(Berlin)
Somalia's Abdi Jimale Bani became the first man in history to run the standard marathon distance in under two hours this morning, recording a stunning new world record of 1:59:55 at the Berlin Marathon. Jimale Bani, whose previous best had been 2:01:13, ran with a large pack early in the race, but seized the lead shortly after passing halfway in 59:49. Accompanied by his two virtual pacesetters, Jimale Bani opened up a lead that grew with every passing kilometer and it seemed ever more certain that he would better David Kipsang's old world record of 2:00:08; the only question was whether he would be inside the two-hour mark. When he crossed the line, the Somali-born and American-trained runner went to his knees and kissed the ground, then rose with a huge smile on his face and waved to the crowd.
In addition to the distinction of being history's first two-hour man, when he crossed the line Jimale Bani became perhaps the wealthiest distance runner in the world. In addition to his first-place prize money of $1,000,000 (USD), Jimale Bani received the course record bonus of $500,000 from race organizers. He also earned the $2.5 million "two-hour challenge" prize from the World Marathon Association.
Around the world, marathon fans celebrated the news that the barrier had finally been broken. There had been speculation that the record might fall in Berlin, but the man considered most likely to do it, 2036 and 2040 Olympic 10,000m Champion and half-marathon world record holder Dareje Tale of Ethiopia, retired from the race after only 15 kilometers with a leg injury that has plagued him in recent months.
The two-hour marathon has long been considered an achievement of supreme significance in long distance running. Perhaps no barrier has seized the imagination of the Athletics World since Roger Bannister broke the four-minute mile 85 years ago. In the early part of this century, the marathon record seemed under constant assault and was lowered nearly a dozen times in fifteen years. But progress seemed to come to a halt after Kenya's Paul Kimeli Koech ran 2:01:57 in 2019, a time that would not be bettered for another decade.
In the early 2030's, a new generation of marathoners began lowering the record again. Some credit new medical breakthroughs in understanding how the body repairs tissue damage after extreme physical exertion, allowing athletes to train at a higher level without needing as much recovery. Others credit technological advances in footwear and the construction of racing surfaces, such as those used in the streets of Berlin, that return more energy to runners' legs.
But perhaps the single most important reason that a human being has finally run under two hours for 26.2 miles is that Abdi Jimale Bani believed it was possible. "I knew that one day, someone would run under two hours," Jimale Bani said after his historic race. "I knew that there is no limit to what we can do, how fast we can run. Today I decided to not thing about what was impossible, but about how anything is possible, and now I am so happy."
September 25, 2011
September 23, 2011
Race Report:
The 23rd Annual Fred Brown Relay
A week ago Saturday was the 23rd Annual Fred Brown Relay, an eight-person 65-mile stage race around Lake Winnipesaukee in New Hampshire.
My club often competes at this race, and this year we entered a men's over-40 team. One challenge of a stage relay is to find runners who consider it fun to drive for hours, race solo over hilly terrain, perhaps without ever encountering another runner, and then drive for even more hours following their teammates as they slowly advance the baton around the Lake. Our team this year had great enthusiasm for this task, and spirits were high as we all headed for our appointed rendezvous points on the course.
These days, large corporate-sponsored stage relays are becoming a fixture on the New England Road Racing Calendar. Events like "Reach the Beach," the "Green Mountain Relay," and the "Ragnar Relay," are well-organized two-day races that cover up to 200 miles and charge entry fees of over $1000 per team. In spite of this, the races regularly reach their limit of teams.
Unlike these newer events, the Fred Brown Relay is hosted by a local running club (the North Medford Club), charges a modest entry fee ($250 per team this year), and uses actual volunteers to hand time the legs. Traffic control is minimal and runners are mostly on their own.
Not surprisingly, faced with increased competition from the professionally-organized and more heavily-marketed Relays with their spiffy web sites, the Fred Brown Relay has been shrinking in recent years. This year, only 75 teams completed the race around the Lake. Only a week later, 434 teams would finish "Reach the Beach."
