Andy.

I’m supposed to be autographing books. And I am. I swear. 

But I had to pause. Because I want to talk to you about my manager Andy Stubbs.

Long before he was my manager, he was a friend. A smiling face every single time I ran across him in a hotel lobby.

So many race eves and post meets I would sit and sip wine, while he enjoyed a beer talking about nothing and everything and I wasn’t even his client.

I wasn’t even his client. And every time I saw him he made me feel like I was important, worth more than my last performance, or commission.

I’ve had my share of managers. My first was John Nubani, also a good guy- who didn’t deserve the treatment he got at the hands of my ex. But I’m happy to see Nubani so happy and healthy- he also always has time for a conversation.

Then I was represented by Paul Doyle who has found his footing in making sure all of us clients or not have the opportunities we deserve as professionals within a sport that behaves amateurishly far too often.

When I was struggling and my health failing I decided to take a chance on a friend that I had a great time creating with. Before I became his client we’d brainstorm together create videos and photo shoots, and dream. But someone (he wouldn’t tell me who) told him not to work with me and he listened. And so I was put out to pasture by my “friend.”

This happened at the same time that I was dying from the hemorraghing tumor I hadn’t yet learned about, so it was probably the WORST time to get abandoned- but also the best time because fighting for lanes at meets seems trivial when I was literally fighting for life.

And so I decided I didn’t need a manager. I needed to focus on living, and then I’d worry about representation if I got back to health.

Paul Doyle, who negotiated the Nike contract that I was under at the time, made sure I ran in the minimum number of meets to avoid the major pandemic reduction Nike was planning. 

Paul made sure I knew exactly when and where I needed to be to make that happen.

And all the while…I was fighting my way back to life, back to health, back to the elite stage it was starting to look like maybe, just maybe I needed a manager again.

I, like a lot of you, thought it was over for me, and apparently so did my previous manager, and obviously so did Nike, and so it was really uncomfortable for me to start thinking of managers again.

What would that call be like, “Hey, I know I’ve shown you fuck all over the last three years but I think I can do this, but I need help will you help me?”

With World Athletics changing rules, and requirements to make diamond league meets, and championships it’s not like I was coming in as a potential cash cow. And this is business after all.

But Chuck asked me if there were any managers I just liked as people and to start there. But I felt burned by my last attempt at hiring someone because they were a friend.

But I messaged Andy. I told him that I’ve always enjoyed hanging with him, enjoyed every conversation and that I know I’ve had a rough few years but that I needed help and was wondering if he would manage me.

“Who hasn’t had a rough few years?” He said to me. And I immediately felt better because we almost always do when we learn we aren’t alone in our shit.

He told me how he was navigating the pandemic, and what business was like for him too. We were very much in the same boat.

I told him, I’m at the point in my career where I just need good people around me. And he’s good people. And that I wasn’t expecting him to get me into the diamond leagues, or for us to make a ton of money, but that I wanted to be able to end my career on my terms, with a team of people that I love, that love and support me too.

He told me I deserved that, and more. And he told me he was the guy.

And his conversations over WhatsApp, email, and text carried me through the pandemic as we tried to navigate the fuckery of losing a contract in the unceremonious way that I did.

He listened when I told him I would go unsponsored through July just to be sure I was free and clear of Nike and their non-compete clause.

He was measured (and funny) when I opened my season running a 100 in 11.71 seconds.

“Well….it’s a start I guess”

And we both had to laugh because 11.7 is so damn far from where we want and need to be.

We talked about my body transformation over the last several months, and he told me his plan for a return to a healthier lifestyle, but that it was hard.

I agreed. It’s the hardest thing. But even harder when making an olympic team isn’t dangled as motivation. I told him he could call me for the nutrition side if he wanted since I’m going through it now.

After the conclusion of each competition I’d see a note from him cheering the progress and that we were trending in the right direction.

Saturday we celebrated my running my first sub-11 race in FIVE YEARS.

And now he’s gone.

He was exactly who I needed when I needed him and now he is gone. And I am not lost, because our plan and path was set, but I hardly want to see this through without him.

I want to hug him and buy his beer and say THANK YOU for being the ONE person in this industry besides my bestie that didn’t write me off.

THANK YOU for making me feel like a person, for calling about business but then spending another 45 minutes talking about restaurants and beaches.

THANK YOU for all the little gigs and opportunities you brought me knowing how freaked out I was about going into an Olympic year unsponsored.

THANK YOU for calling whoever you called to get me different spikes from different brands to try out when I didn’t have any.

THANK YOU for retweeting interviews, and podcasts I was featured on. For having my back whenever I came for the IOC.

THANK YOU for the smiles, the laughs, the Facebook posts, the wisdom, the hope, the time, the love.

I don’t want to do this without you Andy. I really fucking don’t.

And I’m so glad I had enough sense to tell you how important you were to me while you were here.

I don’t want to do this without you Andy.

But because of you, I can.

Because of you, I will.