EDITOR: Will you ask if China is ready to devote the time and specialization it takes to become world class?

FEMALE VOICE: He says, absolutely.

EDITOR: Was he an athlete himself?

FEMALE VOICE: When he was twenty he had great hopes of going to the Olympics. That was thirty years ago, a time of great turmoil in China.

WHISPER:…beans, peanuts, pickled walnuts, fish stomachs and celery flambé…

MALE CHINESE VOICE: Ganbei!

FEMALE VOICE: He says, "To the good health of your country."

ALL: Ganbei!

EDITOR: If one shows athletic talent is he given special dispensation by the government?

FEMALE VOICE: He says, yes.

BLING: Yes, indeedy!

FEMALE VOICE: He says that the person with particular talent will get better food.

BLING: That's why the basketball team has those giants. One eight-foot-eight fucker called the Mongolian Tower! That's quite lofty.

EDITOR: Is there a philosophy… I mean, what's the party line on physical fitness?

FEMALE VOICE: He says the party line is to become healthy first and then friendship and then competition.

EDITOR: I knew there had to be a party line. So why, ask him, did they never address the issue of fitness before, because -

BLING: They did address it. Mao made a big point of it. He was a goddamn health nut.

EDITOR: I mean was Mao aware of the fitness of the nation?

(Long Chinese conversation back and forth)

FEMALE VOICE: In 1953 Chairman Mao noticed China's health standard was low… because of disease and poverty. So after the liberation in '53 Chairman Mao decided to make it a special issue.

WHISPER:… pickled cherries, pressed duck, shredded ham, mashed mollusks, dugong dumplings, goose ganbeied…

MALE CHINESE VOICE: Ganbei!

FEMALE VOICE: He says, "To the sportsmen of China and the U.S."

ALL: Ganbei!

EDITOR: Ask them what they prescribe for an athlete who's injured? Do they use acupuncture?

FEMALE VOICE: He says, "Yes."

EDITOR: Can he give me any specifics of athletes who had acupuncture used on them?

FEMALE VOICE: He says he can only give personal experience. He was injured once and cured with acupuncture.

BLING: You know what the most recent study proves? I'll tell you what the most recent study proves: That acupuncture works according to just how fucking educated you are. The more educated, the less it works. Ganbei to the ignorant.

WRITER: Better watch that stuff, Bling.

BLING: Know why it's called Mao-tai? I'll tell you why it's called Mao-tai. Mao had it invented when he couldn't get a good mai tai.

WRITER: Bling's fortifying himself for the heartfelt thank-you he's going to give Mr. Mude for all this free succor. Good God, look what I found in my soup. A chicken head!

BLING: You better keep it. That's the only head you're gonna get in China.

WRITER: Let's see what else -

WHISPER: He's going in again, folks. Look out!

WRITER: Well, here's your basic pullybone.

WHISPER: He's working his way down, folks.

WRITER: Pull, Big Tooth, win a wish.

FEMALE VOICE: He won't know that. He won't, from the southwest -

BLING: She's right. I've never seen a wishbone pulled anywhere but Pittsburgh.

WRITER: Whatcha mean? Look there. His buddy knows. Okay, cuz, you pull.

PHOTOG: Let me get a shot -

ALL: He wins.

WRITER: You win. Ask him what his name is again.

FEMALE VOICE: He says his name is Yang.

EDITOR: Ask him what his time is.

FEMALE VOICE: He says – oh, he is very embarrassed; we've: made him blush – that he has no time. '

EDITOR: No time? Hasn't he ever run a marathon before?

FEMALE VOICE: No. The older fellow says he is a very good runner though.

EDITOR: Why was he invited?

FEMALE VOICE: His friend says because he; Yang, has very good wins in 5,000.

EDITOR: What was his time in 5,000?

FEMALE VOICE: He says he does not know his time. No times were taken.

WRITER: Ask him – ask him about his family.

FEMALE VOICE: He says he lives with his aunt and uncle near Qufu. And his mother. He says his father is dead.

WRITER: An orphan! Here's our story. The Cinderella orphan marathoner! A minority, unknown, shy, out of Outer Mongolia, sails past the pack and takes the gold. Just what I been wishing for…

EDITOR: Very nice. But he was the one that got the wish.

MALE CHINESE VOICE: (something in Chinese) Ganbei!

FEMALE VOICE: To the Long March!

ALL: Ganbei!

EDITOR: To the Long Run!

ALL: Ganbei!

BLING: To the MX missile system!

ALL: Ganbei!

WRITER: Now you've stepped in it, Bling. Here comes our dude Mude.

FEMALE VOICE: The gentleman of the press says that is Mr. Xu Liang coming with Mr. Mude. Our fastest runner. He has run in two hours thirteen something.

EDITOR: Two-thirteen! That isn't loafing.

MUDE: Good evening. I would like to introduce you to our Chinese champion, Mr. Xu Liang.

ALL: Ganbei!

WRITER: He tosses 'em, the champ does.

BLING: And this don't look like the champ's first stop. Hey, Xu Liang! To the Pittsburgh Pirates!

ALL: Ganbei!

MUDE: By the way, Mr. Wu; I have something for you. Be so kind.

BLING: What is it?

MUDE: Your official packet – your passes and name card and number. You have been invited to participate tomorrow, Mr. Wu. To run.

BLING: Oh, shit.

EDITOR: Bling? To run tomorrow?

MALE CHINESE VOICE: Ganbei!

ALL: Ganbei!

MUDE: Gentlemen and ladies, I must take Mr. Xu Liang to other tables.

EDITOR: Goodbye.

ALL: Ganbei!

BLING: Ohhh, shit…

WHISPER:… and now the desserts: almond noodles in mandarin orange sweet syrup, glazed caramel apples that are dropped hot in cold water to harden the glaze; no fortune cookies – never any Chinese fortune cookies in China…

Past midnight at the Beijing Airport, a rickety DC-3 fights its way down through a rising crosswind. It was coming in from North Korea with more than a ton of red ginseng and one passenger, on the last leg of a many-legged flight originating in Tanzania.

Magapius woke to find himself unloaded on a windy airstrip. The shadowy workers loading the bundles of ginseng on a truck didn't speak to him, and he felt it would be futile to try to speak to them. He stood beside his suitcase and watched, feeling more and more melancholy. When all the crates were on the truck he stepped forward to ask, "Beijing?"

The workers stared at him as if he had just appeared. "I run," he told them, demonstrating his stride. "Beijing." A worker grinned and jabbered, then they all grinned and jabbered. They loaded his bag in the back of the truck. Magapius was about to crawl in after it but the workers insisted otherwise. They made him sit in the cab with the driver. They rode in back.

In the Chinese compound Yang rolled from his cot and tiptoed around his snoring roommate and closed the window. The wind had not wakened him. He had not been asleep.

He looked down the street stretching dimly below his hotel window. The start at Tien An Men Square some ten kilometers to his right, the turnaround some twenty to his left. He did not think about the finish, only about the two cut-off points. He must stay close to Zhoa, who had accomplished this 20-K time before; then he must keep going that fast to the 35-K mark, even if he collapsed ten paces after. He could get up and walk then, if he chose, and return to the square hours behind the ten winners. If the million spectators had all gone home, all the better.