If it perishes, many old-timers like me will mourn the Fred Brown Relay and its storied history. That history began not in New Hampshire, but on Cape Cod when the legendary Fred Brown -- a beloved figure in New England Road Racing and a tireless champion of small, local, inexpensive races -- organized an annual relay from Plymouth Rock to Provincetown in the early 1970's. The P-to-P relay, as it was called, was quite an event, and attracted the top club teams in New England, including the BAA, Central Mass Striders, and many others.
Despite its popularity with runners, the P-to-P relay was never embraced by residents of Cape Cod who resented the influx of cars and runners every fall. In the late 80's the race moved to New Hampshire. The relatively flat point-to-point journey to the end of the Cape has become a relentlessly hilly loop that starts and finishes at "Funspot," a roadside attraction and tourist diversion located near the top of a long hill not too far from Weir's Beach. This was the course we were about to tackle.
Mike and Kevin had the early legs, and both set out from Boston before dawn to reach Fun Spot in time for the 8:00 a.m. start. Meanwhile, Terry and I had left Boston later and were headed to Alton Bay and the second exchange point. From there it would get a little complicated. Kevin, running second, would hand-off to me, running third, and then drive with Terry, running fifth, to the start of Terry's leg. Kevin would then backtrack to the end of the third leg, deliver a race number and pins to our fourth runner, Paul, and wait for me to finish. Kevin and I would then drive to the start of the sixth leg, deliver more numbers to Al (running seventh) and Andy (running eighth). We would then backtrack, meet Terry at the end of the fifth leg, and follow the race together after that all the way to the end.
But back to Mike -- Mike would start it all off by running the 10.5-mile first leg, a rolling course that begins with a long downhill into the village of Weir's Beach before climbing nearly 600 feet up to the entrance of the Gunstock Ski Area.
I had run this leg in 2010, and I knew that the final climb -- three miles of relatively steady uphill would be tough. Michael had predicted a time of 67 minutes, based on the distance but not the hills. I thought he did well to finish in 70 minutes, handing off to Kevin at ten past 9:00. Kevin's leg began with two and a half miles of downhill, and I had told him that his stride was perfectly suited for the terrain. It was, but I had somehow failed to mention that after those early downhill miles, there were another 8 more miles to run, including some tough uphill stretches. Kevin ran really well (68 minutes for the 11-mile leg), but had the look of someone on whom a trick has been played as he handed off the baton to me in Alton Bay.
I had told Kevin that I didn't care how fast he ran as long as we had a proper hand-off. It drives me crazy to see receiving runners standing flat-footed as their teammates come barreling into an exchange zone. In such cases, the incoming runner hands off the baton and then runs PAST the outgoing runner, who finally decides to start moving after receiving the baton. I swore this would not happen to us.
Bad: Incoming runner passes outgoing runner... and laughs about it! Do you see think hand-offs are a joke?
As Kevin approached, I extended my hand and started running. The baton never stopped moving, and one respectable hand-off later I was on my way for the dreaded 3rd leg.
Kevin and Jon demonstrate a proper hand-off, gaining precious tenths of a second in this seven-hour race.
The third leg begins in Alton Bay, next to the water and is exceedingly pleasant for about 600 meters. It then heads straight up Bay Hill Road, a steep half mile climb that ends on a barren stretch of highway that has no scenery of any kind for seven miles. I had never run the third leg, but I felt it would be good for me. It wasn't.
I actually felt ok at the start and ran the hill with restraint so that the first several miles on the highway were steady. I managed to catch two runners who had started before me, bringing our team into 4th place overall. We didn't know it at the time, but that's where we would stay for the next 40 miles of racing and that's where we would finish four and a half hours later.
By the last few miles, the constant rolling hills had taken their toll on my legs, and I plodded into the village of Wolfeboro a humbled man.
