songs of experience

Daniel’s comment makes me so happy … and satisfied … that the idea screaming in my head while I was viewing the tape of Bob Schul’s gold medal run (in his livingroom) is finally coming to fruition. “Every young distance runner in America needs to see this!” I thought - then said, aloud to Bob. Maybe he realized on his own the 1964 Tokyo race footage is a national treasure and decided to take the time to make it available to the public, but I like to think my insistence may have put the bug in his ear. At 38, when I interviewed Schul, I was too old to use the inspiration directly in my racing career. Unlike “collegiate runner” Daniel, I was way past my prime. The race footage that changed my life when I was a college kid probably sounds cliche now … but I’ll tell it anyway.

The summer of 1984, my car was packed and ready to drive back to grad. school from my parents home in Atlanta - a 6 1/2 hour drive. It was a Sunday morning and my folks, uncharacteristically, had the TV on (because it was The Olympics). I had run in the 3,000m Olympic Trials in Los Angelos earlier that summer, but I wasn’t the track geek I am now so I didn’t really care all that much who won the marathon. I remembered that Joan Benoit (our best US runner) made the team despite a 7 week-long knee injury and I knew the legendary Grete Waitz was the runaway favorite. I thought it would be a boring race, so my plan was to watch the start and then drive north to chapel hill.

When I saw the women line up to run the first EVER Olympic marathon, I was too self-centered (what 22 year-old isn’t?) to comprehend the historical magnitude of this event. I was more concerned with making it back to school in time to run MY little 5 miles before dark. Hmmm, where would I stop for coffee? Could I make it all the way without a nap? What a spiritual lightweight I was! Yuk.
Anyway, when the inaugural gun went off and Grete’s lanky, dominating presence dictated the pack’s every move for the first few miles, I stood up from the edge of the couch, with my keys in hand, and went to say good-bye to my mom and dad … until, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of some short, nearly-chubby woman - with a white cap on her head and a too-big running singlet - bolt into the lead. What the?!

I saw the now-famous moment when Benoit glanced back over her shoulder to Grete and her followers, as if to say, “Who’s coming with me?” No one. No one was brave enough (crazy enough?) to strike out for gold with all that LA sun beating down on the interstate and without the benefit of the pack’s synergy. I dropped my keys, sat back down, and watched - riveted.

At mile 3 - with 23.2 miles remaining - Joan Benoit (now, Samuelson) looked back just that once and never again. She didn’t need to. It was Joan against herself from that moment on. With every purposeful stride, her race … which was an epiphany for me … celebrated the quintessential difference between one racing to be the best and another racing to be her best. Sometimes your best is the best, maybe even the best in the whole wide world … but that’s not the point.

Years later, I read Benoit’s own words, “My hope is for the heart to strive forever.” Well, Joanie, my same-named friend, my hero … that summer’s day, way back in 1984, your striving heart inspired and changed me forever.