Herewith, The Perdita Rule Book.
Not that Perdita Felicien, the star Canadian hurdler, is laying out her strict behavioural code, item by item, on the table.
But it's clear that she has become her own mechanic.
"I know what works for me and what doesn't," she states in a commanding tone.
That includes rules about interviews. Face questions straight on. Fly over them gracefully like a gazelle.
"To me, it wasn't the worst thing to ever happen to a human being. It was just one moment in time," she says, when asked about the incident she can never escape - her collision with the first hurdle and crash to the track in the Athens Olympic final in 2004, when she was favoured to win for Canada after having taken the 2003 world title in Paris. The fall injured her heel, which led to further injuries.
"I can't escape that narrative, but I can change it," she says.
She recently did. Ms. Felicien, who is 27, has just returned from an overseas racing circuit, the highlight of which was her big comeback moment, a silver medal in the 100-metre hurdles at the IAAF World Championships in Osaka, Japan.
Some of her rules are for the day of a race; some are for how she will train for the Beijing Olympics in 2008 and beyond; and some are for her beloved mother.
"It's a work in progress," Ms. Felicien says in jest about her mother, Cathy Moe, who came to Canada to work as a live-in nanny at the age of 20 from St. Lucia. "I'm still, on a regular basis, giving her rules. Luckily, she takes instruction very well."
Such as? No more telephone contact numbers when she is competing in Europe.
"She likes to call on a whim, but she forgets that Europe is hours ahead," says Ms. Felicien, the third of five children.
No more unapproved T-shirts.
"I'm, like, listen Mom, before you do anything, show me the proofs." Ms. Felicien doesn't want to relive the embarrassment of a competition when she was a teenager living in Pickering, Ont. "My mom shows up, but she doesn't put the shirt on until I have finished the race and I've won. On the front it says, 'Go Perdita Go.' But that wasn't the kicker. She turned around, and on the back it said, 'Perdita's Mom.' "
What did she do? "Oh, I walked away," Ms. Felicien says, exploding with laughter.
And no press reports to be read aloud.
"I don't read any of my own press," she says. "I have a hard time separating something that's been written from who I am as a person.... But my mom would often not ask if I wanted to hear it, and she'd just start reading it in her orator's voice. She is proud."
No questions about a disappointing track result.
"Mom means well. She'd be, like, 'Oh honey, you were fourth. What happened? Are you okay?' "
But the strictest behavioural code is for the track.
"If people could see the way I am in a race, I'm glad I'm a different person off the track," she says with a giggle.
Her rules are not friendly.
Imagine ducks. "I have this thing that I say to myself in my head. It's called duck hunting. I think, 'I'm gonna smash some ducks today.' "
No eye contact with her competitors.
"I'm all about a stone face."
No small talk except with her coach, Gary Winckler, who has worked with her since she was a student at the University of Illinois.
Don't think too much.
"The times when I am running the best are when it feels effortless. The body is on autopilot, doing what you have trained it to do."
Pretend you don't hear if someone asks for help putting on her number.