After handing off to Paul, I walked around a bit drinking water and Gatorade. After 10-15 minutes it was back into the car for the drive to Moultenborough. It was a brilliant late summer day, and after leaving Wolfeboro we found ourselves driving along beautiful back roads with occasional views of the lake to our left and mountains to our right.
While Terry ran the fifth leg, we drove ahead to the start of Leg 7, met Andy and Al, and found out that we had missed Jonathan who had taken the shuttle bus to start of Leg 6 numberless. So it was back in the car, and back to the previous exchange zone to find Jonathan and wait for Terry.
At this point, nearly 5 hours into the race, our team was in fourth and the runners were so spread out that there was essentially no traffic or congestion. As we waited for Terry to arrive at the exchange, we noted the first, second, and third place teams, separated by several minutes each. It was another fifteen minutes before Terry hove into view and passed the baton to Jonathan. There was no chance we would catch any of the teams in front of us, but could we be caught? We stuck around long enough to time the gap to the fifth-place team at just over five minutes. With 19.4 miles to go that was close!
Jonathan took the baton for the sixth leg and looked to be running well. With Terry in the car, we were now in a position to provide support to Jonathan at various points along the road.
We chose a spot a couple of miles into his leg, and I grabbed a water bottle to hand to him. Remember, I had run nine and a half very hill miles a couple of hours ago and had been cooling off ever since. As Jonathan ran towards me, I tried to run alongside and hand him the water, but my legs were shot. I managed to hold out the bottle, and Jonathan grabbed it form me. As he took a swig, I tried to accelerate to get the bottle back from him, but he was past me and pulling away like a train pulling out of a station. Eventually he realized there was no hope for me and tossed the bottle backwards over his head and continued down the road. I retrieved the bottle and limped back to the car where Kevin and Terry were laughing at me.
We saw Jonathan several more times, and he continued to run well. Even so, the team behind us (we would find out later that their team name was "Tunnel of Pain") had sliced almost a minute and a half from our lead. As Al began the 8.8 mile 7th leg, we had a lead of under four minutes.
The 7th leg is a long, soulless slog from Moultenborough to Meredith along a busy highway facing oncoming traffic. Its final miles feature several "false summits" that fool the runner into thinking he or she is almost done. When the runner finally gives up guessing, there is a final sharp downhill to the exchange zone.
Our runner for the seventh leg was Al Paine, probably the least intimidating human being on the planet. Soft spoken and slight of stature, wearing long shorts that make him look like a high school freshman, Al is, nevertheless, an impressive runner. From time-to-time, Al takes a notion to train for some marathon other. He trains by running and running and running -- twenty mile runs, thirty mile runs, seemingly oblivious to the normal limits of fatigue and attention span. Al seems to have a very high tolerance for discomfort of all sorts, including heat, cold, hunger, thirst, and... traffic.
The runner from "Tunnel of Pain," on the other hand was tall and athletic-looking, sporting short shorts and a singlet that actually fit him (Al's singlet was about three sizes too big). He looked like a ringer, and we were nervous.
Fearing the worst, we drove ahead to offer Al encouragement and time the gap as the race proceeded. In the first few miles, our fears were realized as the athletic-looking guy began to close the gap. At around three miles, our lead was down under three minutes. But we also noticed that athletic-looking guy was straining, fighting, his eyes downcast to the pavement as he encountered each new hill. Al, on the other hand, looked impassive, unperturbed as he shuffled along the highway oblivious to the pickups roaring past. At four miles, Al's lead was still three minutes. Then -- a miracle -- at five and a half, it had grown to 3:15. Al's tortoise was putting time into Tunnel of Pain's hare. By the exchange, Al had regained all of the lost time and hand-off to Andy with a lead of 3:49.
