We were called to our starting lines and asked to remain still while we were introduced to the crowd and the several billion people watching this race at home on their televisions. I tried to ignore that last part. I had spoken to Jeff about how to deal with the thought that half the world would be watching me run this race, and he suggested that I just try to look like the guy who is having the most fun out there. Whether I won or lost, if I was the guy having the most fun, then who could say I had failed?
When I heard my name blare over the speakers I raised my hands, waved to the crowd and smiled as wide as I could. To my surprise, I was having fun.
My smile vanished when the last name was called. I knew I had only a few seconds before I ran the most important race of my life and I need to get mentally ready. I closed my eyes and took several deep breaths to calm myself.
“On your marks.”
We took our starting positions. The loud bang of the starter’s gun set us free and was followed by a deafening roar from the crowd. I worked hard to get off the starting line, pumping my arms and legs. Fast but, relaxed.
As we came off the curve I saw Rudisha working hard to get to the front of the pack. Several people were there with him, trying their best to beat him to the second turn. I was content to run my own pace in the back of the pack, allowing the race to unfold exactly as I expected.
Rudisha hit the 200 meter mark first and his time of 23 mid flashed on the clock. I was 10 meters behind him, bringing up the rear of the pack and hit 24 seconds, just as Coach Rowland had instructed me to do.
Typically, at this point in the race, the pace slows down and the pack bunches up. However, Rudisha knew he needed to distance himself from anyone who might be able to out kick him, so he kept the pace honest. As we came down the homestretch the race continued to string out. I could see Rudisha’s time pop up on the clock as he passed through the first lap in a time of 49.28. It was about a half second slower then I had expected him to run, but still well under world-record pace. There were still several people hot on his heels. None of them can run that pace except Rudisha! I thought this as I came through in the back of the pack in 50 seconds even.
Just ahead of me, running in the outside of lane one, was my com-patriot. Duane Solomon. Seeing him moving well in the pack in his bright red Team USA singlet lit a fire inside me. I accelerated a little to close the gap that had formed between Andrew Osagie and me. I gained a half step, and tucked in on the rail behind Osagie. I wanted to go by him, but we were still moving so fast, and in reality, I was doing everything I could just to maintain contact with the pack.
As we hit the final curve I saw Rudisha start to pull away from the field. He was clearly going to win this race, but had he taken enough kick out of the rest of the field for me to snag the silver? With only 120 meters to go I started to find out.
As we came off the final turn I pulled up even with Osagie and began to kick for the finish line. I looked along lane one and saw a mass of runners all lined up like low hanging fruit. They were losing their form, flailing, trying to reach the finish line as best they could as the lactic acid gripped their muscles.
I put my head down and drove for the finish line as hard as I ever had before. I could see and feel the runners coming back to me. There were only 50 meters left in the race and I wondered if I had enough room to make it all the way up to second place.
I passed Abubaker Kaki of Sudan, who had been the favorite for the silver. In a few more steps I passed Mohammed Aman of Ethiopia, the only person to have beaten Rudisha in the last few years. Clearly, they had gone out to beat Rudisha and were now paying for it. But where was everyone else? Why wasn’t everyone else dying a similar death? I kept driving for the line despite my own muscles becoming paralyzed with fatigue.
Duane Solomon was just steps ahead of me and I lunged at the line to try to beat him. I was unable to do so, however. As soon as I crossed the line I collapsed, hands on my knees, trying to breathe and keep from falling to the ground. I had finished in the middle of the pack, my Olympic dreams once again crushed. Not only that, but I had failed to even be the fastest American of the night.
I looked up at the video board and saw that I had finished fifth. I also saw that David Rudisha had just run a new world record. Shows what I know, I thought as I recalled that I had told the media a new world record was all but impossible here. I felt my lower lip quivering and was moments away from bursting into tears, when I saw the rest of the field’s times come up. In fifth place, it read with a time of 1:42.95.
Olympic f*****g Games and they can’t even get the times right. I kept staring at the board waiting for them to correct the time. Ten seconds passed and it remained the same. I walked around to congratulate the other runners, stealing glances at the video board all the while to find out what my actual time had been. When a minute passed and the time remained the same I began to wonder if I had actually broken 1:43, a feat that only one American had ever done before tonight. Did I seriously just run 1:42.95? As I watched Rudisha take his victory lap I began to understand the depth and magnitude of what had happened. A world record had just been set. Seven of the eight competitors in the race had just set personal bests. And, two Americans had just joined the sub 1:43 club along with American record holder Johnny Gray.
To give you some idea of the depth of that race, my time of 1:42.95 would have been fast enough to win a medal in every single Olympic Games ever contested except this one, where it was only good enough for fifth. I shook my head with disbelief. It’s very difficult for me to describe the range of emotion I felt at that exact moment. The feeling that stands out most in my mind, though, was frustration and concern that despite all I had accomplished I would forever be remembered as a guy who couldn’t bring home the hardware.
