Narrative from 1972 by Jeff Galloway
Reflections from an long distance runner who unexpectedly qualified for the US Olympic Team.
Training for the Olympics is stressful, time consuming, full of unexpected downturns—with the hope of a few exhilarating moments. In my era, the 1970’s, there was almost no possibility of making a living off of one’s competitive career. So when I took on the two-year challenge to train for the Munich Olympic Trials; to be held in Eugene OR, in late June 1972. I was self-coached, earning my master’s degree at Florida State and working part time jobs to pay the rent and the food bill for my high mileage training. But I gladly accepted this challenge with the primary goal of becoming the best runner I could be.
Twenty-three months later I had suffered through over twenty (20) injuries, including four that nearly ended my quest. I had logged over 14,000 miles, and had improved my US national ranking from 100+ to about 20th. I was proud of my progress, but only the top three finishers in the Olympic Trials race, went to Munich. It didn’t matter that the odds were against me—I was finding hidden strength driving me from the inside which was vividly empowering.
I had qualified for the marathon trials in February but was 90 seconds short of qualifying for the 10K trials race. That was equivalent to about 3.5 seconds per lap, which at the National level was a huge gap between me and the other contenders. Thanks to my Florida Track Club teammate Frank Shorter, who had secured low cost housing in Vail CO, I trained with him and Jack Bacheler at high altitude for eight weeks before my last chance to make the 10K standard: the National Track & Field Championships–about two weeks before the trials.
I was averaging a bit over 140 miles a week. Here was my basic schedule during my two years in Tallahassee.
· Sunday: Alternating a long run of 26-30 miles one week and on the next Sunday, an easy morning 10mi. and race pace 10mi. in the afternoon. Races would usually be scheduled on the third week—usually on a Saturday.
· Monday: Easy 10mi. in the morning. Afternoon: 10 mile scenic or social run with friends.
· Tuesday: Easy 10mi. in the morning. Afternoon: Interval speed workout, 5-6 miles, 1 mile of drills and 4mi. of warm up and warm down.
· Wednesday: Easy 10mi. in the morning. Afternoon: 10 mile scenic or social run with friends.
· Thursday: Easy 10mi. in the morning. Afternoon 10 miler: a mixture of hills, form drills, and race pace runs.
· Friday: Easy 10mi. morning run. Afternoon: easy 10 miles.
· Saturday: Easy 10mi. morning run. Easy 10 miles in the afternoon.
I didn’t race while at Vail—so every day was for training. Long runs were paced 2-3 min/mi slower than current marathon pace. Other easy days were slow to allow for recovery from the tough workouts—about 7 minutes per mile.
During my almost two years in Tallahassee (before Vail) I ran my speed workouts mostly on the track. Vail didn’t have a track, so we ran our speedwork on the only golf course – 9 holes. (Guy comment: grass surface may have been a blessing) I hung on to Jack and Frank during each of these workouts and was huffing and puffing as never before—in contrast to the respiration rate of my teammates. I knew that this was due to the 8200-foot altitude and that I was running with the top two ranked distance runners in the US. It was my hope that these extreme efforts would elevate my fitness without leaving me exhausted for the National Championships. While I did have my share of exhaustion, the recovery was often only two days. But when I felt unusually tired or a joint was “complaining”, I ran the warmup with Jack and Frank and jogged back to my residence.
My last long run in Vail (26 miles) was eight days before the Nationals and 4 weeks before the Munich marathon trial. I ran comfortably at a pace that was about two minutes per mile slower than my recent marathon race pace and felt so strong that I picked up the pace during the last six miles—which could have been a mistake. But the next morning I was out the door on my “taper” toward the Nationals and then the Munich Trials. I felt really good.
In saving resources for the big races ahead, I continued to run twice a day, but cut the mileage to 5-7 miles on each run. It felt like I was on vacation. I didn’t run any speed workouts but loved doing 4-8 of my acceleration-glider drills about every other day.
During my last week in Vail I was on my own—Shorter and Bacheler were getting settled in Eugene and Seattle for the next few weeks. I ran my farewell tour on loops through the town and packed just about all of my earthly belongings into my 1963 Volvo, which I called “Mobley”. Every day I studied the collection of maps I had acquired in past trips and calculated driving time to be about twenty hours.
