"When she has him hold a position," says Yoshino, "she is getting the muscle her hand is on to relax. When she senses that it has, she tells him to pull, flexing the muscle and relaxing its antagonist."
The session is 20 minutes of straining, static embraces. Moses' face is impassive. Carreiro's is absorbed as she feels for the proper relaxation, then tense as she resists him.
When Carreiro is finished, Moses works furiously on computerized quadriceps and hamstring machines, takes another icy soak and receives a penetrating massage. "Go deep," says Yoshino to the therapist. "If you feel bone, don't worry about it."
"I cry here some days," says Moses. It is well after noon. He has been at his discipline for five hours. And he'll run again in late afternoon. The temptation for the observer is to seek an equation here, a balance. Moses' regimen is so consuming that whatever he stands to gain by it must be compelling. But hasn't Moses outrun the mathematics of sacrifice and reward? Every conceivable reward has been his, and none will evaporate if he stops running. He will still be respected and loved and wealthy.
He has even outrun history. A loss or two couldn't mar this, the most dominant career of any runner ever. He admits to that. Yet still he goes on. "This is my life," he says simply. Being an athlete, in all its essential suffering, is better than not being one.
And where he once seemed absorbed in prolonging his streak, he now pleads for some perspective. The streak is unquestionably important to him because it measures his faithfulness to his gifts. "But I worry about it less than I did in '83-84," he says. "It seems such an artificially concocted, hyped thing. I think the streak makes it harder on the pursuers. They have to do something they've never done before."
And don't think they don't know it. "The pressure is going to be on the guys trying to knock the king off the hill," says Iowa State's Danny Harris, the two-time NCAA champion and silver medalist behind Moses in L.A.
Moses plans now to run in the TAC Championships to be held in Eugene, Ore., from June 19 to 21. "What I think he'll do before that," says André Phillips, last year's TAC champion, "is sneak off somewhere quietly, and get in a tune-up race without Danny or me. Man, I'd really like to find out where that is, and call and have them reserve me a lane."
"I can beat him if I can get over those first two hurdles faster," says Harris. "I was closing on him at the finish in the Olympics."
Harris is hugely talented. His Olympic medal came at 18, in his first year of 400 hurdling. Before that he was a football defensive back. "But then I realized my opportunities were greater in track," he says. He dropped football in 1984, to the not quite speechless displeasure of Iowa State football coach Jim Criner, who all but called Harris disloyal.