Masai Russell needs a name for her alter ego. Something like Sasha Fierce, who was the aggressive, audacious version of Beyoncé. Like Tina Snow: the raw-but-smooth, street-savvy side of Megan Thee Stallion. Or Cindi Mayweather: the futuristic revolutionary core of Janelle Monáe.
Russell, 24, is searching for the perfect moniker to acknowledge and personify the other half of her dichotomized existence. Her boyfriend, Rob Springfield — also an alum of the Kentucky Wildcats track program and an assistant coach at Morehead State — “likes to call her ‘pretty killer,’” Russell said. But that’s more a description than an identity.
At 5-foot-4 and slender enough to evade raindrops, Russell is the opposite of intimidating in appearance. With a smile worthy of a commercial, doting eyes and perennially immaculate makeup, her aura exudes more model than monster.
But the monster is in there. And it savors the hardest tasks.
“When I step out on a line,” Russell said, “or when I step up against something challenging, something in me is just like, ‘We’re gonna get this done. We’re gonna attack this to the best of your ability, and we’re gonna get it done.’ … The other side of me, the alter ego side, the side that competed at the Olympics, I think that side would say, ‘Abso-f—ing-lutely.’”
Russell is the Olympic 100-meter hurdles champion because of a sheer will she’d imagined but never experienced. Pushed to the brink of doubt, she drew from a well only evidenced by faith. She projected success in her mind. Instead of obsessing over film, she poured through the mental tapes of winning. Visualizing victory. Manifesting glory.
She hit the second hurdle in the final at the Stade de France in Paris last month. She was hovering around fifth place after the sixth hurdle. But she found something extra in her kick. After the tenth hurdle, over the final 10 meters in the race of her life, Russell found that which she sought, birthing the monumental figure she was certain existed. She didn’t win gold as much as she snatched it. Seizing validation and prestige with an entitlement born of resolve.
The newly crowned Russell debuts on American soil in her new skin as a burgeoning star. Athlos NYC — the first-of-its-kind track event exclusively showcasing women — lights up New York’s Icahn Stadium on Thursday night. Gabby Thomas, winner of three Olympic gold medals, headlines the event in the 200-meter. Alexis Holmes, anchor of the blazing 4×400 women’s relay in Paris, highlights the 400-meter race. Brittany Brown, bronze medalist in the 200 in Paris, will run both the 100 and 200. Kenyan distance runner Faith Kipyegon, who won gold and silver this Summer, is the favorite of the 1,500-meter race.
Athlos NYC, which is paying out a total of $500,000 in prizes for six races, was, in essence, designed for Russell. The goal of the event, the brainchild of investor Alexis Ohanian, co-founder of Reddit and an Angel City FC co-owner, is to shine a light on the worthy women stars of track and field. The bet is American sports fans will love them once they witness them, know them. And Russell stands to be proof of concept.
That’s why she needs an alter-ego name. The brand she’s been building since her high school days must now make room for the part of her that summoned this stardom.
Actually, a fitting name does exist. It embodies the characteristics of her alter ego while also explaining her origins. It’s a name from a heroine figure who best explains Russell.
Sharon Jones.
Her mother’s maiden name.
“My mom is a straight gangsta,” Russell said. “She might be more gangsta than me, honestly. Because she’s really from the trenches.
“She’s my biggest inspiration. Everything that I know has come from her. The way that I handle myself. The way that I handle business. My work ethic. Everything.”
Her mother, Dr. Sharon Russell, is an oral surgeon in Maryland. She has two bachelor’s degrees from UMass, honors in biology and cum laude in nursing. She later earned a doctorate with honors from Howard University’s College of Dental Medicine. Now, she is renowned in her field. She’s one of the best in the state, earning the prestigious position of diplomate of the American Board of Oral and Maxillofacial Surgery.
Dr. Russell resembles the status she’s reached. She’s almost certainly in the running for America’s flyest surgeon. So much so, she often has to remind patients she’s the doctor. Not only are Black women rare in her field. But how often do you see a doctor wearing Fendi with laid edges and meticulous lashes?
But the story of Masai Russell, and the fortitude that formed her, begins with her mother in Dorchester, Mass. Raised by a single mom, Clarise Jones, in one of Boston’s roughest neighborhoods.
Rags to riches stories are common enough to be cliche, except for those who lived it. And Dr. Russell still feels every bit of her journey. Even from the peak of the mountain, she doesn’t lose sight of the climb.
“I beat the odds,” she said, the pride punctuating her voice. “Growing up in a very poor area in Massachusetts, a very racist environment, the odds were against us. Thank God for my mother who found a way. My father was an alcoholic. I lost my brother to a drug overdose. I lost many cousins to drugs with the crack epidemic. My other brother is in and out of jail.”
Dr. Russell, who can shift gears in a conversation like a Formula One driver on a track, pauses for a moment. It’s a couple hours until noon in Maryland and she’s forsaking a call to take this trip down memory lane. The perks of being the boss. But the date pops in her head.
“Today is the 18th, correct?” she asked.
Sept. 18 was the 23rd anniversary of her brother’s death. The same brother who encouraged her to become a doctor. The sudden sadness weighs down her voice. The reminders of her journey are always near.
