The Joy Of Running

Some American world record holders were touring Finland at the same time, and we were naturally not anxious to compete against them too often. All went well until Dick Attlesey, who had recently broken the world record for the high hurdles, crossed our path. He finished a race of 110-meter hurdles in his world record time of 13.5 seconds before David had cleared the last hurdle. This margin was too much for David, who retired on the spot. He had not bargained for competition of this caliber in a Finnish village of a few hundred inhabitants.

In Finland the spectators are better educated, athletically, than anywhere else in the world. They do not merely gaze at the spectacle but are critical of the standard of performance, and points of technique and style. They reserve their applause so that they do not debase its currency. They know that the interest and pleasure to be derived from athletics are cumulative; the more they know about it the more intense is their critical enjoyment.

On my return from Finland I decided to run nothing but half-miles. As I had been unable to train in the early season I knew that I could not expect to run well. Half-miles would be less of a strain and would give me valuable tactical experience in coping with a large field of runners moving considerably faster than in mile races. Tactical errors, such as lying fourth on the last bend, which can be rectified in a mile race, may be fatal in a half-mile; one's thinking must be so much quicker. I also wanted to develop my speed. At the same time I decided not to take my running too seriously—to enjoy it and to postpone my long-term plans.

In the AAA championships on July 15, 1950, I ran my first half-mile against Arthur Wint, the Olympic 400-meters champion. It was like leaning out from our respective events above and below this distance to shake hands. We were good friends. I had a strange feeling in running behind him. He was 6'5", with legs longer in proportion even to this height. His length of stride was so great that it interfered with the natural rhythm of my own running. Arthur Wint was the only runner I met who could influence my length of stride. He dominated me so much that I almost wished I could fit in two strides to his one. I had to keep at a respectful distance—it was like running against a giant. Wint beat me with ease in one minute 51.6 seconds, though I ran my fastest time.

My first taste of full international competition came in the final of the European Games 800-meters in Brussels on August 26, 1950. I was ill-prepared for such an important race. John Parlett, who ran a one-minute 50.9-second 800 meters in the Olympic semifinal at Wembley in 1948, was the other British representative. Our opponents included Audun Boysen, the young Norwegian, who had startled the world some weeks before with a one-minute 48.7-second 800 meters. There were also Marcel Hansenne of France, who took third place in the Olympic 800-meters final of 1948 at Wembley, and Joseph Barthel of Luxembourg, later Olympic 1,500-meters champion at Helsinki in 1952.

This was my first international "scrambling" race. Boysen rushed into the lead with a suicidal first lap of 50.9 seconds. I lay fourth in 53.8 seconds, a time which I could barely have returned for a 440-yard race. The jostling took me quite by surprise, and I found myself in the middle of the runners, with elbows pushing me on all sides. After moving up on the back straight I held the lead round the last bend and into the finishing straight. Then Parlett came alongside and edged past me as if blown along by a private gust of wind. Thirty yards from the tape I had no strength left. Somehow I staggered on—taking an overdraft from some hidden source. Just as I tottered over the line Marcel Hansenne came up on the outside. Parlett had won by a foot in one minute 50.5 seconds, and I was declared second. There was an appeal. The jury met, the photofinish was examined and Hansenne was given the second place, with the same time for each of us of one minute 50.7 seconds.

After this I decided that it was not tactical sense I lacked. I had survived the elbow battle and had reached a winning position. The situation in each race is different, and it is a question of thinking quickly enough. I doubt if this ability is improved much by practice. I simply lacked the strength to make use of a good position. This strength could only come from consistent training. After this meeting I began to realize the strain of international competition and the greater intensity of nervousness it produced. University matches had been crippling enough but this was ten times worse.

On my return from Brussels, Parlett beat me at Edinburgh in a slow half-mile of 2 minutes 3.6 seconds, and also in a match against France in Paris on September 9, when his time was one minute 53.5 seconds for 800 meters. I won an end-of-the-season race of 800 meters against him in Gothenburg, when we returned the same time of one minute 53.1 seconds.

Since July I had been beaten in four major races—though I had enjoyed them all. I was beginning to think it did not matter if I was beaten. This would have been fatal to my future as a runner. Until this year there had been the stimulus that no one had beaten me in an important race. Now it had happened so often that I was becoming almost happy-go-lucky. I had completed an experiment in racing. I drew the conclusion that although I could run fast times on inadequate training, I could not be sure of winning.

One day I found myself in Paris—halfway up the Eiffel Tower in a lift like a bird cage. As the lift went up I had the odd feeling that precedes a crisis. I had to escape from it all.