I planned to wake up about 4 a.m. and arrive at athlete housing at the University of Washington dorms about midnight the night before my 10K race. This would allow for a good night’s sleep for the 10K race the following afternoon.
THREE WEEKS TO GO TO THE TRIALS: After 8 Weeks Of Altitude Training I Was Injury-Free But Could I Run Fast Enough To Qualify
I went to bed early but could not sleep. I was excited, but nervous as to whether my 2 months of tough altitude training would pay off as dozens of thoughts circled and pinged me. Wide awake at midnight, I jogged for 20 minutes through the quiet village, then I cranked up Mobley and headed West. I sensed that I was ready for a good performance–but would never have thought of new level of success I was about to experience.
My training to be Navigation Officer on my ship off Viet Nam in the Navy served me well in organizing my maps and staying on track. But long drives can allow the ancient “monkey brain” to react to the upcoming possible stress and secrete anxiety hormones.
When I started to feel nervous about the next day’s race—my last chance to qualify for the Olympic Trials 10K, I mentally did what my teammate Frank Shorter would do. Frank was a master at setting up cognitive thoughts and then plans to activate the human brain. So when I broke down the anticipated race into components and set a goal for each one the human brain took control, over-riding the “monkey” and the hormones went away.
I had many days during my graduate studies at Florida State when I questioned my continued motivation to train for little hope of making it to Munich and no hope of a career. As I drove on through Idaho and into Washington State I remembered feeling the stress of several papers being due, having to take my shift at the sandwich shop, my car was in the shop and I needed more money to pay the bill and still had second 10 mile workout to do that day.
But my time at Vail and the impending National Championship engaged my focus and motivation. I had doubts about various aspects of my life but was totally into giving everything I had in the race in Seattle.
As I turned off the freeway and headed toward the University of Washington dorms, I was excited about the chance to qualify, taking a short run and sleeping! The question that kept circling in brain was whether my “investment” in altitude training would pay off. I had not run a track race in almost 3 months. I had only run on a track once during that period. It didn’t matter that the research was inconclusive. Like many of my big life decisions, I believed that high altitude training would give me an edge. I was committed to the belief, it was real and concrete. It had to be.
It was late afternoon when I checked into the dorms at University of Washington, after waiting in line with fellow athletes. There was a longer wait for the slow elevator so I lugged my bag of clothes and shoes up 8 flights of stairs, put on my Nike Boston training flats walked down the stairwell and jogged to the U of W track.
It was twilight and most of the events for that day had finished. There were some prelims in the field events still active, and random athletes like me doing their own “bonding with the track”, which was inside the giant Huskie Stadium. After such a long drive, I felt the need to “ find my legs again”, and pulled off the energy of the other athletes as I did my accelerations around the curve and down the straightaway.
I grabbed a quick meal at the dining hall and was ready for bed—after the 23-hour drive and no sleep the night before. Some athletes were talking and laughing a few doors down from my room so I introduced myself. I was invited to join their party for $5—and I politely passed on that opportunity. There were seven shot putters, at least a dozen empty beer cans and several discarded pizza boxes on the floor. It was a “reverse celebration” among those who did not make the shot put final the next day. A sinking feeling hit me, as I fell on my bed, that sleep might be hard to come by.
After about an hour of very sound sleep I heard shouting and cheering in the hallway. Then there was a series of dull thuds, and some “clanking” sounds. I peeked out and there were three or four shot putters cheering one who was throwing his sixteen-pound ball into the cinderblock wall. Then another. I started to tell them that I had a big race the next day but the smell of beer was strong and a huge guy in the hallway just glared at me – so I went back and lay down, wide awake. I couldn’t believe that they were going strong until after 4 a.m.
My race was scheduled for early afternoon. So I got about two or three hours of sleep during the morning until the dorm cleanup crew came to find that the overnight competition had knocked out a four-foot hole in the cinderblock wall between two rooms.
I got to the track about an hour before the start of the 10K. There were perhaps 500 spectators in a stadium that could hold, maybe 50,000. Jack and Frank were at the check-in table where we picked up our race numbers and instructions.
