I saw this Jeff Johnson photo of Dan Dillon crossing the finish line and I had to ask, why the smile?
By Dan Dillon
I remember this race so well.
To mix clichés, there were moments I felt like a fish out of water and in over my head at the same time.
By the time I had graduated from Providence in 1980 I had made my third USA Cross Country Team and qualified to compete in the Olympic Trials for 5,000 and 10,000. While in Eugene that summer I decided to sign on with Nike’s Athletics West pro club.
Like me, Bruce Bickford had also joined the AW team. He had been an All-American in Track and Cross Country while at Northeastern. In addition to some impressive 3000m Steeplechase accomplishments he was quickly adding quite the list of indoor, outdoor and Road Racing achievements to his resume.
During the following couple of years, I lived in West Newton and Bruce lived in nearby Wellesley. We were both being coached by Bob Sevene.
A few weeks before this particular NE TAC Outdoor Track Championship Mile, I recall running with Bruce, and a few other top area runners through the Wellesley and Weston backroads. The talk was that several of the competitors in the mile field were thinking this race might be an excellent time for a sub-four minute attempt. It occurred to Bruce this might present an opportunity for the two of us as well.
I hadn’t trained for or even contemplated a serious mile or 1500. And Bruce, while still being primarily a Steeplechase guy, would run some shorter track races from time to time, but I don’t think he considered himself a “miler” by any stretch either.
Around this time of year, Coach Bob Sevene was trying to prepare us for the upcoming US Outdoor Track Championships. And Nike typically had plans to send a group of their top performing AW guys to a few European meets. Bruce and I were both certainly hoping to be included.
So, after talking it over with Sev, it was decided this mile race would be an excellent opportunity for us both to get in a “tune up” prior to these National and European aspirations.
I suppose, around New England, I’d always been thought of as a 10k, XC guy. I imagine folks had zero expectations I might do anything special in a shorter race. I have to admit I didn’t quite know what to expect myself. But regardless, I was excited to think about what might happen that day. The notion of a sub-four minute mile might have been conceivable to Bick; he’d certainly been close enough a few times before.
Could I get dragged along to something special?
Somehow, even though I lived only a ten-minute drive away from the track, I managed to arrive at the stadium scant minutes before the race was scheduled to begin. Bruce had, of course, already completed his warmup without me. Sev had a shocked look on his face when I finally jogged over to him near the start.
Though he was annoyed at my tardiness, Coach tried his best to conceal it. He knew this was most unlike me. I suspect he didn’t want to trigger any panic in me. He only said, “Get yourself checked in, they’re a little ahead of schedule.”
I never liked to skimp on my warm up routine, but nothing could be done about it that day. I only had time to lace up my spikes, jog a lap, and do a couple of strides before the race lined up.
I expected an elbow or two from some of the other runners once the gun went off, but no. Nothing. After only a few seconds I inexplicably found myself in the lead. Uh oh!
This was definitely not the plan. I took the race through the first quarter in 60 seconds and hoped some of the more ambitious true milers would take over the pace responsibilities from there. But nobody wanted to come around me.
So, on the back straight, I moved slightly to the outside of lane one and looked over my inside shoulder. I waited for an acceleration, for someone to pull through. Nope. Not happening. Damn. As the next curve approached I stepped back to the inside and figured, okay, I’ll just take it for another straight to see what happens.
We passed 880 in about 2:01. Again, I moved out to entice someone, anyone, to come through and pick the pace back up. Once again, no takers. I now understood nobody in that field wanted to lead anything more than the very last step.
I slowed to my 10k mode. So much for the sub-four attempt, I thought. After a pedestrian 66 seconds for the third quarter, we plodded past at 3:07ish.
You may be able to see in the background of the photo some bleachers on the far end infield of the track. The old BC stadium track was actually slightly oversized and went around behind them. So, the official reading our splits was in a slightly different spot for each 440. Most veteran New England runners had done many laps around this particular track and were well accustomed to this quirk. Often races would disappear behind those bleachers and look quite different when they came out on the other side.
Around the penultimate turn I was confident I still had a sub-60 left in me. I also knew the other guys in the field probably all did, too. So, I decided to dig in on the back straight.
I recall anticipating the entire field would want to make their big move behind those bleachers and try to fly down the home straight. Since I had slowed the pace so considerably, I assumed the other racers were concluding I was totally spent. Finally, coming around the last turn, Bick and a couple of the other guys swung out wide to try to pass, so I mustered my maximum sprint speed for the final straight. I also felt someone trying to squeeze through on the inside lane, but I could see the finish line by now and sensed I could push past it before anyone else.
That last surge ended up being just enough to win in 4:04. It was a great feeling to once again have my head above water.
In the following years Bruce Bickford ended up with a #1 world ranking for 10,000 meters on the track and a berth on the USA Olympic Team in 1988.
I never did make a serious attempt at a sub-four minute mile again after that race.
The smile at the finish was me realizing what I had just gotten away with.
“I remember that race so well,” he said. That’s what he said.
Original title: The 1982 Well, You Know The Rest.
So, I looked up the 1982 race. Some other guy won. Sounds fishy, huh?
I asked Dan about this discrepancy in his recollection. Could’ve been 1981, he offered.
So, new title.
In the interest of full disclosure, the 1981 results have disappeared. We talked to Steve The All-Knowing, and we talked to – no relation – Lawrence, The All-Knowing. Nothing. Almost asked Tom Derderian, but figured this race too short for his records.
We will just have to take Dan’s word for it.
That and the expression on his face.
Oh, and he did get to go to Europe.