A Dream Comes True

For the first three-eighths of a mile, it could have been just another ho-hum footrace between a bunch of guys named Smith and Jones—or, as it turned out, Savage and Mosser. For weeks people in Philadelphia had been promoting the long-awaited match-up between Jim Ryun and Marty Liquori as the Dream Mile. But last Sunday, when the leader, a Manhattan College freshman named Joe Savage, idled past the three-eighths mark with Morgan Mosser of West Virginia on his heels, the fans began to wonder if they had come to the right stadium. Which was about the same time Jim Ryun was wondering why he was running so slowly, so he shifted gears and led the field through a 2:03.3 half-mile. "I thought the pace was too slow," he said later. "I hadn't done much speed work, and I didn't think I was ready for an all-out 220 at the end. I guess Marty had the same thoughts. We both figured the way to win was with a long, fast, last half mile."

Equally annoyed by the dawdling pace, Liquori fell in two strides behind Ryun. For 110 yards he waited for Ryun to turn it on. When he didn't, Liquori did, although it didn't make him happy. "Too soon to be out in front," he thought. He glanced over his shoulder and there was Ryun, gliding along a few steps to the rear. Liquori hit the three-quarters in three minutes flat. "Oh, my God," he thought. "It's still too slow." He knew what Ryun could do off that kind of pace, but he wasn't sure what he could do. "He's just sitting on my shoulder," Liquori thought, "and any moment he's going to eat me up."

Liquori, who had covered the third quarter in 56.5, kept glancing back over his shoulder. "I was running scared," he said. "That damn slow pace. It suddenly came to mind how he had blown so many other people, mature people like Keino and Bodo T�mmler, right off the track. I was going to sprint when he pulled up on my shoulder, but he never did until the last 110 yards."

"He's dying now," Ryun thought. "He's coming back to me." Emerging from the last turn into the straightaway, Ryun made his move. He inched up to Liquori's right shoulder, hung there for a moment (see cover) and then fell back half a step. "There was nothing there," Ryun said. "I was dead. Right then I knew that whoever stood up at the finish line would win."

"Lord, where's the finish line?" Liquori was thinking. He thought he saw it 20 yards ahead, but when he arrived at that point there were still 10 more yards to be run.

"Right there," he said, "I was worried. But I reached down and found just enough to throw myself at the tape. I'm afraid I had a funny expression on my face. It was just incredible. But I didn't want to seem too happy. Then, I thought, that's not me. And I got happy."

Both ran the last quarter in 54.6 and, somehow, both were clocked in 3:54.6, although Ryun was a step behind. It was the fastest mile in the world since 1968. It was the fastest mile ever run in the East. It was the fastest mile Liquori had ever run—by 2.6 seconds. Most remarkable, however, was that Liquori was able to hold off Ryun's challenge since, on paper, Ryun is much faster; for example, his personal best for a quarter-mile relay leg is 46.9, compared to Liquori's 49 flat.

After the finish Charlie Greene, the sprinter, turned to Lee Evans, the 440 ace, and shook his head. "Do you realize they sprinted the last 600 yards?" he said. "Six hundred yards. It's unbelievable."

"They must have some kind of guts," was what Evans said.

"Guts?" Liquori said. "What it was was just one long grind." Then he grinned. "I think I'm still waiting for Jim to blow past me. The whole last lap I kept thinking of all the typical places where people make their move. Like going into the backstretch or coming off the final turn. I just kept thinking, when he comes, be ready, be ready. Ready? I was dead."