Warming up with my teammates was a calming experience. I listened to Frank break down his strategy as we jogged about a mile and then did a few accelerations. Stretching was not part of the distance running culture.
During the last minute before the start—a very long minute—I realized that I would have to run a minute and a half faster in a 10K than I had ever run. I allowed my emotional brain to be in charge and started to feel the anxiety hormones that it releases under stress. Frank was standing near me and said how ideal the weather was for a record. I said to myself, over and over again, “I can do it”. I can do it. I can do it.
The gun fired and we were off, with Frank and Jack moving toward the lead. I settled into a comfortable place in the middle of the pack – about 20 yards behind Jack. At 6’ 7” he was easy to pick out.
But as Jack and Frank moved into the lead pack, I settled into the pace that I needed to reach my qualifying standard: 70 sec/quarter mile lap (US tracks were not metric at that time). Over the past two years I had run countless workouts at that pace. I felt comfortable with the runners around me and just ahead. For the first time in a big race I did not sense that we were competing against one another—but that we were pulling one another along toward the time goal. It is so much easier to maintain a challenging pace when there are several runners running together at that pace.
At the 5K mark I was still comfortable, and I started alternating: 69 seconds one lap and 70 seconds the next. With 1.5 miles to go I noticed that Frank was in a small group at the front, but Jack had dropped back a few seconds. They were about 100 yards ahead. I felt the same stress I usually felt at the end of 10,000 meters – and about as tired – but was running two or three seconds faster on each lap and ahead of my goal time!
I finished 5th! Three of us from Florida Track Club were in the top five. Even more important to me—I had run 30 seconds faster than I needed to qualify for the Olympic Trials! This was a total of two minutes faster than my previous best time and almost five, yes over four seconds a lap, faster than I had ever run in a 10K. The investment in altitude had paid off! I was improving and my trials races were three weeks away.
RESULTS OF THE NATIONAL AAU CHAMPIONSHIP 10K
Results (6/16)
1. Greg Fredericks (Penn St) 28:08.0 American Record
2. Frank Shorter (Fla TC) 28:12.0
3. Tom Laris (NYAC) 28:12.6
4. Jack Bacheler (Fla TC) 28:13.4
5. Jeff Galloway (Fla TC) 28:30.0
6. Juan Martinez’ (Mex) 28:32.8
7. Pedro Miranda’ (Mex) 28:34.6
8. Jon Anderson (Ore TC) 28:35.4
9. Antonio Villanueva’ (Mex) 28:50.6
(Special thanks to my archivist, J Jenkins. – JG)
It was actually a bit scary that I still had those twenty-one days (21) before my Olympic Trials. Was I “peaking” too soon? After such a performance, would I have a letdown? The “monkey brain” was not letting me enjoy the moment.
One week later I answered those questions at the Rose Festival 5K in Gresham OR.
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TWO WEEKS BEFORE THE TRIALS:
Running Goals – Be Careful When You Wish For.
My mind was spinning as I left the National Championship venue in Seattle, heading South toward Eugene OR where I would compete in the Olympic Trials 10K and the marathon. As I drove, I was on an emotional high. I had achieved my teenage dream which was, at the time, totally unrealistic. But after serving my three years in the US Navy and working harder than ever for two years – I DID IT!
The struggle, the setbacks, giving up a social life – all worthwhile. I even laughed at the reality this achievement would not help me make a living – because at that moment in time it didn’t matter. I had reached a level of mental consciousness I had been striving for over two years: to focus on being the best athlete I could be.
Looking back, the life skills I learned in chopping those two minutes from my 10K time, helped me succeed in life and indeed help me make a living. But I am getting ahead of myself!
While I was extremely proud of finishing 5th in the National Championship 10K, there were at least five other runners scheduled to run in the Olympic trials 10K who didn’t run in Seattle and had much better track performances than mine. My best opportunity to make the team was in the Marathon, one week after the 10K. Would a hard effort in the first race compromise my chance in the longer classic event? As I let my thoughts flow, I realized that for every positive response, there were questions with no clear answers.
