“Not too cold.”

“Believe me, darlin’, there’s plenty more where this came from.”

32

The secret of optimal performance is to keep the mind focused, but the body completely relaxed. Completely loose.” Koby shook out his arms. “You watch basketball, no?”

“Occasionally,” I told him.

“You ever see the pros make long shots? The trey—the perfect three-pointer—is usually a swisher, all net with just a flick of the wrist. So loose. Or a slugger at bat, the follow-through on his swing, the whole body moves in one motion. It’s very hard to do because the natural thing when you concentrate is to tense up, right?”

“Right.”

“It’s a mind-set, Cindy, one of the reasons why pro athletes are so arrogant. They have to think they’re the best, otherwise they won’t relax.”

“They’re arrogant because they make ten million bucks a year and have thousands of women willing to minister to their genitals.”

Koby smiled. “I say it’s one of the reasons.”

I rubbed my arms, bouncing on the heels of my feet. We had already done preliminary stretching, but it was still cold outside and my muscles were starting to tighten. Gray clouds hung in the L.A. skies like wet gym clothes. Even though it was the ungodly hour of seven on a Wednesday morning, there were people on the outdoor track. Koby had waved to a few of them.

“When I ran competitively, I used to think of my joints as very thin rubber bands, that it was no effort at all to stretch them and that they’d always bounce back. It helped me maintain a long stride.”

“You have a long stride because you have long legs,” I told him.

“Yes, I am African. We are built to outrun lions. Even so, anyone can improve the performance. Are you ready?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“This was your idea, Cindy.”

“I just thought it was something we could do together that didn’t involve spending money or having sex.”

He smiled. “If you like, we can go back to sex.”

“Notice you said nothing about spending money.”

“First we have sex; then I spend the money.” He laughed and took my arm. “Come on.”

“Please pretend like we’re going at the same pace.”

He trotted by my side as I jogged around the oval, keeping up a steady patter of conversation. Mostly, he spoke about work. It was good because it gave him a chance to vent his frustrations and, at the same time, distracted me and made the time go quicker. He did the talking because I needed all my breath for running. I hadn’t realized it, but slowly, slowly, he had picked up the pace. After forty-five minutes, I was shot and broke to a fast walk. As I cooled off, I told him to go out and stretch his legs. Within moments, he was burning rubber, pure poetry in motion. By the time we got back to his house, I was feeling very amorous with all the endorphins flowing. That pleased him immensely. He suggested we take a run every morning. The hot shower shook out the last remaining bits of lethargy. As I walked into his kitchen, I noticed that my cell phone was beeping.