The final leg is only 4.4 miles, but is all hills, the longest one a steady climb of 1.1 miles. We had chosen Andy for this leg because in his youth he had been a "fell runner" in England, that is, a runner who competes in races that consist of running up and down "fells" all day. He embraced the role, and ran a very solid final leg to bring us home in 7:06:19. I took this picture as he crossed the line...
We hung around for a while, watching "Tunnel of Pain" finish a few minutes after us, then a top women's team, and then... no other teams for another half hour. We chatted with the teams who had finished ahead of us, compared notes, ate the cookies and other refreshments provided by the race organizers, saw a few teams finishing at about eight hours, and then got in our cars and headed South.
The early morning drive seemed like it had happened a long time ago. Not much had changed since then, although I was going home with a handsome beer glass -- one of the eight that we had acquired by virtue of our finish as the second master's team. It would have a place of honor alongside the half a dozen similar glasses in my kitchen, the reminders of previous years at the Lake.
My club often competes at this race, and this year we entered a men's over-40 team. One challenge of a stage relay is to find runners who consider it fun to drive for hours, race solo over hilly terrain, perhaps without ever encountering another runner, and then drive for even more hours following their teammates as they slowly advance the baton around the Lake. Our team this year had great enthusiasm for this task, and spirits were high as we all headed for our appointed rendezvous points on the course.
These days, large corporate-sponsored stage relays are becoming a fixture on the New England Road Racing Calendar. Events like "Reach the Beach," the "Green Mountain Relay," and the "Ragnar Relay," are well-organized two-day races that cover up to 200 miles and charge entry fees of over $1000 per team. In spite of this, the races regularly reach their limit of teams.
Unlike these newer events, the Fred Brown Relay is hosted by a local running club (the North Medford Club), charges a modest entry fee ($250 per team this year), and uses actual volunteers to hand time the legs. Traffic control is minimal and runners are mostly on their own.
Not surprisingly, faced with increased competition from the professionally-organized and more heavily-marketed Relays with their spiffy web sites, the Fred Brown Relay has been shrinking in recent years. This year, only 75 teams completed the race around the Lake. Only a week later, 434 teams would finish "Reach the Beach."
If it perishes, many old-timers like me will mourn the Fred Brown Relay and its storied history. That history began not in New Hampshire, but on Cape Cod when the legendary Fred Brown -- a beloved figure in New England Road Racing and a tireless champion of small, local, inexpensive races -- organized an annual relay from Plymouth Rock to Provincetown in the early 1970's. The P-to-P relay, as it was called, was quite an event, and attracted the top club teams in New England, including the BAA, Central Mass Striders, and many others.
Despite its popularity with runners, the P-to-P relay was never embraced by residents of Cape Cod who resented the influx of cars and runners every fall. In the late 80's the race moved to New Hampshire. The relatively flat point-to-point journey to the end of the Cape has become a relentlessly hilly loop that starts and finishes at "Funspot," a roadside attraction and tourist diversion located near the top of a long hill not too far from Weir's Beach. This was the course we were about to tackle.
Mike and Kevin had the early legs, and both set out from Boston before dawn to reach Fun Spot in time for the 8:00 a.m. start. Meanwhile, Terry and I had left Boston later and were headed to Alton Bay and the second exchange point. From there it would get a little complicated. Kevin, running second, would hand-off to me, running third, and then drive with Terry, running fifth, to the start of Terry's leg. Kevin would then backtrack to the end of the third leg, deliver a race number and pins to our fourth runner, Paul, and wait for me to finish. Kevin and I would then drive to the start of the sixth leg, deliver more numbers to Al (running seventh) and Andy (running eighth). We would then backtrack, meet Terry at the end of the fifth leg, and follow the race together after that all the way to the end.
But back to Mike -- Mike would start it all off by running the 10.5-mile first leg, a rolling course that begins with a long downhill into the village of Weir's Beach before climbing nearly 600 feet up to the entrance of the Gunstock Ski Area.