My best friend, Geoff Hollister, was heavily involved in promotions out of the Nike store he managed in Eugene. His house was like a hostel or dorm for Nike staff from HQ in Beaverton and other locations around the world. He apologized for not being able to give me my usual room at his house but it would have been too crazy there. His parents, who were my surrogate Mom and Dad on the West Coast, took me in, along with my friend Jack Bacheler. The location was usually less than a ten-minute drive to the Olympic Trials venue at Hayward Field, but away from the hyperactivity around the campus – where most athletes were housed.
Jack, Frank and I went to the track for a light workout, two days after Seattle. I was putting on my spikes for a set of acceleration-gliders when Pre came over (Steve Prefontaine, the Oregon prodigy). He congratulated me on my 10K race and qualification and asked if I had heard about a new invitational track event in Gresham OR, about a ninety-minute drive, happening in three days. I talked this over with Jack and Frank as we did our warmups. Jack wanted to go, so I agreed and we had a mission for the weekend.
Originally I had planned to do my last long run before the marathon trials (30 miles) on that weekend, but could delay a few days after the 5K race in Gresham. This 5000 meter distance (3.1 miles) was like a sprint for me, and I had only run two in my career. I looked on it as a “tune up” with no pressure. As a marathoner, everyone (including me) expected my finish to be near the back of the pack – due to the stellar field of athletes peaking for the Olympic Trials 5K.
I warmed up on the Gresham track with my teammate Jack Bacheler who was the only US qualifier for the 5K final in the Mexico City Olympics, four years earlier. I jokingly asked him how to run the 5K and he told me to put one foot in front of the other. Jack had heard Pre was running the 3K that evening, so all 5000 meter competitors would be finishing one place higher than we would have.
I wanted a general concept of a time goal and luckily found a resource. In the athlete registration area was a copy of COMPUTERIZED RUNNING TRAINING TABLES co-authored by a high school Atlanta friend Dr. Gerry Purdy. While waiting to pick up my number I found the metric table of equivalent performances between 5K and 10K. To my surprise, my new PR in the 10K of 28:30 was equivalent to a 13:36 time in the 5K. But because I did not have the type of speed needed to compete at the top in the 5K, I was sure this was not a realistic time for me. I decided to jump into the back of the pack and do as Jack said: put one foot in front of the other.
The gun fired and I found my comfort zone, about 15th place out of about twenty. At the mile, some of the runners around me were breathing heavily and I moved up a few places on the outside, holding for a lap and then passed two more. At two miles, I didn’t even focus on the time. I was surrounded by a mixture of world class runners in the 5K, steeplechase, and even the 1500 meter. I felt the stress of the effort but was surprised to find that I was holding my own and not breathing as hard as the runners around me. The leaders were only about fifteen yards ahead. I would be elated to finish in my current position of 10th.
When there are a critical mass of world class athletes in a race, there are usually periods when no one wants to take the lead. This happened after the two-mile mark. As the pace slipped just a second per lap, I began to feel like I had more bounce in my legs. With two laps to go, the pace picked up and I felt two contradictory reactions:
1. I wasn’t a fast 5K runner and could really get into oxygen debt if I took off too soon.
2. I was running with the best group of runners in my life – and loving it!
The pack was now down to eight but as the pace picked up two more runners dropped back. The leaders were now about five yards ahead.
While my instincts were to hold back – I had not been monitoring my pace – I didn’t care about anything but managing my resources to stay in this elite group. Stride for stride, one foot in front of the other, I seemed to be holding my own. And this was exhilarating!
That lap went by quickly and there was one lap to go – the traditional bell was ringing. There were two runners just ahead, one alongside and Johnny Halberstadt, a South African runner slightly behind. Johnny, who had won the NCAA 10K championship about three weeks before, started to go by me as we entered the backstretch. I didn’t waiver, but went with him and we passed the other two runners. Stride for stride around the curve we went and I was running faster than I had ever run in a race. Neither of us let up as we drove to the finish tape where Johnny edged ahead of me.
Several of my friends came by to congratulate me—and console me for finishing second. I did not need consoling, I was very happy with my result.
· My time was one of the fastest 5K times in the US: 13:41.
· I had run as hard as I could run on that day.
· This was a Personal Record.
· I had never run better in my life!