“He was the inspiration driving me towards the path of dentistry,” Dr. Russell said. “I knew I was going to be a doctor. I didn’t know what type. He was always going to Tufts University to get his teeth cleaned. He was always talking about oral health. … He was a professional. But he got caught up on crack cocaine, then went to heroin and, you know, died of a drug overdose.”
So after a little over a decade as a nurse, she changed careers and went after the white coat. It led to some uncertain times. A mother grinding up a professional ladder, building an empire. It took some long days. And hard nights. And fervent prayers. And a Mitsubishi Galant powered by the little engine that could.
“People think that our lives have always just been perfect,” Dr. Russell said. “It hasn’t. We’ve had electricity cut off. We’ve had the water cut off. I was driving around in a beat-up car like, ‘Please let it just work until I finish my residency.’”
The doctor and her husband, Mark, the chief operating officer of the practice, did their best to shield their growing family from the struggles. They had the joys of a vibrant nuclear family. Happy holidays. Hearty fun. The kind of happiness void of a price tag. Like when mom would take off her shoes and race her kids barefoot in front of their house. Before Masai Russell was an Olympic champ, she was getting smoked on Old Largo Road by her matriarch.
Eventually, they found affluence. And Russell could attend the fancy private school, Bullis. And the family could afford the expensive sports pursuits of their children. And they all could don the hottest fashion and dabble in extravagance.
Their youngest daughter, Solai, now at Bullis, only knows the lavishness of their lives. But Russell can remember the journey. Unprotected from the struggle just enough to witness the urgency of hunger, to feel the pressure of having little room for error. She remembers the loneliness of her parents being unable to make some of her early meets because work called. Especially her mom, who leaned on her husband to be the sports dad while she pursued her daunting profession.
“My mom was the first-generation doctor in our family,” Russell said. “The first seven-figure person in our family. She paved the way. … Seeing that example as a little girl growing up. You see your mom working, you see your mom grinding and getting everything that she wanted and working for everything that she has. It’s just inspiring. She’s my hero. … Having the cards that she was dealt with, and the outcome that she ended up having, it’s crazy. Like, crazy.”
That same defiant spirit is evident in Russell. When she stands at the starting line, with a piercing stare, rocking side to side as the swelling intensity in her petite frame is too much to be still. She looks like a prized fighter. Like DMX is playing in her head.
It took the fight of her life to get to this level.
For many, Paris was their introduction to Russell. Watching her bouncing on the track while looking up at the video board, waiting for the results after a photo finish. Commanding, “Give it to me. Give it to me.” It was easy to feel her joy as she took off running and screaming when she saw her name first, the kind of raw emotion that makes the Olympics special.
She was a talent with few accolades. Always on the cusp of special. A 2023 Bowerman Award semifinalist at Kentucky, she finished second in the 100 and 400 hurdles at the 2023 NCAAs, just missing out on a national championship. She finished third at the U.S. Championships a month later.
Her talks for an endorsement deal fell through after Kentucky, even though she’d become a social media star, and Russell went unsponsored out of college. In her sport, sponsorship deals serve as a measure of expectation. Not getting one was a blow.
Then came the 2023 World Championships in Hungary. She didn’t make it to the final, failing to finish in the semifinal heat. She was reduced to tears in an interview with Tiara Williams.
Even in that moment, her declaration of “I know I’m not done” was the alter ego fighting for her survival. Her willingness to be vulnerable was a refusal to cower. The struggle wasn’t yet over, though. Her times would fall off and she’d develop a new habit of hitting the hurdle.
She clocked in at 12.88 seconds at the Los Angeles Grand Prix in May, followed by 12.80 seconds at the Prefontaine Classic a week later, about a half-second off what she’d likely need to contend for gold in Paris. A significant regression in performance. She ran 12.71 as a junior at Kentucky, and 12.36 seconds as a senior.
Russell was ready to not even go to the U.S. Trials. Quitting track felt more likely.
“I just started to care how people were perceiving me and what they thought of me,” Russell said. “So my mind was just everywhere, and it wasn’t focused on just competing, just the goals. Then it was like, ‘All right, now you’re hitting hurdles. Now this and now that.’ It was just a hit to the gut. I was thinking there was no way I can get back down to that. There’s no possible way.”
It was but a moment of weakness, common in a torturous sport. As always, the formidable challenge was motivation. It helped her reclaim a competitive mentality. She was in shape. She’d put in the work. She just needed to battle.
Russell blazed through the Olympic trials, setting the American record with a time of 12.25 seconds. She was back. It was validation for the woman who decided to fight back through tears in Budapest. It was a reclamation of confidence heading into Paris. It was a coming-out party for her to-be-named alter ego.
“There were some times,” she said, “I’m not gonna lie, where doubt, where the power of my tongue, was trying to get the best of me. But I just kept telling myself that I’m built for this. I was meant for this.”
She gets it from her mama.
Masai Russell
Masai Russell has an emotional moment on the podium at the Stade de France outside of Paris during the ceremony for her Olympic gold medal in the 110-meter hurdles.
(Top photo of Masai Russell celebrating her gold medal in Paris: Tim Clayton
Marcus Thompson II is a lead columnist at The Athletic. He is a prominent voice in the Bay Area sports scene after 18 years with Bay Area News Group, including 10 seasons covering the Warriors and four as a columnist. Marcus is also the author of the best-selling biography “GOLDEN: The Miraculous Rise of Steph Curry.”
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