I had run this leg in 2010, and I knew that the final climb -- three miles of relatively steady uphill would be tough. Michael had predicted a time of 67 minutes, based on the distance but not the hills. I thought he did well to finish in 70 minutes, handing off to Kevin at ten past 9:00. Kevin's leg began with two and a half miles of downhill, and I had told him that his stride was perfectly suited for the terrain. It was, but I had somehow failed to mention that after those early downhill miles, there were another 8 more miles to run, including some tough uphill stretches. Kevin ran really well (68 minutes for the 11-mile leg), but had the look of someone on whom a trick has been played as he handed off the baton to me in Alton Bay.
I had told Kevin that I didn't care how fast he ran as long as we had a proper hand-off. It drives me crazy to see receiving runners standing flat-footed as their teammates come barreling into an exchange zone. In such cases, the incoming runner hands off the baton and then runs PAST the outgoing runner, who finally decides to start moving after receiving the baton. I swore this would not happen to us.
Bad: Incoming runner passes outgoing runner... and laughs about it! Do you see think hand-offs are a joke?
As Kevin approached, I extended my hand and started running. The baton never stopped moving, and one respectable hand-off later I was on my way for the dreaded 3rd leg.
Kevin and Jon demonstrate a proper hand-off, gaining precious tenths of a second in this seven-hour race.
The third leg begins in Alton Bay, next to the water and is exceedingly pleasant for about 600 meters. It then heads straight up Bay Hill Road, a steep half mile climb that ends on a barren stretch of highway that has no scenery of any kind for seven miles. I had never run the third leg, but I felt it would be good for me. It wasn't.
I actually felt ok at the start and ran the hill with restraint so that the first several miles on the highway were steady. I managed to catch two runners who had started before me, bringing our team into 4th place overall. We didn't know it at the time, but that's where we would stay for the next 40 miles of racing and that's where we would finish four and a half hours later.
By the last few miles, the constant rolling hills had taken their toll on my legs, and I plodded into the village of Wolfeboro a humbled man.
After handing off to Paul, I walked around a bit drinking water and Gatorade. After 10-15 minutes it was back into the car for the drive to Moultenborough. It was a brilliant late summer day, and after leaving Wolfeboro we found ourselves driving along beautiful back roads with occasional views of the lake to our left and mountains to our right.
While Terry ran the fifth leg, we drove ahead to the start of Leg 7, met Andy and Al, and found out that we had missed Jonathan who had taken the shuttle bus to start of Leg 6 numberless. So it was back in the car, and back to the previous exchange zone to find Jonathan and wait for Terry.
At this point, nearly 5 hours into the race, our team was in fourth and the runners were so spread out that there was essentially no traffic or congestion. As we waited for Terry to arrive at the exchange, we noted the first, second, and third place teams, separated by several minutes each. It was another fifteen minutes before Terry hove into view and passed the baton to Jonathan. There was no chance we would catch any of the teams in front of us, but could we be caught? We stuck around long enough to time the gap to the fifth-place team at just over five minutes. With 19.4 miles to go that was close!
Jonathan took the baton for the sixth leg and looked to be running well. With Terry in the car, we were now in a position to provide support to Jonathan at various points along the road.
We chose a spot a couple of miles into his leg, and I grabbed a water bottle to hand to him. Remember, I had run nine and a half very hill miles a couple of hours ago and had been cooling off ever since. As Jonathan ran towards me, I tried to run alongside and hand him the water, but my legs were shot. I managed to hold out the bottle, and Jonathan grabbed it form me. As he took a swig, I tried to accelerate to get the bottle back from him, but he was past me and pulling away like a train pulling out of a station. Eventually he realized there was no hope for me and tossed the bottle backwards over his head and continued down the road. I retrieved the bottle and limped back to the car where Kevin and Terry were laughing at me.
We saw Jonathan several more times, and he continued to run well. Even so, the team behind us (we would find out later that their team name was "Tunnel of Pain") had sliced almost a minute and a half from our lead. As Al began the 8.8 mile 7th leg, we had a lead of under four minutes.
