Goldengirl

Sportswriters in Olympic year can be forgiven for seeing it differently. U.S. women’s sprinting has been dominated by black girls — Wilma Rudolph and Wyomia Tyus the most brilliant — since the Olympics recommenced after World War II. The last white American of top class was 1936 Olympic champion Helen Stephens. A fast blonde may be a cliché, but she’s rare enough in reality to rate star treatment in 1980. Since her breakthrough in Eugene, Goldine’s story has made the pages of almost every publication except the Harvard Business Review. And her tall, shapely figure (36-24-36) is becoming as familiar as the smiles of the presidential candidates.

While Goldine adapts to the pressures of the media, Ursula in Berlin bears the ballyhoo of Olympic year with the cool of a seasoned campaigner. Since her European Cup triumphs a year ago, she has taken over as East Germany’s most glamourous sportsgirl. Previous incumbents include the beautiful (and since twice-married) blond diver Ingrid Krämer, a triple gold medalist, and attractive gymnast Karen Janz, who robbed Olga Korbut and comrades of two gold medals in the Munich Olympics. Any idea that glamour has no place in a Communist society is given the lie by pinup posters of Ursula, in tracksuit, that share many a German bedroom wall with Marx and Lenin. Her running shorts are cut with a dash that beats all records. ‘If you have good legs, it does no harm to show them,’ she explains in a highly serious tone. ‘Running is kind to my legs. It keeps them in shape. Skiing and cycle racing aren’t so good. If I was a cyclist, maybe I would wear less revealing shorts.’ She still admitted slight irritation at the maneuvers of our cameraman. ‘Always the back view. What is it about my butt? People say I turn my back on the camera deliberately, but I don’t. I’m conscious of my body, but only important things, like knee lift and leg cadence.’

If such dedication argues total indifference to the effect she creates, it is reassuring to learn that Ursula spends up to an hour each day answering fan mail, much of it requests for a certain photo in which she is bent forward as if to receive the baton in a relay race, but winking at the camera. She has no steady boyfriend, despite persistent offers of dates. ‘There will be time after Moscow,’ she says. ‘I don’t think I should want to go out with an athlete. I like to talk about other things than track.’