The big question: Would this continue?
My friend Guy Durkin observed years later, when you have your potential exposed, you have to recalibrate your goals. – but new potential levels of performance can be scary. I was on this emotional rollercoaster, hanging on for the best ride possible.
My physical improvements had taken two years to build to this level and my brain was trying to catch up. That evening I tried to describe to friends the mental changes that had occurred in two weeks:
· Not knowing whether I would even qualify to run in the 10K Olympic Trial.
· Making the Olympic standard in my last possible qualification race.
· Running away from faster runners in a very fast 5K.
Fourteen days ago, I envisioned myself as a third-level group who might make it into the Olympic Trials but would run at the back of the pack.
Seven days ago I had moved my expectations to a second-level group behind the Olympians, pushing them to better performances.
After this race, for the first time, I projected myself in the hunt for the Munich Olympic Team.
Yet I couldn’t enjoy my success – within the next few days I needed to run my most important marathon workout: a 30-miler. I got more than I bargained for.
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ONE WEEK+ TO GO—AND A LONG LONG WAY TO RUN
After twelve years of slow improvement, then two years of focused training with many ups and downs and eight weeks of rigorous training at 8000 feet elevation, I was on a roll! During my first week after coming down from altitude training I had improved my 10K personal record by two minutes, qualified for the Olympic Trials, and a week later, in the Rose Festival 5K, run past some of the nation’s best 5K runners in their specialty. Suddenly I found myself nationally ranked in the 5K! My unexpected performances had enrolled me in an exclusive club: those who had a chance to make the Olympic Team. But while other 10K runners were tapering off on their training I needed to run an ultra marathon.
An underlying anxiety was tied to my running history. From high school days, I had experienced an uncomfortable pattern of performance letdowns soon after major improvements. After such excitement and intensity, I sensed that I needed to relax, focus, and get ready for two big opportunities: the trial race in the 10K and then the marathon trial, one week later. When a friend invited me to spend the next few days at a family cottage on the Oregon coast, it seemed to be just what I needed.
None of my friend’s family members ran, but I enjoyed this. Its often very healthy to decompress with people who do not share the passion and anxieties around your focus. In Eugene I was energized by running with my Florida Track Club teammates Jack and Frank, also with Pre and others. But there were so many friends to connect with, and so little time to sort things out. At the beach I had time to set priorities, get focused on what I needed to do–to prepare for my 10K Trials race and the Marathon in two weeks.
The day after the Rose Festival 5K, I just relaxed—which I had not done for months. On two short runs at the beach my conscious brain sorted through the experiences of the last week and the challenges ahead. Top priority now was my last long run before the marathon trials (which were 2 weeks away) within the next two days! I had found during the last year that I needed a slow 30 mile run, two to three weeks before a key marathon to perform at my best. It wasn’t ideal to run so long, seven days before such an important 10K race—but the marathon was still my best shot at going to Munich. The next morning I was running across the wide beach at Seaside OR and then north along the shoreline—for at least four hours.
I loved running on the beach. The beach north of Seaside was a continuous strand ending at the South Jetty of the Columbia River as it entered the Pacific Ocean at Fort Stevens State Park. Locals told me that the distance was about 15 miles one way. It was a beautiful sunny day and lots of folks were enjoying the surf and sand. I was running slowly and was entertained by quirky views of the unique north Oregon beach communities and the aggressive seagulls.
This was a totally enjoyable run on the way to the Jetty and I didn’t even look at my watch. I usually ran 2 min/mi slower than my current marathon pace but this pace was about 3 min/mi slower at a 15 mile distance. I chalked this up to running in the sand and my recent races. Even in 1972 I believed that slower runs resulted in less fatigue and quicker recovery. About five miles from the beach house I suddenly felt really tired. I had forgotten this section was in loose sand. There were a few places on my foot which stung and felt like blisters. So I took regular walk breaks back to the beach house. Surprise! When I calculated the distance on a topographical map of the area the distance was about 33 miles. I spent a good bit of time treating my blisters which, thankfully, were small.
