Best,
John
Millions of people drink four or more beers on a regular basis, but I understood why the people at Pabst were hesitant. Free from legal constraints, I decided to go it alone and enjoy the freedom that comes with not being obliged to work with a corporate marketing team. I enjoyed my last few hours in London and then hopped on a flight home. My world record attempt would take place, in Track Town, USA.
Sitting in my kitchen with my roommate at the time, Steve Finley, I started chugging beers while he timed me. I knew from years past that it was almost impossible to pour a beer out of an unmodified wide mouth can or bottle faster than eight seconds, so this was the time I aimed for. I found that I could drink a full beer in eight seconds pretty easily, but putting four back to back was extremely difficult.
While I knew I wasn’t going to have corporate support for this world record attempt, I set about making sure that my brand got as much out of it as possible. I took the idea to a friend who happened to work at TMZ, the celebrity gossip and entertainment news source in Los Angeles. I asked my friend if she was interested in covering a story like this. “If you film it and give us exclusive access to the content,” she said, “then yes, we would be very interested.” It seemed like all of the pieces were coming into place. Now all I had to do was keep training. I cracked another beer.
I decided to make the attempt later that week. I called my agent and explained that I was going to run a beer mile, and that I would film it and put it on the Internet. Chris said it was probably the best time for me to do it, if I was ever going to get away with it. He also wanted to know what I was going to wear for the attempt. I decided to leave that up to my apparel sponsor, Nike, and sent the following email to the representative I worked most closely with:
Hi Buddy!
How are you man? Are you still in Europe or back in OR? I am back in Eugene and preparing for my final event of the season. I’m taking a run at the world record in the beer mile later this week. Kind of a fun way to end the season and as the American record holder in this event I think I would be doing my country a disservice if I didn’t try to bring the world record back to America! Out of respect for my partnership with Nike I want to first ask what Nike would like me to wear for this attempt. Official WR is 5:09...I think I can go sub 5!
Nick
I waited several days to hear back from him, but received nothing. Operating on the idea that no answer was a sure sign of support, I decided to run the race in a plain cut-off, dry-fit top and half tights that Nike manufactured.
On a gorgeous Oregon afternoon, my roommate Steve and I sent out a few texts alerting our friends in town what was going down and asking them to come out and support us. I went to the fridge, grabbed four Coors Original and threw them into my backpack along with my Nike Victory Elite spikes. I had considered drinking PBR as a thank you to Pabst for at least responding to my emails, but ultimately went with Coors as I am, at heart, still a boy from the Rocky Mountains.
Steve and I rolled up to South Eugene High School with a few friends, but there was a peewee football practice taking place on the infield. I was sure it was unwise to binge drink near a group of eight year olds, so we changed the venue to a nearby track at Lane Community College.
Once there, we filmed a quick “don’t-try-this-at-home” intro for our film. “I’m twenty eight. Don’t do this if you’re not twenty-one. I’ve got a designated driver . . . so have fun, be safe. Beer mile; a fun way to end the season,” I said as I smiled into the camera. With that in the can I threw my backpack over my shoulders and set off on a jog down to the track. Immediately, I regretted my decision to do so. Even though I had jogged to a track hundreds of times before, I had never done so with four beers in my backpack. I suddenly realized I had just shaken the hell out of my race brews. As if taking four fragile eggs out of my bag, I removed them one by one and set them to settle on a shady part of the track while I continued my warm up.
By the time I was good and warm, close to fifty people were on the track to cheer me on. I set the stage, alerting them to what the current world and American records were. I then walked to the starting line where Steve was waiting. He was going to be the official timer for the event. I reached down and grabbed one of the beers. With a loud crack, I opened the first one and Steve started the stopwatch.
Despite the fact that the beer was warm and heavy on the foam, I gulped it down in eight seconds, tossed the empty can aside, and took off.
Chugging beer is hard and running is hard, and doing the two together is almost impossible. Most people assume the alcohol is what makes the beer mile so challenging. However, the beer is not in one’s stomach long enough for a runner to experience any effect from the alcohol. What stops a runner in their tracks is the volume and, to an even greater extent, the carbonation. With each successive beer there is less room in the stomach for the beer to go. An ever-increasing amount of time in the exchange zone is spent chugging, burping, and trying to breathe. One ends up looking something like a pug dog being water-boarded.
Once the beer has been consumed, the athlete can start running again, but the first 100 meters are typically at a jog as one tries to burp out as much of the carbonation as possible. Running only furthers the problem, as it shakes up beer that is in an already aching gut. I have run hundreds, if not thousands of races and can honestly say that none are as uniquely painful as the beer mile.
Though my first beer and lap were fantastic, the pace and volume got to me quickly. By the fourth beer I knew the world record was unlikely to fall, but pressed on in hopes of improving my American record. I took off on the last lap not completely sure I would be able to finish, but managed to close that last lap in 57 seconds. My final time of 5:19 was far from my goal of 4:59, but it was a major improvement on my personal best, and brought me within ten seconds of the current world record.