The 7th leg is a long, soulless slog from Moultenborough to Meredith along a busy highway facing oncoming traffic. Its final miles feature several "false summits" that fool the runner into thinking he or she is almost done. When the runner finally gives up guessing, there is a final sharp downhill to the exchange zone.
Our runner for the seventh leg was Al Paine, probably the least intimidating human being on the planet. Soft spoken and slight of stature, wearing long shorts that make him look like a high school freshman, Al is, nevertheless, an impressive runner. From time-to-time, Al takes a notion to train for some marathon other. He trains by running and running and running -- twenty mile runs, thirty mile runs, seemingly oblivious to the normal limits of fatigue and attention span. Al seems to have a very high tolerance for discomfort of all sorts, including heat, cold, hunger, thirst, and... traffic.
The runner from "Tunnel of Pain," on the other hand was tall and athletic-looking, sporting short shorts and a singlet that actually fit him (Al's singlet was about three sizes too big). He looked like a ringer, and we were nervous.
Fearing the worst, we drove ahead to offer Al encouragement and time the gap as the race proceeded. In the first few miles, our fears were realized as the athletic-looking guy began to close the gap. At around three miles, our lead was down under three minutes. But we also noticed that athletic-looking guy was straining, fighting, his eyes downcast to the pavement as he encountered each new hill. Al, on the other hand, looked impassive, unperturbed as he shuffled along the highway oblivious to the pickups roaring past. At four miles, Al's lead was still three minutes. Then -- a miracle -- at five and a half, it had grown to 3:15. Al's tortoise was putting time into Tunnel of Pain's hare. By the exchange, Al had regained all of the lost time and hand-off to Andy with a lead of 3:49.
The final leg is only 4.4 miles, but is all hills, the longest one a steady climb of 1.1 miles. We had chosen Andy for this leg because in his youth he had been a "fell runner" in England, that is, a runner who competes in races that consist of running up and down "fells" all day. He embraced the role, and ran a very solid final leg to bring us home in 7:06:19. I took this picture as he crossed the line...
We hung around for a while, watching "Tunnel of Pain" finish a few minutes after us, then a top women's team, and then... no other teams for another half hour. We chatted with the teams who had finished ahead of us, compared notes, ate the cookies and other refreshments provided by the race organizers, saw a few teams finishing at about eight hours, and then got in our cars and headed South.
The early morning drive seemed like it had happened a long time ago. Not much had changed since then, although I was going home with a handsome beer glass -- one of the eight that we had acquired by virtue of our finish as the second master's team. It would have a place of honor alongside the half a dozen similar glasses in my kitchen, the reminders of previous years at the Lake.
September 22, 2011
IAAF to Disallow Women's World Records in Mixed Races
Yesterday's NY Times has an article that describes a recent IAAF ruling women's road race performances in mixed-gender races will no longer be considered for world records. Shockingly, the ruling means that Paula Radcliffe's 2:15:25 will no longer be considered the world record, being replaced by her fastest time in a women's only race, 2:17:42 from London 2005.
For Women's World Records, No Men Allowed
This strikes me as a terrible idea. If pacing is an artificial aid to racing performance, then why not ban all pacing, specifically, men pacing men. The gender of the pacers is not relevant; the pacing is.
I once read an essay that decried pacing in track races, arguing that the worst thing that ever happened to Track was Roger Bannister breaking the four-minute mile with substantial pacing assistance from Bannister's teammates Chris Brasher and Chris Chataway. Now, every big meet hires multiple pacemakers to enhance the possibility of records.
Pacing helps. Everyone knows this. It's also a fact that it's much harder to find pacers for women's races. But do these things by themselves mean that men pacing women is fundamentally different than men pacing men?
