Flashes of Panic

Usually I check the IAAF website to find my stories. This morning, I found a press release about the latest one in my email.

Chasing this one took a lot of work, or at least I made it more work than it probably needed to be. The assignment came by email while I was on the plane to Indianapolis, and (by coincidence) ten minutes before the subject, Allyson Felix, had a press conference at the track there. When I read the email, I’d was sitting in the same tent, three or four hours later. Missed opportunity #1.

Missed opportunity #2 was that when we left the tent that day, Felix was standing outside it, but I didn’t recognize her. (New blond hair.)

I spent part of that weekend making a pest of myself to her agent, himself once a world-class hurdler. I spoke with him on the phone once, but then the competition schedule really picked up—Felix ran both the 100m and 200m, which meant she was racing every day, plus he represents two other athletes who made the Osaka team—and I was just sending emails with no replies and leaving voice mail.

Missed opportunity #3 was the mixed zone. I got some quotes from Felix about where she is now and what she’s up to this summer, but nothing about six years ago, unsurprisingly. I probably could have bothered her for ten minutes or so after a round, or maybe after the 100m, but there’s nothing like the coulda-woulda-shouldas here.

So then I’m back to calling her agent, once home from Indianapolis. You know how much I don’t love this. Enough time has passed that I have to re-explain the point of the story, but this time he decides to make it happen. He’ll call me Wednesday afternoon and put me on a conference call. That happens, I record the interview, write for an hour and a half or so, and send it in: done. The writing was the easiest part.

The conference call was an interesting strategy. I’ve never run in to it with distance runners, but I’ve seldom done phone interviews with distance runners of Felix’s profile. Part of her agent’s job, after all, is to make sure reporters (like me) aren’t pestering her at all hours, which means I don’t get her phone number. It’s also possible that the agent had someone on the call as well, though that might be too paranoid to be true. (I am good at thinking like I’m paranoid when I need to.)

Anyway, it’s done. Time I sent an invoice.

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