I stumbled across the infield doing everything I could to keep from throwing up. One friend ran over with the camera and asked, “How you feeling man?” Gasping for air I responded, “I feel tired, I feel full of beer. Not inebriated by any means yet, but 5:19 is a good first mark. I’ve got some training to do.” Though I was disappointed in the attempt, I learned a lot from it and knew where I could improve.
I managed to keep the beers down, and found the adrenaline in my system kept me pretty sharp at first. However, as it wore off and the alcohol flooded into my system, I went from sober to drunk in a matter of minutes. As my words began to slur together, I thanked everyone for coming and asked them to join me for burgers at a local restaurant.
The reception from the public to the video was outstanding. True to her word, my friend at TMZ pushed the video out via their media channels and my video soon had more than 87,000 views. To give a perspective, the most watched video of my 2012 win at the Olympic Trials had around eighty thousand views. The public had shown that they would rather watch me stumble around a track getting drunk than make an Olympic team.
Another plus was that my following on Twitter shot up another few thousand, and I was asked to talk about the race in various interviews. My agent even received the following email from the Oregon Sales Manager at Coors:
Be glad to hook Nick up with some cases of rocky mountain legend -Coors Banquet!
The free beer and publicity made the event totally worthwhile––as did the response I got from my fans. I became known as the beer miler, and not a week went by when I wasn’t asked by a college team to join them for their beer mile at the end of the season.
The take away I gained from the experience is that running needs to be fun, and it needs to be relatable. If I told someone I ran a mile in 5:19 they probably wouldn’t care at all. Heck, if I told them I’ve run a mile in 3:56 I doubt they would care much. However, when I tell someone I drank four beers in 5:19 they are impressed. When I tell them I ran a mile while doing so they stare at me in disbelief, until I direct them to the YouTube video.
In a society that doesn�
��t really appreciate the subtle nuances of distance running, we must do a better job at giving the average fan something they can relate to and enjoy. I have argued for years that the way we force feed our boring track meets to fans is not working. The loss of sponsors and lower ticket sales is proof of this. While I am not necessarily suggesting we add the beer mile to professional track and field meetings, there do need to be some changes. I have argued for shorter meets where alcohol and betting are allowed on site. These are not original ideas, but things European meet directors have been doing for decades––with much success.
The beer mile also allowed me to connect with fans that I wouldn’t normally have connected with. As a sport, those responsible for the future of track and field need to be more concerned with connecting with the average fan and growing the sport tomorrow. Unfortunately, what I too often have witnessed from the USATF and IAAF are people who are more concerned with how they are going to pad their own pockets today, than how they can bring the product of professional track and field into tomorrow.
19
The beer mile, though quite painful, had been a fun way for me to say goodbye to the 2012 season. I took a few more weeks off after it and went on vacation to visit friends. Several dozen more beers and fish later I was starting to get over the pain of not medaling in London. It still stung whenever I thought about the fact that my time would have won an Olympic medal in every other Olympic Games, but I tried to remind myself that I was quite fortunate just to have been a part of that race, to have been a part of history.
One sunny fall morning in October I woke up and looked out my window at the Willamette River Valley. The air was crisp and the leaves were just starting to change color. I recalled a time when these things signaled the start of cross-country season, but those days were far behind me. Now when I smelled winter in the air it made me think of base training.
I went down to my basement where dozens of boxes of Nike gear had accumulated over the years and dug around until I found a new pair of my favorite trainers. Taking them out of the box I held one up to my nose and breathed deeply, smelling that sweet new shoe aroma. I took my time lacing them up and then jogged a few steps in place to see how they fit. The shoes felt amazing, but my body felt heavy and flat. I knew it would be a long road back to being race ready, but I had time to prepare.
I set out onto Pre’s trail, the six mile bark chip loop that runs through Eugene, to log my first four miles of the 2013 season. As I clicked off those first slow, painful miles, I reminded myself that often there is a slight pull back in the times being run after an Olympic year. Perhaps people are tired, perhaps they are injured, or perhaps they are coming off of their drug cycle, I don’t know. But whatever it was, the year following an Olympic Games can be full of surprises. I kept this thought in the back of my head the entire fall as I logged mile after mile.
As the weather turned from crisp to damn cold, I made the decision to once again fly south for the winter. A good friend, 2012 Olympic 1500 meter silver medalist, Leo Manzano, had told me about a city in central Mexico that he liked to train at called San Luis Potosi. This industrial city located at an elevation of six thousand feet has a topnotch training center called La Loma Centro Deportivo. Some of the world’s best endurance athletes, including swimmer Michael Phelps, have called La Loma home at some point in their career. I was excited to see what this city had to offer, and to continue to work on my Spanish.
I booked a five-week stay at an apartment near La Loma with Leo and his training partner, Duncan Phillips. This brought me back to my favorite type of training, in the mountains, distraction free. For several weeks I pushed the training hard, and spent all of my non-running hours eating tacos and studying Spanish.
The trip to San Luis Potosi primed my system for the hard spring training that was to come. I returned to Eugene feeling fit and was able to crush my workouts. I set off for altitude again in March, this time to Flagstaff, Arizona for a month at seven thousand feet. Never before had I doubled down on my time at altitude and I was excited to see how my body benefited from it.
