The First Four Minutes

We lined up for the start. Landy was on the inside. The gun fired and Baillie of New Zealand went straight into the lead. I stayed some yards back at Landy's shoulder until he took over the lead at the 220-yard mark. Gradually he drew away, and I lay second at the end of the first lap in 59.2 seconds. Landy's pace was too fast for me (58.2 seconds) and I had allowed a gap of seven yards to open up. In the second lap this lead increased at one time to 15 yards. I completed the half-mile in one minute 59 seconds, so I was within a four-minute-mile schedule!

By now I had almost lost contact with Landy. I no longer had the advantage of being pulled along by him. The field had split. Landy was out in front on his own and I was leading the rest, 10 yards farther back. I felt complete detachment, and at the half-mile remember saying to myself—only two minutes more. The stage was set for relaxed running until my final burst.

My speed was now the same as Landy's. The only problem was that Landy was a long way in front and looked like staying there. I was on schedule, but he was not slowing down as I had expected. This was the moment when my confidence wavered. Was he going to break the world record again?

To have any "finish" left I must be able to follow at his shoulder throughout the early part of the last lap. How could I close the gap before the bell? If I were to stand any chance of winning I must reach his shoulder before then. I must abandon my own time schedule and run to his. This was the turning point of the race.

I quickened my stride, trying at the same time to keep relaxed. I won back the first yard, then each succeeding yard, until his lead was halved by the time we reached the back straight on the third lap. How I wished I had never allowed him to establish such a lead!

I had now "connected" myself to Landy again, though he was still five yards ahead. I was almost hypnotized by his easy shuffling stride—the most clipped and economical I have ever seen. I tried to imagine myself attached to him by some invisible cord. With each stride I drew the cord tighter and reduced his lead. At the three-quarter-mile when the bell rang I was at Landy's shoulder. The rest of the field were 20 yards back and I was so absorbed by the man-to-man struggle that I heard no lap time. The real battle was beginning. We two were running alone now with all eyes upon us.

The third lap had tired me—my time was 59.6 seconds. This was the lap when a runner expects to slow down a little to gather momentum for the finish, and I had been toiling hard to win back those painful yards. I fixed myself to Landy like a shadow. He must have known I was at his heels because he began to quicken his stride as soon as we turned into the last back straight. It was incredible that in a race run at this speed he should start a finishing burst 300 yards from the tape. I laughed to remember that three weeks before in England I had actually considered whether I might overtake him at the 220-yard mark! Now it was all I could do to hold him.

We passed the 1,500-meters mark in close to the same time as Landy's world record for that distance set up during his mile race at Turku in Finland. If Landy did not slacken soon I would be finished. As we entered the last bend I tried to convince myself that he was tiring. With each stride now I attempted to husband a little strength for the moment at the end of the bend when I had decided to pounce. I knew this would be the point where Landy would least expect me, and if I failed to overtake him there the race would be his.

When the moment came my mind would galvanize my body to the greatest effort it had ever known. I knew I was tired. There might be no response, but it was my only chance. This moment had occurred dozens of times before. This time the only difference was that the whole race was being run to my absolute limit.

Just before the end of the last bend I flung myself past Landy. As I did so I saw him glance inward over his opposite shoulder. This tiny act of his held great significance and gave me confidence. I interpreted it as meaning that he had already made his great effort along the back straight. All round the bend he had been unable to hear me behind him, the noise of the crowd was so great. He must have hoped desperately that I had fallen back. The worry of whether he had succeeded grew on him. His last chance to look around came at the end of the bend. He knew that to challenge now I must run extra distance and therefore did not expect it. The moment he looked round he was unprotected against me and lost a valuable fraction of a second in his response to my challenge. It was my tremendous luck that these two happenings—his turning round and my final spurt—came absolutely simultaneously.