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Deep
By Dwight Estey

10/04/2005 -- Deep, deep within the body lie pockets of the past. Primal urges. The remnants of instincts developed in a dangerous world where man had not yet become the dominant species. In this world, pain was a positive stimulus. Without pain there was no fear. And without fear man would be weak prey in a harsh environment.

Before man used his brain to confront these challenges, his ability to flee pain was his primary tool. The ability to escape, to run fast, could be the difference between life and death.

Running was survival!

Eventually man used his brain to become master of his own universe. He changed from hunted to hunter. He became the one to fear. Now, the primal instinct to survive not only involved the ability to flee, but also – to chase. Survival was still at the core. Hunger with the threat of starvation became a motivation to turn and risk pain by chasing what man once fled.

This was the start of the decline of man as a physical being. The intellectual runner was born; one that made decisions about why and where to run.

Man's biggest enemy became – man.

In some cases man's biggest opponent became himself. The long decline in the need for speed is the history of intellect winning out over brawn. We – meaning Americans - are beyond the point where everyday survival depends on fight or flight. We have become removed from our protective instincts, now in a life with few challenges that require physical prowess, and fewer still that call for the ability to dig down to survival instincts.

Not so with some other cultures. Kip Lagat, Kenyan distance runner, during the Sydney Olympics, explained half-kidding why his country produces so many great runners, "It's the road signs, 'Beware of lions.”

When someone from the United States toes the starting line, chances are they have not been honed in an environment that requires running for safety or sustenance. Their approach to running has been more intellectual, a response to a set of choices that held only the risk of psychological consequences. The potential of failure on any given day could always be followed by potential success the next. Running with lions doesn't afford that luxury.

How can someone removed from the primal source of running compete against those who aren't far from a world where speed can mean life or death? The answer may be as simple as finding someone in which that primal instinct has not been bred out. A man whose instinct still boils to the surface under the right stimulus, a throwback to the warrior days.

This is easier said than done. John Schiefer mirrored those sentiments when he opined the following.

"No one competes with the reckless abandon they should. What is a race? A race is a complete all out effort. With a few exceptions, runners run hard, (or think they are running hard) but the races are too controlled. When was the last time you saw an American distance runner finish a race and then collapse on the ground? Ten, fifteen years? I'd personally rather watch someone who runs his guts out, throws his breakfast up and passes out at the end of the race."

Does Emil Zatopek typify the warrior whose loss we lament?

What is it within the runner, that when they say, "Men, today we die a little" , it is believable, striking fear in the opponent. When Emil Zatopek spoke these words at the start of the 1956 Olympic Marathon, no opponent doubted he was prepared to risk all for victory. Perhaps it was the primal drive he displayed four years earlier in the Olympic 5K.

From their 1982 book Fast Tracks - The History of Distance Running authors Raymond Krise and Bill Squires describe the 1952 Olympic 5,000 Meter Final:

The final lap: Schade, Chataway, Mimoun, along with Zátopek who is in agony. One of these will win; the rest are dead or dying. At the sound of the bell Zátopek punches maniacally, leaping the entourage in a single bound, his eyes barely visible under his brow's furrows. He can't shake his attackers! The strategic kick gains him NOTHING, costs him nearly everything.

In 100 meters Chataway sails past him, Schade in his shadow. 200 meters from the medals Chataway, Schade, Mimoun run inside each other's shorts. Zátopek is two meters behind them, his speed unequal to theirs, his massive strength drained. Schade asserts his right to the lead. Chataway disputes it, taking command heading into the final turn. The crowd is frantic, howling wildly.

Then the howls coalesce. They are screaming Zá-to-PEK! Zá-to-PEK! From deep within, the Czech Locomotive has summoned the courage of the angels! Chataway, who in two years will push Bannister through the 4-minute barrier, leans hard into the turn, balancing himself for a devastating sprint. It never comes. Zátopek springs like Blake's tiger, his jaws slavering, his driving leg pummeling the dirt track. Panicked by Zátopek's fury, Schade and Mimoun blast past Chataway.

It's too late. Zátopek is all over them and away, his upper and lower bodies almost going in different directions as he powers through the turn far wider than any of the others. Chataway, passed by three different men in the space of four footsteps, brushes against the turn's pole and crashes to the track.

Zátopek's face is crucified with noble effort, his eyes closed, his mouth agape. Mimoun claws the air with arm thrusts, as if to grasp Zátopek's singlet and halt him. Schade in third glares angrily through his eyeglasses, his top speed gaining him naught on Zátopek's courage.

"Zá-to-PEK! Zá-to-PEK! Zá-to-PEK!" The Beast of Prague breaks the tape, after breaking the field, in 14:06.6. Mimoun crosses second in 14:07.4. Schade, third, in 14:08.6. Zátopek takes nearly 9 seconds of Schade's still wet Olympic record. The final lap takes 57.9 seconds, and many years of pain and determination.
Emil Zátopek has his 5K gold. The rest of him is steel.

At Helsinki, Zatopek went on to win the marathon as well. "I was unable to walk for a whole week after that, so much did the race take out of me. But it was the most pleasant exhaustion I have ever known."

Perhaps we saw a little bit of Zatopek in Steve Prefontaine who ran more on instinct than reason, more in tune with his guts than his head. Pre summed it up best when he said, “A lot of people run a race to see who is fastest. I run to see who has the most guts, who can punish himself into exhausting pace, and then at the end, punish himself even more. Nobody is going to win a 5,000 meter race after running an easy 2 miles. Not with me. If I lose forcing the pace all the way, well, at least I can live with myself."

Will there ever again be an intellectual American who can go primal, who doesn't simply walk away when he's done claiming, “I gave it everything I had.”

Billy Mills (gold medal winner of the 10,000 at the 1964 Tokyo Olympics with a 46-second PR.) wondered aloud when he said, "I haven't seen too many American distance men on the international scene willing to take risks. I saw some U.S. women in Barcelona willing to risk, more than men. The Kenyans risk. Steve Prefontaine risked. I risked--I went through the first half of the Tokyo race just a second off my best 5000 time."

For a while some thought it might be Adam Goucher. "I love controlling a race, chewing up an opponent. Let's get down and dirty. Let's fight it out. It's raw, animalistic, with no one to rely on but yourself. There's no better feeling than that." And maybe it still could be. He understood the primal urge, and his string of injuries is the price of a passion where drive supercedes intellect (he was prone to run more miles than he knew he should). He has been written off more than once but continues to fight back.

To take Prefontaine's spot it appears one has to be willing to fight more than just the men on the track. It is also a battle against a public often rooting for the lion. The US doesn't reward the fool-hearty. Alan Webb knows this all too well.

After a '05 World Championship 1500M final in which an early maniacal sprint took him out of medal contention, his Prefontaine-ish explanation fell on deaf ears. It's no wonder that the intelligent American runner is confused. There is no logic to the fickle public. Runners are expected to deliver nothing but victory, ‘but don't do anything stupid'.

The problem is in having a choice. A runner who returns to raw instinct doesn't have a choice, and therefor can't make a bad one.   The simple solution is to ‘just run primal!”