I was overwhelmed with disappointment, knowing I would have to wait four more years for another run at an Olympic medal and twelve more months for a shot at a World Championship medal. However, I had just taken almost a full second off my personal best for 800 meters. I had brought the best product of my life, at the biggest stage our sport has to offer. Certainly, that was something I could be proud of. I tried to focus on that point as I walked off the track and into the mixed zone, where I was bombarded with questions.
I did my best to talk about my own race, about how it felt to run such a fast time but leave empty handed. To be honest, I was in a state of disbelief at how it had all gone down. I answered the questions as best I could, and then began to walk toward the warm-up track, shaking my head the entire time. How could this have happened?
I had hit the splits that Coach Rowland had given me to the tenth of a second. I had even found an extra few hundredths in the final steps, and still it was only good enough for fifth place. When I exited the tunnel that brought me back to the warm-up track I saw Coach Rowland who had the same look of disbelief on his face. I walked up to his outstretch hand and shook it. We stared at each other, both looking like we had just seen a talking dog.
He brought me in for a hug, and said, “I am so proud of you.” As he let go of me he said he was honored to be my coach and to have been a part of that historical race. With tears in my eyes I told him I was disappointed, but so grateful to have been part of the race, too. “I never would have been on that starting line without your wisdom and guidance, Coach”
Coach Sam came over with a big smile on his face. He, too, gave me a big hug and said he was proud of me. The three of us walked around the track replaying the race. We all agreed that I had done everything I could to win a medal; it just wasn’t in the cards for me that night. Coach Rowland assured me that I had nothing to be ashamed of and that we should enjoy the night, celebrate all that we had accomplished. With that I set off on a cool down and did my best to try to push my feelings of disappointment aside
Try as I might, I was still in a state of shock as Coach Sam and I finally exited the warm-up track. My parents had told Sam where they would be waiting when I was ready to see every
one. As we walked toward the restaurant where they were, I did my best to set my feelings of disappointment aside. There would be plenty of time to deal with those emotions later, but right now I wanted to enjoy some time with my family and friends who had traveled all the way to London to support me. When we got to the restaurant I was led upstairs to a loft, where I found close to thirty of the people I love most in this world waiting for me.
As soon as I got there everyone jumped up and applauded. I blushed, and first walked to my mom to give her a hug. I then hugged Lauren and my dad, and made the rounds as I greeted everyone and thanked them for being there. We spent the next few hours catching up, drinking beer, taking pictures, and laughing. Later that evening I looked around and realized that even without a medal I was one of the most fortunate people on planet earth.
The party spilled out of the restaurant and into the casino that had been set up adjacent to the athlete’s village. We kept the party rolling with champagne and gambling until sunrise, at which point I said good-bye and walked back to my room. I quickly passed out and slept away most of the next day.
When I woke up I felt tired, achy, and overwhelmed by disappointment. But, I rounded up a few friends and went to dinner. They had all finished competing as well, and we started talking about possible parties we could attend that night. One of my good friends and teammates at OTCE was an Irish lad by the name of Ciarán O’Lionáird. He told me that a professional Irish soccer player had rented out the VIP lounge of a club in Leister Square. The footballer was a friend of his and Ciarán thought he could get me in.
That sounded exactly like the kind of party I needed to take my mind off the disappointment I felt. We all got ready for the night and started walking to the Underground station located just outside the village. As we walked, I got a text from a friend who asked what my plans were. This wasn’t just any friend, though, this was a beautiful new Swiss friend I had met a few weeks earlier at the Monaco Diamond League meeting. Her name was Rachel. She worked for the IAAF, and she and I had conversed throughout the Games. Now that the business side of the trip was over I was free to meet up with her. I texted the address of the club to her, and added that I really hoped she would join me there.
As soon as Ciarán and I walked into the club we were led to a private VIP lounge that was overflowing with athletes and liquor. On each table were giant bottles of vodka next to ice buckets full of various juices and energy drinks. I made a strong Red Bull and vodka, and drank it in a matter of seconds. I then had another. Between drinks I checked my phone for a message from Rachel. The alcohol and lack of communication from her were rapidly depressing me. Finally, a text came with the information that Rachel was outside the club. I excused myself from the group and went to bring Rachel and one of her friends in. The bouncer had not wanted to let them in, so I looked at him and said with a cocky American smile, “Don’t worry, they’re with me.”
“So?” That was the extent of his response. I frowned, and realized that the “they are with me” line was probably never going to work for me.I quickly gave the bouncer the name of the soccer player instead. That worked much better and I was soon escorting the girls back to the VIP lounge.
Rachel and I danced until staff at the club told us it was time to get out. I took her hand and led her out into the busy London streets. We walked for a bit and then caught a cab back to the apartment she was staying in for the duration of the Games. I escorted her upstairs and spent the rest of the night with her. When I awoke the next morning I propped myself up on my elbow and admired the beautiful girl sleeping next to me. I moved close to wrap my body around hers and as she leaned into me I could feel some of the disappointment from my Olympic Games experiences melt away.
