On the Right Track: From Olympic Downfall to Finding Forgiveness and the Strength to Overcome and Succeed - Softcover

Über die Autorinnen und Autoren

Marion Jones is a former world champion track and field athlete. She won five medals at the 2000 Summer Olympics in Sydney, Australia but voluntarily returned all her Olympic medals and forfieted all her race results from September 2000 after admitting she lied to federal investigators about her use of a performance-enhancing drug.

After her release from prison, Marion sought to take her experiences and encourage others to learn from them. She is actively speaking to teens and other groups and spreading her "Take a Break" message through which she advices young people to stop, take a break, think and seek proper advice from people you trust and who have your best interests at heart before making critical decisions that will have a profound impact on their lives. In short, Marion encourages young and older people alike to stay on track and just do what's right.

Currently, Marion is living a dream deferred and is playing professional basketball as a Rookie for the WNBA team the Tulsa Shock in 2010. She and her husband and children make their home in Austin, Texas.

Maggie Greenwood-Robinson is an accomplished author, co-author, and ghostwriter who has written more than 45 books in the areas of psychology, health, and inspiration. She wrote The Biggest Loser, a New York Times bestseller that was the official diet/fitness book for NBC’s hit reality show of the same name.

Maggie has worked with several high-profile authors, including a popular daytime talk show host, two well-known television doctors, and an international tennis star. Maggie is a member of the Dr. Phil Show Advisory Board and consults regularly on the show’s content. She resides in Dallas, Texas.

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CHAPTER 1
THE WAY BACK

As the cameras clicked and the videotapes rolled, I stepped up to a battalion of microphones stationed in front of the West-chester County Federal Courthouse in White Plains, New York. It was Friday, October 5, 2007, an unseasonably warm day. The treetops swayed with occasional gusts of wind. There was a long ribbon of people across the street, shouting “We love you, Marion.” I didn’t know any of them, but they were like angels sent from God to wrap their wings around me on one of the lowest days of my life.

My mother, other relatives, and close supporters stood behind me and around me like sturdy pillars. A swarm of reporters and photographers was arrayed on the steps of the brick-faced courthouse, all jockeying for spots near the microphones.

Moments earlier, I had been inside the building, standing before U.S. District Judge Kenneth Karas. Karas is a bespectacled man with a shock of brown hair and a stern, hard-nosed manner. His courtroom looked like something straight out of a legal drama, with wood-paneled walls, pews, and a sign above the judge’s head that said “In God We Trust.” It was filled to capacity with journalists from around the world. The proceeding was televised on closed-circuit television to a nearby overflow room.

I was stoic and scared at the same time. I pled guilty to two charges: lying in 2003 to federal investigators about my use of a performance-enhancing drug and lying to them about my knowledge of a separate check fraud case. In my guilty plea, I told the court that in September 2000, before the Sydney Olympic Games, a former coach first gave me a substance he told me was flaxseed oil. As it turned out, the “flaxseed oil” was a performance-enhancing drug (PED) now known as “the clear.”

My eyes never strayed from Judge Karas’s face. Whenever he uttered the ramifications of my guilty plea, using words like “prison,” “felony,” or “punishment,” I simply said, “Yes, I understand.” As he spoke, I thought of the shame I’d brought on my family, the sport of track and field, my former teammates, and my many supporters. I knew I’d spend a very long time trying to make up for the damage I’d caused.

Judge Karas said he wanted to schedule my sentencing hearing for January fourth. I leaned over to my attorneys and whispered that January fourth was my mother’s birthday. They politely requested a different date. The judge complied and set my sentencing date for January 11, 2008.

The hearing lasted just thirty minutes. Judge Karas banged his gavel, and the courtroom cleared.

I was not only in emotional pain, but physical pain too. I was still breast-feeding my second son, Amir, who was home in Austin being cared for by my husband Obadele Thompson. I had packed my breast pump in my suitcase so I could pump milk and not become engorged, but a piece of the pump broke off during the trip. The pump wouldn’t work, so I couldn’t pump any milk. My breasts got so engorged that I thought they might explode. They started leaking. By the end of the hearing, my pink blouse, hidden thankfully under my dark pinstriped suit, was soaked with breast milk. My breasts hurt so much that it was painful to hug people.

Outside the courtroom, a crush of people awaited my statement, which I had written in the days leading up to my courtroom appearance. I took a deep breath. I did my best to make eye contact with all who were there.

“Good afternoon, everyone. I am Marion Jones-Thompson, and I am here today because I have something very important to tell you, my fans, my friends, and my family.

“Over the many years of my life as an athlete in the sport of track and field, you have been fiercely loyal and supportive towards me. Even more loyal and supportive than words can declare has been my family, and especially my dear mother, who stands by my side today.”

I felt like crying, and then I did cry. I choked back the sobs, but I could not hold back the tears. I was wracked with humiliation and then by free-floating remorse. I paused to regain my composure.

“And so it is with a great amount of shame that I stand before you and tell you that I have betrayed your trust,” I continued, bowing my head briefly. “I want all you to know that today I pled guilty to two counts of making false statements to federal agents.

“Making these false statements to federal agents was an incredibly stupid thing for me to do, and I am fully responsible for my actions. I have no one to blame but myself for what I have done.

“To you, my fans—including my young supporters—the United States Track and Field Association, my closest friends, my attorneys, and the most classy family a person could ever hope for—namely my mother, my husband, my children, my brother and his family, my uncle, and the rest of my extended family: I want you to know that I have been dishonest. And you have the right to be angry with me.”

By then I was sobbing so hard I could barely catch my breath. I bit my lip and went on.

“I have let them down. I have let my country down. And I have let myself down.

“I recognize that by saying that I’m deeply sorry, it might not be enough and sufficient to address the pain and the hurt that I have caused you. Therefore, I want to ask for your forgiveness for my actions, and I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.

“I have asked Almighty God for forgiveness.

“Having said this, and because of my actions, I am retiring from the sport of track and field, a sport which I deeply love.”

My voice was cracking and tears streamed down my face.

“I promise that these events will be used to help make the lives of others improve, to show that making the wrong choices and bad decisions can be disastrous.

“I want to thank you all for your time.”

I could see the hands clapping, but I barely heard the applause.

The calm strength I had tried to display in the courtroom was gone, washed away by a flood of tears. I embraced my mother and cried. We then threaded through the throng, climbed into an awaiting car with both of my attorneys, Hill Allen and Henry DePippo, and drove away without taking any questions.

But for me, questions remained. What would be my punishment? Would I go to jail? I prayed not. My young children and husband needed me.

My ordeal was what the media would call a “stunning fall from grace.” For more than a decade, I had been hailed as the “the fastest woman on the planet.” At the 2000 Olympic Games, I became the first woman ever to win five medals at one Olympics. That same year, the Associated Press and ESPN named me “Athlete of the Year.” I was on the cover ofVogue, Time, Newsweek, and Sports Illustrated. I seemed to have it all—fame, fortune, talent, and international acclaim. Now it was gone—all of it, because I had exercised bad judgment, made bad decisions, and lied about it all when it was absolutely essential to tell the truth.

We drove away from the courthouse in silence. I rested my head against the seat back and stared vacantly out the window. There is an old African proverb that goes something like this: “A concealed disease can’t be healed.” Confession is always good for the soul. Deep down, I knew that my confession was the beginning of the healing process for me.

For most of us, the words “I’m sorry” are the two hardest words to say. I know they are for me. I used to assume that if I apologized, I’d show weakness. But it is just the...