The next day I was tired but had good running form on my slow morning run. Mentally I was ready to return to Eugene and prepare for the Trials. It was a long drive on mostly two-lane roads which kept me from being worried that the long run would detract from my 10K race, now only a few days away. To fight back the negative hormones of the monkey brain I went over my past two amazing races, activating my human brain which overrides the ancient emotional brain – stopping the flow of those negative emotions for a while.
Each day during the Trials, to keep my mind off the upcoming races, I spent some time with my best friend Geoff Hollister who managed the Nike Eugene store. It was crazy busy and understaffed. My roles were greeting athletes, helping with errands and taking care of important tasks that weren’t getting done, such as cleaning the toilet!
Geoff was heavily into production of the first waffle sole shoe – which were manufactured in Eugene. I brought over supplies to the cobbler and brought a prototype to Bowerman. He wasn’t impressed with this hand-sewn model. I wanted to run at least one race in Geoff’s creation and tried it out on few short runs. But my gut told me to never run in a shoe in a race that has not been thoroughly tested on my feet – especially in the marathon (I used my trusty Nike Boston, a shoe I loved).
Jack, Frank and I ran at the track for a bit, each day and then ran a campus loop Pre had shown me. The brilliant green vegetation lit by bright sunlight set off Hayward field and the beautiful University of Oregon campus. My legs weren’t 100% after my 33-miler, but as Jack said, “When are a distance runner’s legs ever 100%?”
Olympic coach Bill Bowerman, who had trained dozens of national champions and Olympians, set up the trial schedule to mimic the Munich schedule. We ran a trial heat in the 10K as a formality, because only two runners did not go to the final. Each day the temperature rose and the predicted temps for the 10K final were over 90F.
Those of us from Florida knew this would be tough. But we also knew that heat would give us an advantage in two areas: 1.) we were heat-adapted, and 2.) we knew how to pace ourselves under hot conditions.
While both of these helped the Florida Track Club trio, it was the second, pacing, that allowed me to pull off a big surprise.
THE TRIALS: My Most Exhilarating Race—But One Man Down
The longest day of the trials for me was July 2nd, waiting for my 10K Olympic Trials race in the evening. Eugene was having a heat wave with hardly a cloud in sight. It was wonderful to be staying with the Hollisters, and away from the intensity of the track competition. The facial expressions of the athletes getting ready for their race, jump or throw often said, this was the most important competition of their life. And after every session in the stadium there was a steady stream of athletes in each event who walked off the track for the last time.
As our Florida Track Club trio arrived at Hayward Field at 4 p.m., the ground crew was spraying the blistering hot track with fire hoses. My FTC teammates Frank Shorter, Jack Bacheler and I began our warmup around a grass field next to the track. I could feel the tension which was usually broken by some statement from Frank about strategy or weather. We were sweating after a quarter mile and knew the upcoming race would deliver some form of misery. As we turned a corner on the field a gust of wind blew over some debris near us and Frank said “Sorta windy.” Jack immediately added, “Yeah, just like the Texas Relays.” Frank seemed to bristle at this and I remembered that on a windy day in Austin a few months ago, Frank had not run well and Jack had won. This was a rare surfacing of the subtle competition between these two athletes, ranked among the Top Ten in the world.
As each one of us did our own final warmup rituals, I looked at the other athletes who were warming up for the 10K and none looked relaxed. The stress of the competition and the heat was hanging over them like a series of Oregon winter clouds. I decided to take a different mental path.
I knew that I needed to slow down due to heat, but how much. In Seattle, at 55F, I had averaged just under 70 seconds per lap. Since the temperature was almost 90F, I decided 72 seconds/lap would be a good starting pace. As the “final call for 10,000 meters” broadcast through the stadium, I accelerated around the curve and checked in with an official who told me where to line up.
Taking Frank’s example to focus on my race priorities, I mentally rehearsed quickly the first few laps of this race. My pace would be sustainable while others would use up valuable resources. I kept telling myself no one expected me to finish in the top 3 – and I had my best race coming in one week – the marathon. During a very long minute before the start, I was on an emotional rollercoaster, sweating, but then focusing on 72 seconds per lap.
The gun fired and Frank went out ahead, running at 65 per lap. A strong pack of guys right behind him started to thin out after lap two. I quickly found myself in last place but right on my 72 second pace per lap. The stress was in the front of the pack, and I felt comfortable conserving resources.
