When my editors asked me to write a “State of the Union” message about road racing, it seemed after some consideration an enviable opportunity to resign as a Senior Editor. I have been reporting on this sport in these pages for four-and-a-half years. This has not been a large part of my life but it often seems a major portion of road racing’s. So much has changed.
In my first column, Herb Lindsay was mentioned as “the newest sensation,” Lasse Viren won the Philadelphia Distance Run, Patti Lyons set a half-marathon record of 1:14:04 and Joan Benoit’s 2:35:41 win at the Nike/OTC Marathon was just 26 seconds slower than her own American standard. I outkicked Debbie Eide in that same race.
If only my writing had improved as much as Eide’s running. She made the World Championships last year and I am still cranking out the verbiage for a bunch of guys who can remember the winning times for Edwin Moses’ entire winning streak. Maybe Eide worked harder; certainly she is more talented.
Last year was a tough year for many of us. In retrospect it seemed a particularly difficult one for road racing. Benoit’s awesome 2:22:43 World Record didn’t seem to generate as much publicity as did the pacing controversy which followed. The only recollection most of have of the Pan American Games is the drug scandal which saw a couple – or was it dozens? – of Americans flying home in alleged disgrace.
The best I can figure, if you’re a woman, you can now set a World Record in four different categories, i.e., a women-only race, a mixed-sex event, a point-to-point route, and a loop course. So much for a lack of opportunity.
This sport, which would seem so elemental, appears curiouser and curiouser. I particularly like the new IAAF rule which requires an Olympic participant to designate, before the semis, the brand of shoes he or she will wear in the finals. This regulation undoubtedly serves to protect the television spectator from the onslaught of commercialism. At the same time I truly marvel at the fact not once this year, except perhaps in jest, did I hear mentioned the infamous “contamination rule.” Little grief there.
In 1983 few people commented about Alvin Chriss or Ollan Cassell or Fred Lebow or Adriaan Paulen. Now, I believe one or more of those guys is dead or retired, but it seems positive the general acrimony of the sport has diminished. Then again, maybe this group didn’t deserve (some of) the abuse directed its way in the past.
That is probably the best news of the last year. The athletes worked hard and the politicians made their deals quietly. We all do that which we must but a certain sense of decorum was missing. It is back.
One reason the year was great and the sport improved lies in the New York City Marathon. The colossal struggle between Geoff Smith and Rod Dixon, the pace and their own bodies, was perhaps the best drama televised. Such images go far.
So too did the pictures of Mary Decker with her BMW or Carl Lewis watering the lawn in front of his palatial estate. An interpretation of amateur regulations which permits such overt capitalism certainly answers the question T&FN asked in 1979: “Is TAC really a new organization or just the same old AAU with a different name?”
Such philosophical quandaries were of major important to me a few years back. Now, when I realize I could really care less about which marathon has the most entries or whether the money is above the table or under it, my enthusiasm is renewed. My fatigue was the result of too much caring about too many unimportant segments of running. I had forgotten about the dedication, the discipline, the physical genius, the guts of an Alberto Salazar or Greg Meyer. I believe the running community was forgetting also.
1983 was the year we all remembered. 1983 seemed a time of reaffirmation, a rebirth of the fire which warms the souls of both runners and Tafnuts alike. “Let the agents and promoters fight it out,” the athletes seem to be saying. “We must prepare for the Olympics.”
Unfortunately, I also believe this renewal of spirit will last only until the conclusion of the men’s Olympic marathon. Then all hell will break loose. I will watch it. I may report it, but I avowedly will not let the inevitable commercialism cloud my love for the sport.
There are only six things more beautiful than two great athletes giving their utmost to win a race. I shall never again forget that.
I am not resigning either. I like it here.
Am I going fast enough for you, Alberto?