And what happens if a woman sets a WR record, and then one of the other competitors subsequently fails a "gender test." Does the WR no longer count because it was set in a mixed-gender event?
It seems to me that the IAAF is struggling with the issue of gender in Athletics, but its decisions are increasing, not dispelling the confusion.
For Women's World Records, No Men Allowed
This strikes me as a terrible idea. If pacing is an artificial aid to racing performance, then why not ban all pacing, specifically, men pacing men. The gender of the pacers is not relevant; the pacing is.
I once read an essay that decried pacing in track races, arguing that the worst thing that ever happened to Track was Roger Bannister breaking the four-minute mile with substantial pacing assistance from Bannister's teammates Chris Brasher and Chris Chataway. Now, every big meet hires multiple pacemakers to enhance the possibility of records.
Pacing helps. Everyone knows this. It's also a fact that it's much harder to find pacers for women's races. But do these things by themselves mean that men pacing women is fundamentally different than men pacing men?
And what happens if a woman sets a WR record, and then one of the other competitors subsequently fails a "gender test." Does the WR no longer count because it was set in a mixed-gender event?
It seems to me that the IAAF is struggling with the issue of gender in Athletics, but its decisions are increasing, not dispelling the confusion.
September 18, 2011
Barnicle Runs 1:02:43 at Philly Half
On Sunday, NNHS alum (and former Arkansas and New Mexico athlete) Chris Barnicle ran 1:02:43 to take 13th at Philly Rock and Rock Half-Marathon. That time qualifies him for the 2012 U.S. Olympic Marathon Trials in January. It was Chris' debut at the half-marathon distance.
Also on Sunday, Jess Barton ran 17:19 for 24th woman at the CVS Downtown Pharmacy 5K and 2011 USATF 5k Championships.
With all the early cross-country meets this weekend, I'm sure there were other NNHS alumni results, but I didn't find any in my quick browsing.
Also on Sunday, Jess Barton ran 17:19 for 24th woman at the CVS Downtown Pharmacy 5K and 2011 USATF 5k Championships.
With all the early cross-country meets this weekend, I'm sure there were other NNHS alumni results, but I didn't find any in my quick browsing.
Rupp Runs 26:48 --
Sets Off "Amadeus Effect"
Katerina Cavalieri: What does he look like?
Salieri: Mozart? You might be disappointed.
Katerina Cavalieri: Why?
Salieri: Looks and talent don't always go together, Katerina.
On Friday night in Brussels at the Memorial van Damme meet, Galen Rupp ran 10,000m in 26 minutes and 48 seconds, a personal best by 22 seconds and a new American Record by 11. Rupp's previous best had come in the same 2010 race where Chris Solinsky had become the first American to run under 27 minutes with a performance that sent shock waves through U.S. Distance Running.
In the Brussels race, just as in the 2010 race, Rupp finished third. However, this time he trailed only Kenenisa Bekele and Lucas Rotich, and he beat -- among others -- the 4th fastest man ever at 5000m, Eliud Kipchoge. Watch the video, below, and feel your pulse quicken as Rupp moves into second and pushes the pace with 1200 to go.
As the news of Rupp's AR hit the public square, or at least the message boards of LetsRun.com, there was a strange, but in some ways predictable attempt to diminish Rupp's run. One writer asserted that Solinsky's run had been more impressive; another pointed out that Rupp had never beaten Solinsky in a 10K; still others predicted that Rupp would never win a World Championship or Olympic medal.
Perhaps not, but why all the hate? Why not just keep quiet and let the record stand for itself? What is it about Rupp, in particular, that invites this churlish negativity? I think it might be something I'll call it the "Amadeus Effect."
In the film Amadeus, the composer Antonio Salieri can't reconcile the sublime genius of Mozart's music with the childish bearing of Mozart the man. Salieri, who knows his own mediocrity, takes it as a personal insult that God would bestow his gifts on someone who didn't look and act the part of a great composer.
