The Running Man

You really should read this story about Meb, the American who recently won the NY City Marathon. Very inspiring story!

When Meb Keflezighi finished the New York City Marathon in two hours, nine minutes and 15 seconds the morning after Halloween, he became the first American to win the race in 27 years. But some spectators apparently missed the three red letters on his chest as he burst through the tape. Keflezighi is only "technically American," argued CNBC sports writer Darren Rovell. He's "like a ringer who you hire to work a couple hours at your office so that you can win the executive softball league."

Though Mr. Rovell has since backtracked, nobody recalls similar comments about Alberto Salazar, the Cuban-born American who won in 1982. And if Meb's name was Joe Smith and he was born in England rather than Eritrea, few would have questioned his national identity.

When I meet Meb the morning after his appearance on the David Letterman show—almost as great as winning the race, he quips—he is unbothered by the debate raging on the Web about his American-ness. "What's the list of things you need to be an American?" he asks rhetorically. "You live here, you pay taxes, you live by the American way. I've been here for 22 years. I'm as American as you can get."

As for wearing the USA tank top: "What a beautiful day to wear it on. In New York, to win my first marathon in that jersey—it just gave me great pride."

Talking to the 5-foot-6-inch athlete as he is massaged, iced, stretched and bent by his physical therapist on the Upper West Side, I could easily forget that he is one of the fastest men in the world. Unlike so many other professional athletes—huge in ego and stature—Meb is modest in both.

Which is not to say the 34-year-old isn't thrilled about winning his first marathon. "My email is full, my texting is full, my voicemail is full," he tells me with an incredulous smile. "I was kind of late coming here because for the first time since I got to New York I went to the breakfast place at the Hilton. And it was nonstop: 'You're not leaving 'til I get this picture,' or 'I need your autograph.'"
Yet he's quick to add: "It's a big honor. With fame and with winning comes responsibility." Meb doesn't see the need to be a role model as a choice: "You have to. People are following you whether you like it or not."

It's almost too convenient to chalk up Meb's character to his upbringing. Nevertheless, like so many other immigrant success stories, understanding Meb's parents and their values is essential to understanding who he is. He puts it simply: "They molded me."

Born in 1975, Mebrahtom (his full name means "let there be light") grew up in an Eritrean village with no electricity and no running water. Besides poverty, Meb's parents, Russom and Awetash, feared for their family's safety because of Russom's involvement with the Eritrean Liberation Movement and because of the ongoing war with Ethiopia. Meb's father decided to flee. "He walked all the way"—60 miles—to Sudan, Meb says. Russom eventually made his way to Milan, Italy, where he worked to raise the money to bring his family out of East Africa.

On Oct. 21, 1987, a date that rolls off Meb's tongue, the family immigrated to San Diego as refugees with the help of the Red Cross and the sponsorship of Meb's half-sister, Ruth. "Dad used to wake up at 4 a.m. so we could learn English," Meb says. "He worked as a taxi driver and worked in restaurants to be able to feed the family."

Meb adds, "You start on the bottom, work hard, and your dreams will come true—and that's what happened. We have a very successful family because my parents always emphasized using the opportunity you have to the maximum: 'There are a lot of people that don't have this opportunity, so make sure you use it.' That stuck in our head."
They stressed school to their 11 children. "Sports was not in our blood or in our family," Meb says. "So it was 'Do what you can and work hard. Your teachers are your parents when you are at school. They want the best for you, so make sure you listen to them."

Meb's oldest brother, Fitsum, was the trailblazer. He started ninth grade not knowing a word of English. By the end of the year, he won the top academic prize. The Keflezighis still have the tiny trophy 22 years later.

That ethic was key to Meb's success. "When I started running for the first time—seventh grade—I wanted to get that A, just like my parents taught me."
Meb had never run in his native country and had no concept of running as a sport. But his family's San Diego apartment was down the road from Morley Field where the national Foot Locker high school championship is held. "When I saw them running, the high school champions, I was like 'What are these crazy people running for?' They're not chasing a soccer ball or anything else."

Meb's two older brothers decided to take up the sport, he says, and "I just followed in their footsteps." At 12, he ran his first mile. He clocked in at five minutes and 20 seconds—with no training. Dick Lord, the PE teacher at Roosevelt Junior High, called up the high school coach on the spot: "Hey, we got an Olympian here."
Ron Tabb, who ran the marathon in 2:09 in 1983, saw similar potential in the young runner. Meb recalls Mr. Tabb seeing him practice in 1992. "He said: 'You're going to be a great marathoner and make the Olympic team in 2000 and be a medalist in 2004,'" Meb remembers. "So a lot of people did read my future."