That incredible night ended my Olympic Games dry streak, though I still have yet to hook up in the actual athletes village. I am convinced, however, that there is not actually that much sex taking place in the village. The layout and logistics simply don’t allow for it!
There was a rumor started during the 2004 Olympic Games that athletes were hooking up like rabbits. Apparently, a bowl of several thousand condoms had been set out somewhere in that Olympic Village. The condoms disappeared within hours, which led the media to speculate on the wild times that must be going on behind the fences of the athlete village.
Once, at dinner with some veterans who had been a part of those Games, I asked the table about the rumors. One of New Zealand’s greatest runners ever let out a loud laugh as soon as I brought it up. He confessed that he and several friends had emptied the bowl of condoms into their backpacks, simply to get people talking.
18
The next morning I returned to the athlete village from my night out in London. There were only a few hours left in the 2012 Olympic Games and I spent most of them sleeping, eating, or enjoying the view from my balcony. As I sat on the balcony and felt the warm afternoon breeze blow through the village I wondered what the rest of the 2012 season had in store for me. I certainly didn’t feel like racing anymore that year.
However, I was in the shape of my life and felt I might as well make some use of that. My mind drifted to other athletic challenges that I had fantasized about tackling: climbing mountains, biking across America, etcetera. But given my race fitness, and my desire to drink more beer, nothing seemed quite as appropriate as the beer mile.
Every year, at universities throughout the United States, incredibly fit and thirsty athletes sneak onto their school’s tracks to compete in something known as the beer mile. This event is a time-honored tradition among distance runners. It requires each competitor to chug a beer, and then run a lap of a full sized track. Each competitor does this four times for a total of one mile––and forty-eight ounces of beer. Official rules dictate that each runner must drink the beer from an unmodified can or bottle, and that the beer must be 5.0 percent alcohol or higher. Throwing up is not allowed, and usually results in a lap penalty or disqualification.
In college I was able to run a beer mile in 5:31. Now, that mark, according to BeerMile.com, was an American record that still stood. Though the amount of beer I consumed weekly had gone down significantly since college, so had my personal best in the mile. At the end of each professional season, I found myself wondering what I could run a beer mile in now, considering I was a professional athlete. Could I improve on my American record, or could I possibly even run a new world record? Was a crack of the elusive five-minute mark out of the realm of possibility?
The current world record was held by an Australian who claimed to have run 5:09. I had eyed this record for some time and felt that the end of the 2012 season was the perfect time to break it. I had discussed the possibility of running a very public beer mile with my agent for years, but he always cautioned me against it, for fear it might upset my fans, or worse, my sponsors. I had always listened to him.
However, as I sat on that balcony in the Olympic village I felt that the time to run one had finally come. I had just devoted four years of my life to running well at the London Games. I had set a huge personal best in the final and represented my country well. Surely, after four years of hard work and sacrifice, people would understand my need to have a little fun.
The marketing gears in my mind began to turn and I started composing an email to seek corporate support. I sent the email to many breweries, but only heard back from one, Pabst Brewing Company. It seemed very fitting that the blue ribbon of beer would be interested in supporting an athlete in a race for a record. The email I sent them went as follows:
Hello,
My name is Nick Symmonds. I am writing this from the Olympic Park in London where I recently competed for the United States of America in the 800m. I finished fifth in the world record-setting race. Though I did not win a medal, I have my sights set on another goal that I am 100 percent sure I can achieve: The world record in the beer mile. If you are not familiar with this event a very quick summary is that the runner drinks four beers and runs four laps of the track as
quickly as possible. I am currently the American record holder in this event. I set this time seven years ago and am sure that I can beat the world record of 5:09.
The reason I am writing is because I will make my world record attempt as soon as I get back to the states. I am wondering if Pabst would be interested in being a part of this world record run. What I propose is that I will drink your product in the race. I will also mention prior to the event that I would only choose Pabst for an event like this, as it is the finest beer in the world.
I have a marketing team and a publicist that will assist me in making sure this video goes viral once it is posted to YouTube.
To be the official partner of this world record run I ask that we enter into a contract where I am paid a few pennies for each view on YouTube. If this is something your company would be interested in, please contact me via email.
Thank you so much for your time.
Nick Symmonds
nicksymmonds.com
@nicksymmonds
Within several days I had a response.
Nick,
Thanks for reaching out. This could be a lot of fun and certainly warrants more of a discussion. Are you free for a call on Wednesday or Thursday?
Best,
John
I thanked John for getting back to me and we set out to find a time when we could chat. Unfortunately, not long after, I received this email from John:
Nick,
I had a long conversation with legal about supporting the mile. Unfortunately there are too many issues––primarily promoting excessive drinking––that we have to deal with for it to make sense. We do wish you the best of luck in breaking the world record!
Life Outside the Oval Office: The Track Less Traveled Page 20