I suspect that Rupp has a similar effect on those who, while saddled with their own mediocrity, want their running heroes to "look the part" of a great distance runner. For these people, great runners should be tough bad-asses like Steve Prefontaine... or like Chris Solinsky.
Rupp isn't like that. Rupp has always seemed more goofy than tough. The haters have always dismissed Rupp for his "privileged" athletic pedigree, his breathe-right nose strips, his pollen masks, and his generally well-adjusted demeanor. When he was beaten at Footlockers by Matt Withrow, he was derided as "the rich kid with the altitude tent and the private coach."
But -- unlike Withrow and so many others -- Rupp has gotten better and better. He won NCAA Titles in XC and Track. He won national titles. He now has American Records for 10000m outdoors and 5000m indoors. He is a legitimate medal contender for next year's Olympic Games.
The comparison with Mozart isn't exact. The implication of "Amadeus" is that Mozart didn't have to work at being great, while Rupp has worked extraordinarily hard for the last decade to be where he is. But the Salieris of the world still find it hard to accept that someone who runs 26:48 seems like a little kid with funny hair, and easy smile, and a can of grape soda in his hand.
Salieri: Mozart? You might be disappointed.
Katerina Cavalieri: Why?
Salieri: Looks and talent don't always go together, Katerina.
On Friday night in Brussels at the Memorial van Damme meet, Galen Rupp ran 10,000m in 26 minutes and 48 seconds, a personal best by 22 seconds and a new American Record by 11. Rupp's previous best had come in the same 2010 race where Chris Solinsky had become the first American to run under 27 minutes with a performance that sent shock waves through U.S. Distance Running.
In the Brussels race, just as in the 2010 race, Rupp finished third. However, this time he trailed only Kenenisa Bekele and Lucas Rotich, and he beat -- among others -- the 4th fastest man ever at 5000m, Eliud Kipchoge. Watch the video, below, and feel your pulse quicken as Rupp moves into second and pushes the pace with 1200 to go.
As the news of Rupp's AR hit the public square, or at least the message boards of LetsRun.com, there was a strange, but in some ways predictable attempt to diminish Rupp's run. One writer asserted that Solinsky's run had been more impressive; another pointed out that Rupp had never beaten Solinsky in a 10K; still others predicted that Rupp would never win a World Championship or Olympic medal.
Perhaps not, but why all the hate? Why not just keep quiet and let the record stand for itself? What is it about Rupp, in particular, that invites this churlish negativity? I think it might be something I'll call it the "Amadeus Effect."
In the film Amadeus, the composer Antonio Salieri can't reconcile the sublime genius of Mozart's music with the childish bearing of Mozart the man. Salieri, who knows his own mediocrity, takes it as a personal insult that God would bestow his gifts on someone who didn't look and act the part of a great composer.
I suspect that Rupp has a similar effect on those who, while saddled with their own mediocrity, want their running heroes to "look the part" of a great distance runner. For these people, great runners should be tough bad-asses like Steve Prefontaine... or like Chris Solinsky.
Rupp isn't like that. Rupp has always seemed more goofy than tough. The haters have always dismissed Rupp for his "privileged" athletic pedigree, his breathe-right nose strips, his pollen masks, and his generally well-adjusted demeanor. When he was beaten at Footlockers by Matt Withrow, he was derided as "the rich kid with the altitude tent and the private coach."
But -- unlike Withrow and so many others -- Rupp has gotten better and better. He won NCAA Titles in XC and Track. He won national titles. He now has American Records for 10000m outdoors and 5000m indoors. He is a legitimate medal contender for next year's Olympic Games.
The comparison with Mozart isn't exact. The implication of "Amadeus" is that Mozart didn't have to work at being great, while Rupp has worked extraordinarily hard for the last decade to be where he is. But the Salieris of the world still find it hard to accept that someone who runs 26:48 seems like a little kid with funny hair, and easy smile, and a can of grape soda in his hand.
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