By his senior year in high school, he says, "I ended up being one of those crazy guys running in the national championships." From San Diego High School, he went off to UCLA. Bob Larsen, who has remained his coach until today, offered the straight-A state champion a full ride. There he became a four time NCAA champion. And in 1998, the year he graduated, he became a citizen. Meb traces his success back to those years. "It goes back to high school—you try to be the best high schooler there is, and then to be the best collegiate runner you can be." Unlike team sports, "with running, it's just you and what you decide to get out of it."

If Meb sounds old school, that's because he is. His message for young people is simple: "Life is precious. Do something that is optimistic—that is good for society. Don't sit on the couch." His heroes, other than the list of American long-distance runners he rattles off (Jim Ryun, Steve Prefontaine, Steve Scott, Eamonn Coghlan, Paul Tergat), are Jackie Robinson and his parents. About himself, he says: "My God-given talent was discovering when I could run 5:20. Not everyone can run 5:20 . . . I was definitely gifted, but I have to work hard."

His determined training has helped him defy people's expectations. At the 2004 Olympics in Athens, Meb was ranked 39th out of 101 runners. He walked away with the silver medal with high hopes for the Beijing Olympics.

The Olympic trials in 2007 brought no such victory. Not only did Meb not make the Beijing team—he finished eighth—he fractured his hip during the race. Then there was the terrible tragedy of Ryan Shay's death. The rising marathon star and Meb's close friend suffered a massive heart attack during the race. During this year's marathon, Meb crossed himself in the spot where Shay went down.

"The darkest part of my running career was last year," he says. "I could have easily hung it up." Was he tempted to retire, I ask? "Oh yea. I'm not going to say I wasn't. I couldn't walk—I was crawling like a 10-month-old baby," Meb says about his hip fracture.

Recovering from the injury took a year and a half of intensive therapy and "hard work." But "hard prayer" was also crucial for Meb, who, like his parents, is a deeply religious Christian. Though his training schedule doesn't always allow him to make it to church every Sunday, he makes time for prayer "every day before I go to sleep and every day before I get up." He also uses the 15 minutes he spends in the ice bath for reflection: "Every day in the ice bath is my God time," he says.
As he healed from his injury "I really got to know who my friends are—who's got my back." One of them is Bob Larsen, his coach for 18 years. "It's like a marriage," Meb says about their relationship. He's "a great mentor."

Meb lives and trains in Mammoth Lakes, Calif., a hub for distance runners because of the high altitude. Though the distance varies from day to day, there is no escaping the reality that marathon training is every day, approximately 130 miles a week. Sundays, Meb runs at least 20 miles, sometimes up to 27 or 28 miles. Thursday is a recovery day, "which means you run just 10 miles in the morning and then a few in the afternoon." Fridays are a "simulation of what the marathon will be like: He runs "race pace or faster anywhere from eight to 15 miles." He also bikes and lifts weights, though he has to be careful not to build up too much muscle. "For 26.2 miles, you want to be a lean, mean machine."

"During practice," he says, "probably 90% is physical and 10% is mental. When it comes to race day, it switches because you know your body is ready and then you have to use your head to be able to perform."

To pump him up for this year's race, Mr. Larsen encouraged Meb to pretend he was "going on a long run with his buddies. Relax for the first hour and get to work after that." Marathons, Meb says, "are about patience and even pace."

He followed that strategy on Nov. 1, sticking with the elite pack, even allowing himself to drift a few feet behind the front runner. The wind, he says, was the hardest part of the race. But Meb realized he was in a fantastic spot as he ran up Fifth Avenue. "With two miles to go, I knew I had it in the bank," he says. As he entered Central Park at 90th Street, he saw his opening and pulled ahead of four-time Boston Marathon champ Robert Cheruiyot of Kenya.

British marathon champion Paula Radcliffe has said that she sometimes counts her steps during marathons—300 steps in a mile. "I do not count my steps at all," says Meb. "I take in what the crowd is doing—screaming Go USA, or Go Meb! The crowd is always going to get you through the good and the bad." And the New York crowd, he says, is simply "the best that there is."

As Meb ran through the finish line to screaming crowds, he crossed himself and kissed the ground. Seeing his wife, Yordanos, put him over the edge.

"When she saw me—I can't put it into words," he says. "Here's a guy that couldn't walk, that couldn't turn in bed because of my hip fracture . . . so when we saw each other we just broke down in tears." Meb credits his wife, who is also a native of Eritrea, as critical to his ability to perform. "She is seven months pregnant, we have two kids, and I'm the one who's taking a nap. She's very unselfish. She's been a big part of this success." When he met her, right before the 2004 Olympic trials, "we just clicked about God and family and perseverance."

