Chapter 9 9

I went for a run. Every time I come out of the clinic, I always feel that the anger in my heart is much greater than before the consultation, and my mind is much more chaotic.To get rid of the discomfort of this treatment, I had no other choice but to go for a hard run in Central Park.Since I met Simpson by chance, I said a few words, and he actually came to exercise with me.As long as he is not busy with medical affairs and can spare time, he will definitely come and run with me around the artificial lake in the park. Fortunately, he never asked me if there was any further development with Miss Joanna Stein.Had she told him?Could it be that she also diagnosed something wrong with me?Anyway, Simpson never brought up this topic when talking to me, and instead of mentioning it, I paid attention to it.To be honest, I think Steve would probably be pleased to see me talk to people again.I never tell lies to my friends, so I just told him I got a psychiatrist to treat me.Of course, I won't tell you the details, and he didn't ask.

This afternoon, because I was having a hard time talking to the doctor, I ran a little too fast without realizing it, and Steve couldn't keep up.After only one lap, he had to stop. "Hey, man, you're going to run this lap alone," he said breathlessly. "I'll catch up on the third lap." In fact, I was also quite tired, and I had to take my breath slowly, so I slowed down my pace.Although I didn't run fast, some runners were left behind by me.There are so many people running at dusk. The team is colorful, fat and thin, fast and slow.Some people participating in the sports meeting naturally rushed past me like a gust of wind.The young middle school students in that class can easily surpass me.But just because of my unhurried running, I still have a taste of "overtaking": Needless to say, the old man and the fat lady, most of the children under the age of twelve are not my opponents.

Later, I gradually felt exhausted, and my eyes were a little blurred.Sweat flowed into my eyes, and I couldn't see who were the people I left behind. I just vaguely felt that there were groups of figures, big and small, colorful.So if I were to tell who it was that was running up and down behind me, I couldn't tell at all.But then this happened. I vaguely saw a figure about eighty yards in front of me, wearing a sweatshirt and trousers with a blue Adidas brand (that is to say, a very expensive brand), and his pace was not too slow.I thought to myself, if I just write freehand and run forward like this, I guess I will be able to get rid of this gradually...it must be a girl, right?Or a slender young man with long blond hair.

Guessing it failed, I quickened my pace and rushed towards this blue Adidas.It took twenty seconds to close the distance.It was indeed a girl.Or it's a young man with a big butt-look at my crazy, isn't this another problem, I have to go to the London doctor to study it?Fortunately, it wasn't. I ran closer and saw clearly that it was a slender girl with blond hair blowing in the wind.Come on, Barrett, put on a Bob Hayes ① posture and get ahead a little bit.I adjusted my pace, speeded up, and rushed past like flying in style.Okay, let's go to the advanced side.I recognized it. The burly man in front was the opera singer who was far from my opponent on weekdays.Mr. Baritone, it's your turn to throw me, Oliver, this time.

① Full name Robert Lee Hayes (1942—): American sprinter. 1964 Tokyo Olympics 100-meter champion. Suddenly a blue light flashed, and a figure rushed past me.I thought it must be a sprinter from Millrose Athletic Club.But it doesn't look right.This blue figure was still the female general in a nylon tracksuit, and I thought she had been thrown twenty yards away by me.But you see she surpassed the past all of a sudden.Maybe it's because a new runner has emerged, and I'm just to blame for not reading the newspaper carefully.I adjusted my pace again, trying to catch up again.It's not easy to catch up.I am tired, but she is still running very vigorously.It was easy for me to catch up.She looks better than her back.

"Hey—you've won a race of some sort?" I asked. "Why do you ask this?" Seeing that she wasn't panting too much. "You passed me by like flying..." "You're not running fast," she interjected. Hey, is she trying to humiliate me on purpose?Who is she? "Hey, are you trying to humiliate me?" "Is your personality so fragile?" She asked back. Although my self-confidence was well-bearable, I still got angry. "You're so defiant," I replied to her. "Are you trying to humiliate me?" "You're right." Unlike her, I was outspoken.

"Would you rather run alone?" she asked. "say to me. "That's good." After she finished speaking, she swished and ran away suddenly.She's angry--it's obviously just a ruse--but it doesn't scare me!In order to speed up the speed under my feet, I used all the strength of my whole body this time.But I managed to catch up with her anyway. "Hey!" "I thought you liked being alone," she said. Panting, speaking can only be as brief as possible. "Which team are you on?" "Neither team," she said. "I practice running to play tennis well."

"Ah, a real big star①." I deliberately used the word "star" in a masculine tone, which is a bit disrespectful to her, a woman. ①The original text of "ball star" is jock, which was originally only called male athletes, because this same line comes from the "lower body protection" (jockstrap) of male athletes.The "prick" in the other party's answer, the original text is prick, is also an unforgiving word, because the original meaning of this word is related to the male reproductive organs. "Yes," she said with a straight face. "What about you, aren't you a complete squeamish?"

How can I resist this?What's more, I have to follow her steps and run desperately? "Yes, yes," I had no choice but to perfunctory in the past.In retrospect, I'm afraid it was the most sensible way to deal with it. "And how is your tennis game?" "Anyway, you may not be willing to compete with me." "I would like to compete with you." "Really?" Thankfully, she also slowed down at this point, and finally walked at a regular pace. "Is it possible tomorrow?" "Okay," I was still panting. "How about six o'clock? It's at the Goshen Tennis Club at One Avenue on Ninety-fourth Street."

"I don't get off work until six," I said. "How about seven o'clock?" "Where, I said six o'clock in the morning," she answered. "Six in the morning? Who plays at six in the morning?" I said. "We're playing so early—if you want to back off, so be it," she replied. "Come on, I'm going to back off?" I finally caught my breath, and my mind was in place at about the same time, and I was agile again. "I usually get up at four o'clock to feed the cows." She just smiled.A smile reveals all the white teeth.

"That's good. The court is booked, and it's named Marcie Nash -- that's me, by the way." After she finished speaking, she held out her hand to me.Of course it was a handshake, not a kiss.Contrary to what I had expected, her handshake was not strong, not athletic at all.Ordinary, but even a little delicate. "May I ask your name?" she said. I meant to play a little joke on her. "My name is Gonzalez, Miss. Pancho B. Gonzalez." "Oh," she said, "I knew it wouldn't be Quick Gonzalez." "How can this be," I said, a little surprised that the legendary "Quick" Gonzalez was the subject of so many dirty jokes in the smoky locker rooms of sports stadiums, how could she heard? "Okay, Pancho, six in the morning. Don't forget to bring your ass, too." "How do you say that?" I was puzzled. "Then what is there not to understand?" she said. "Bring it so I can beat you up." This is how I fight back. "Yes, yes. You must not forget to bring the 'ball' with you①?" ①The "球" in the sentence is called balls in the original text. The word balls has many other meanings besides "球". For example, it can be interpreted as "guts".Here Oliver is obviously a pun. "That would still be wrong," she said. "What kind of women are New York women without that?" Then she sprinted away at a speed that would have made Jesse Owens jealous. ① Jesse Owens (1913-1980), an outstanding black sprinter in the United States, once won four gold medals in the 1936 Olympic Games.