In the early miles of a recent half-marathon, I was sure something was wrong with my heart monitor. That or I was picking up the signal of a runner near me. How else to explain 180 BPM, a level I rarely reach even in the latter stages of speed workouts? Sure, the course had a few hills in its first half, but none steep enough to explain these readings. And the temperature was only in the upper-60s. I felt fine and wasn’t struggling at all in spite of the puzzling numbers. Then, halfway through the race, the course exited a park setting and took to the streets. And instantly, my heart rate came down. In hindsight, there could be only one cause: humidity. A pre-race rainstorm combined with the heavily wooded park created very high humidity. And if you’ve been reading any previews of the upcoming Olympic marathons, you know competitors will be facing even worse conditions. And we’re not talking about something remedied with a little extra hydration. Performance will suffer, period. Elite runners who’ve faced similar conditions as Beijing seem to have a universal refrain: I simply couldn’t run as fast as usual. Some think this may even the field. Some think it will only increase the East African advantage. But one thing is sure for Ryan Hall and Deena Kastor and everyone else toeing the start line. Running at this level is about managing pain. And this one promises a whole new level of hurt.
Rosie and Barry and Frank
Frank Shorter, the 1972 Olympic marathon gold medalist, may never have met Rosie Ruiz and Barry Bonds. But, sadly, he knows the type. When Shorter won in Munich in ‘72, he was preceded into the stadium by an Ruiz-like impostor, a high school student who jumped onto the track and entered the stadium to a roar from the crowd. Shorter never saw the young man and had no concern about his own win, but was admittedly puzzled when the crowd was silent as the American ran onto the track for his final meters. Much more troublesome was the impostor who stole the roar from Shorter at the 1976 Olympics in Montreal. Waldemar Cierpinski, an East German, took the gold medal (Shorter won the silver) and followed up with another gold in the 1980 Olympics. But before there was a BALCO and a Barry Bonds, there was the East German athletics system now known to have supplied performance enhancing drugs to thousands of their best athletes. And evidence strongly suggests Cierpinski was one of them. So, once more, Shorter entered a stadium in silence. But, to his credit, he is philosophical about the twin experiences. He claims it helped him understand what he was running for: Not the attention or acclaim, but for something both deeper and higher. Something never attained by the two who preceded him – literally, but never figuratively – into the arena.
The Dean
I suspect a number of students at Rhodes College in Memphis are daily visitors to YouTube. But a lot of them don’t know a simple search of the last name of their dean of admissions would expose them to one of the greatest races in Olympic history. You see, there are closing kicks. And then there’s what Dave Wottle did in the 800 meter final at Munich in 1972. Even today, knowing the outcome, it’s difficult to fathom what Wottle accomplished. His style was always to lay back and it certainly worked at the national level, but it’s a tactic to send you home medal-less in the Olympics. So when Wottle throttled up at 500 meters, he appeared to have little chance. And even with 10 meters to go, having passed all but two challengers, he seemed destined only for bronze. Wottle always wore a golf hat when he ran, an eccentricity that drew attention away from his world class talent. Today, it’s the title “Dean of Admissions” that masks the truth. But it doesn’t have to. Go to YouTube. Search “Wottle.” And enjoy.