Even in last place on a hot day, it was challenging to keep from running too fast. The Eugene crowd roared as I came by each section of the stands and I had to keep saying “72” to myself. 72. 72.
As I approached the one-mile mark, I noticed the runner ahead was coming back to me, and I soon passed him. This seemed to validate my conservative strategy and gave me a mission: to stalk the next runner ahead—who was also slowing down. The next few runners had started too fast and the weather was bringing them to me.
During my first year of training in Florida I had learned how to start slower. But in most hot races I would reach a certain point where the heat seemed to be too much, and I slowed down. I experienced this three different times, and in each case I instantly slowed the pace by about a second per lap and then focused on the runner I was currently stalking. By the end of the second mile I felt I could maintain my momentum and began estimating where I would pass the next runner.
I was enjoying the role of the “come from behind kid” and passed one or two runners each lap. Many veteran track fans in stands noticed this and the cheering increased each time I moved up a place. With 6 laps to go the effort was increasing and there was no runner close. So I decided to see who was ahead of me. Just entering the other side of the track was my teammate Frank, in first. About 50 yards back was my teammate Jack. As my eyes searched for other athletes ahead, I was surprised—I WAS IN 3RD PLACE!
My strategy was really working—even Jack was slowing down. I passed him and ran the last mile seemingly without touching the track. I had never experienced such joy in any life experience. The hard work, smart strategy, support from friends like Geoff Hollister and his family, running as a team with Shorter and Bacheler—it all came together in a powerful sense of accomplishment. I had qualified for the Munich Olympics! My time was 28:48—only 18 seconds slower than the National Championships run in cool conditions.
My mind was spinning in so many directions. A collage of visions flashed though my brain simultaneously: the overweight thirteen-year-old who couldn’t keep up with other runners, the high school runner who was not good enough to earn a college scholarship, the Naval officer at sea who couldn’t run and assumed there would be no more competitive running. And as late as three weeks before, driving all night to the last possible race to qualify to run in this Olympic Trials 10K, full of hopes and doubts. It was all worthwhile!
Frank was waiting at the finish as I crossed, and I turned around to cheer Jack, who was in third. It appeared all three of us were headed for Munich, but there was more drama building. As Jack slowed down during the last mile, Eugene native Jon Anderson, in 4th place, saw his opportunity. The stadium was packed with track-savvy fans who recognized Anderson’s pursuit of Jack and cheered so loudly my ears were ringing. Coming off the final curve, Jack was ahead by about twenty yards but weaving due to exhaustion. Responding to a dramatic roar of the crowd, Anderson found one more burst and passed Jack about thirty yards from the finish. Jack was wobbling and accidentally bumped into Anderson but the local favorite easily claimed the 3rd position on the Munich team.
A minor track official, primarily responsible for disqualifying sprinters who wander out of their assigned lanes, raised his flag and disqualified Jack for his incidental contact with Anderson. Suddenly, the bottom dropped out of the euphoric cloud Frank and I had been riding. For over an hour the officials discussed the incident and Jon Anderson made it clear that Jack’s action did not penalize him or change the outcome of the race. But the track officials in Eugene allowed this judge to disqualify Jack – as if he had never run the race.
None of the veteran coaches, officials, athletes had seen a 10K runner D-Qed for bumping. In fact, as I entered the world of international distance running in Europe, contact was frequent and part of the sport. Jack was the “soul” of the Florida Track Club. He had run in the ’68 Olympics, and regularly competed against the best in the world. We looked up to him for his work ethic, toughness, helpful tips, and personal glimpses into the human interest side of elite distance running. His unique sense of humor took the edge off of tough workouts or races. He knew when someone needed a pat on the back—or a kick in the butt.
We needed to find a way for Jack to join us on the Olympic team. If Jack had not been disqualified, and I had finished in the top 3 in the upcoming marathon, I would have given up my place in the 10K – so that Jack could run in Munich. This was no longer possible.
I suddenly realized there was a way I could help Jack qualify in the Marathon. The FTC trio got together for a run the next morning and started planning the strategy.
To be continued….