The First Four Minutes

The world was expecting the supremacy of one of these 12 runners to be revealed by a stroke of genius. We stood there, 12 anxious men waiting for the gun. Twelve is far too many for a 1,500-meters race of this class. We pushed and struggled along, continually changing position. I ran more sensibly than in the semifinal. I was content to keep to the inside—because I was too tired to struggle. Lamers of Germany led for the first and second laps. Then Lueg, also of Germany, went into the lead. At the bell on the third lap we were five abreast, waiting for someone to try to break away. Barthel came up alongside.

Only a minute more and it would be all over. On the back straight I forced myself to move up to Lueg's shoulder. I lay second before the last bend, perfectly poised for my finishing effort.

This was the crucial moment for which I had waited so long. But my legs were aching, and I had no strength left to force them faster. I had a sickening feeling of exhaustion and powerlessness as Barthel came past me, chased by McMillen ( U.S.A.). They both caught and passed Lueg who was also slowing down. The race was won by inches in 3 minutes 45.2 seconds by Barthel—the tough little athlete from a country with a population no greater than an English town.

I came fourth, and a few yards covered the first six. The first eight of us had broken the previous Olympic record. As I crossed the line I grabbed at Lueg to prevent myself from sprawling on the track. I had never known such exhaustion, but I was very happy that the ordeal was over.

The Helsinki Olympic Games were a turning point in my life in more ways than one. Until then I had on the whole been successful in all the races that mattered to me. Now I realized how much luck there is in sport. No amount of planning and foresight by the athlete can safeguard against organizational changes. I had taken myself and my one goal too seriously. My gamble on one event had been too great—was it possible for me to justify the faith that others placed in me?

In December, 1952 John Landy of Australia, who had been knocked out in my heat at the Olympic Games, startled the world by running a mile in 4 minutes 2.1 seconds. This was the fastest mile in the world for seven years and he followed it up with another in 4 minutes 2.6 seconds. Landy made no secret of the fact that the four-minute mile was his goal. The race had really begun.

Whether as athletes we liked it or not, the four-minute mile had become rather like an Everest—a challenge to the human spirit. It was a barrier that seemed to defy all attempts to break it—an irksome reminder that man's striving might be in vain. The Scandinavians, with their almost excessive reverence for the magic of sport, called it the "dream mile."

A PROBLEM OF HOW AND WHERE

If I entered the lists to attack the four-minute mile, the problem was to decide how and where the race should be run. There were four essential requirements—a good track, absence of wind, warm weather and even-paced running. Some people have imagined that a four-minute mile might result from normal competition. This could only happen if there was an opponent capable of forcing the pace up to the last 50 yards. This was what Arne Andersson tried to do in 1945, to run Gunder Hagg off his feet and to tire his finish. Gunder Hagg held out and was able to set up his own world record. Only John Landy could force me to a race of this kind, and by the time we ran against each other the four-minute mile might already have been accomplished and it would be too late. It is easier to race an opponent than the clock, but I had no choice.

When I ran at Oxford on May 2,1953 I aimed at breaking Sydney Wooderson's British mile record of 4 minutes 6.4 seconds, which had stood since 1937. He set up this time in a handicap race at Motspur Park on August 28, 1937. R. H. Thomas, a well-known miler of the time, started 10 yards ahead of him and attempted to pace him for half a mile. Another runner with 65-yards start helped him in the later stages. This may seem far removed from the conditions of an ordinary race, but it was the only approach open to him because there was no runner in Europe at the time who could have extended him.