peppered Jannie with questions. How many pull-ups could she do without stopping? How many push-ups? What was her best standing broad jump? Her vertical leap? Flexibility? Endurance? Her mile time? Fastest recorded quarter?
Jannie didn’t know the exact answer to some questions, but others she knew right off the top of her head.
The questions went on. Had she ever long-jumped? High-jumped? Pole-vaulted? Hurdled?
Jannie shook her head.
“No matter,” he said. “Tell me what happens when you run. I mean, what’s the experience like for you?”
Jannie thought about that, said, “I sort of go off in my own world and everything gets kind of slow.”
“Nerves before you race?”