As he allows his body to recover—with ice baths, eating the right protein, and physical therapy—he is focused on his next races. The 2012 Olympics are a clear goal. Many are speculating that he might go for a win in Boston this April. "I really think I can do it. I've done it once and I finished third. Now I know the course and I'm healthy." How much time can he shave off? "The body can do amazing things. I still believe my best times are ahead of me."

Meanwhile, he's savoring his win. And next week, he'll be back to New York, this time for the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. Meb will be riding with Miss America—on the Statue of Liberty float.

Ms. Weiss is an assistant editorial features editor at the Journal.

Distractions

A crazy thing happened yesterday in Fairmont Park. No, not what you're thinking. I was running in the Mission Inn Half Marathon, at just past a mile, when all of a sudden a phone rings. I can honestly say that as it was ringing, my mind was all, "no, that's not a phone ringing. We're in the middle of a race. Phones don't go off in races."

I was in a pack of maybe 8 guys, cruising along at about 6:30 per mile, and one of them makes a surge to the front of the group -- like he wants some privacy or something -- pulls out his cell phone from I-don't-know-where and says, "Hello?"

Hello? What, are you kidding me?

Either I'm getting a lot slower, or this is just plain redonkulous. The guy proceeds to have a conversation with whomever, finally yelling into the phone, "I can't talk right now, I'm in the middle of a half marathon!" Well, duh, what are you carrying your phone for in the first place?

No joke here, but on my way back after the turn-around, I saw a woman carrying on a conversation on her cell phone. Goodness. What's the world coming to.

All this reminded me of how easy it is to get distracted from the moment. Most folks who run half marathons have spent a fair amount of time preparing for race day. 13.1 miles is not exactly a distance most runners can just role out of bed and go do. Because of that, I'd assume, one would want to put the entirety of their focus and concentration on the task at hand. Eliminating distractions, like, say a cell phone in your shorts(!) would be a given, wouldn't it? Again, I'm just assuming here...

What are you focused on? Anything? What have you spent a lot of time preparing for? What are you willing to give up to achieve your goal? Or are you too distracted by the tyranny of options, the din of being busy that you can't zero in on what is really important?

One of the consequences of a culture that thinks "you can have it all" is that we fail to see that "having it all" can be a major distraction from "having what's good." As you pursue a major goal -- such as a berth at CIF Finals this weekend -- I challenge you to think about what (or who) may be your greatest distraction from achieving that goal and kindly put it "on hold" for the time being. Trust me, it will be waiting for you after success has been accomplished.

Being able to talk on one's cell phone while in the middle of a competitive half marathon may be a modern marvel, but it certainly isn't a way to finish the race with any semblance of athletic dignity.

Hey buddy, the clue phone is ringing, and it's for you!

Going the Distance - Rebecca Asplund

Like a ship slowly moving out from the safety of a harbor, she cut her lines and said goodbye. I was surprised when I heard the news, knowing what I did about the years Rebecca had devoted to club softball before arriving at King High. I figured she'd do both sports, so it was with a couple of raised eyebrows I countenanced these words:

"I've quit softball."

Her conversion was quick and with conviction. By mid-October of her freshmen year Rebecca decided she had found her love and the love was returned. Running would be her passion and joy.

We watched with equal measures of joy and admiration as this young rookie dove into the sport headfirst, learning and growing with an ambition that seemed to say "I'm going to make up for lost time."

She ran varsity that first year. And the second year. And ... well then came her third season. Beset by a host of physical issues that robbed her of strength and endurance, she suffered through a season she wouldn't want to wish on her worst enemies. The days were dark and long and the season seemed to be one protracted bludgeoning of hope.

But somehow she managed to not give up. Maybe because her personality is anchored to grace and peace. Anyone who has spent any time with her is quickly attracted to her dimpled smile, joyful laugh and eyes that twinkle like stars in a blackened sky. If it is darkest before the dawn, then perhaps it was so that the light of faith could shine brighter than ever, glimmering a path of redemption and new birth on the seas of adversity.

Having weathered the gale of that horrendous year, she finds herself in the infant months of a new life, one brightened with the wisdom born only in trial and built on the realization that for every season in life, there is a new beginning.

Unmoored, she sails purposefully again, aiming at the open ocean of opportunity and trial. No telling where she'll end up, but this much I do know. Having learned to run by faith, not by sight, she's well-equipped to handle any tempest that lies in wait out there on the horizon.