The hundreds of miles I had logged, and all the red blood cells I accumulated at altitude, had left my body strong and lean, but not particularly explosive. To race the 800 the right way an athlete needs to have a perfect combination of speed and strength. Although I was as strong as ever, I lacked a lot of the speed work and approached Coach Rowland with my concern.
I told him I was nervous that I wouldn’t be ready to defend my national title at the USATF Championships in June. In his wise, heavily accented voice, he replied, “You may not win USA’s this year, but you will make the team and will go on to win a medal at Worlds in August.”
I was the five-time defending USATF Champion at 800 meters and the thought of not defending my title killed me. I thought back to how well Coach Rowland had prepared me for the London Games, and knew he was right. I decided not to question his plan and once again put my faith in him.
The USA Championships were held in Des Moines, Iowa that year and very few of us on the Oregon Track Club Elite were excited about racing there. In my experience, Des Moines in the summer is hot and humid, and the city struggles to fill Drake Stadium. The fans that do make it out are enthusiastic, however, and I wanted to impress them with my sixth straight win.
Once there, I found that my old rival, Duane Solomon, was intent on stopping me. We both advanced through the rounds easily and met on a hot, Sunday afternoon to see who would be the new champion. As always, Duane took the lead early on and set a very fast pace.
I found myself in the back of the pack after 200 meters. As the pace slowed I desperately wanted to move up, but was boxed in. I held back and tried to be patient. With only 300 meters to go I finally managed to break free and strode out to chase Duane down. I made up much ground going from eighth to second place in only a few strides. However, it was too little too late. Duane threw up his arms as he crossed the line in first, and I was only a stride or two behind him in second. Just behind me was hurdler turned half-miler, Brandon Johnson, who finished third to make his first world championship team.
I congratulated them both and then looked at the scoreboard to see the times. Duane had run a world leading 1:43.27 to beat me. My time of 1:43.70 was my second fastest time ever. Brandon had run a huge personal best, too, of 1:43.97. I was shocked that it had taken a sub 1:44 performance to make the USA Team. It was a testament to how far we had come as a country in this event in just a few short years.
We received our medals and then headed for the mixed zone to speak with reporters. I swallowed my pride and congratulated Duane. To minimize the emotional pain I felt I told the reporters what Coach Rowland had said about possibly losing USA’s so as to be ready to win a medal at the world championships six weeks later. As I said it I realized I was placing a great deal of pressure on both Coach Rowland and me to perform, but knew that we both responded well to pressure.
On the other side of the mixed zone I found Coach Sam and Coach Rowland, and we discussed how the race unfolded and where I had made mistakes. Happy that I was on the team and headed to Moscow, we gathered up the rest of the Oregon Track Club Elite and went out for burgers and beers.
As the summer season continued it seemed that Coach Rowland’s prediction was becoming more possible. From Des Moines I flew to Edmonton, Canada where I beat Duane for the win. I then beat him again at the London Diamond League meeting, the final stop before the world championships. As Coach Rowland, Coach Sam, and I boarded the plane from London to Moscow there was a new sense of excitement that we had never felt before going to a World Championship.
In previous years I had been ranked in the top ten going into Worlds, but never higher than fifth or sixth. This time I was in the top three. Duane still had the world leading time, but I had defeated him in our last two meetings. Mohammed Aman of Ethiopia, rounded out the top three and was (to some) the favorite, as he had not lost an outdoor race this year. I stepped onto the plane knowin
g if I failed to medal in Moscow, I would probably never win a world championship medal at all.
We touched down in Moscow later that afternoon and watched the sun set over a dense Russian forest as we rode into town. I was reminded of the time I visited here during my first season overseas, back in 2006. I smiled as I thought of those days when I had come to Moscow from Spain, after two weeks of living in a hostel and getting drunk every night. I had come a long way in seven short years.
I looked down at my body and recognized how much it had changed, too. Even though I did very well in collegiate sports, I had come out of college overweight and rather unathletic. The years of hard work by Coach Frank Gagliano, Coach Mark Rowland, and Coach Jimmy Radcliffe had transformed my body into an oval-running machine. I could feel each sinewy muscle of my legs and shook my head at the thought of the thousands of miles I had logged to make them that way. Don’t waste this opportunity, I said over and over again.
We settled into our hotel and tried to get some rest. I was pleasantly surprised to find that USATF had given me a room to myself. Typically, only defending medalists get this luxury, but due to a mix up there had been an extra single occupancy room and someone made the call to give it to me. When they told me this I joked that perhaps they had pre-emptively given me the room because they were so confident that I would finally make the podium.
Though I do view USATF to be incompetent as an organization, I would be remiss if I didn’t mention that there are some amazing and competent individuals who work there. Many of these hard working men and women have helped me immensely at various world championships, and for that I will always be grateful.
That first night I unloaded my suitcase, took a hot shower and, tired from the travel, settled into bed. I called my parents and my sister, who were back in the States packing their bags. They did not want to miss this race. The second night, however, I felt anxious and nervous and needed something, or rather, someone, to take my mind off the competition that would begin in a few short days.
Life Outside the Oval Office: The Track Less Traveled Page 21
