GOATnotes

The Four-Minute Mile: 50^th Anniversary Edition

By Roger Bannister ∙ Lyons Press © 2018 ∙ 280 pages

Welcome to GOATnotes. Where we read the best books written by athletes and coaches and provide our version of a hat trick. First, we have some fun alongside our GOAT with a random tidbit we found interesting or amusing from the book. Second, we feature an idea from the text to provide a nugget of mindset wisdom straight from the GOAT’s mouth. Third, is the mindset challenge where we double dog dare you to apply the featured idea to your mindset, starting today.

In this GOATnote we are covering the book The Four-Minute Mile, 50^th Anniversary Edition, written by Roger Bannister.

Let’s get things started with an introduction to Roger Bannister and his book: 

Sir Roger Bannister was a British athlete most renowned for becoming the first person in history to run a mile in under four minutes, with a time of 3:59.4.  He achieved this feat on May 6, 1954, while also pursuing a career as a medical student at Oxford University. His accomplishment is widely considered a landmark moment in the sport of track and field, breaking the perceived barrier of what was thought impossible in distance running.

Bannister also competed in the 1952 Olympics in Helsinki, where he set a British record in the 1500 meters, won the 1500 meter gold medal at the 1954 European Championships in Bern, Switzerland, and was the inaugural recipient of the Sports Illustrated Sportsman of the Year award for 1954. Bannister earned a medical degree from Oxford in 1963 and became a neurologist. He published over 80 papers on diseases of the autonomic nervous system and co-authored “Autonomic Failure”, a textbook on clinical disorders of the autonomic nervous system.  He founded and chaired the British Society for Autonomic Research and was the Director of the National Hospital for Nervous Diseases in London. Bannister was the first chairman of the British Sports Council (1971-74) and was knighted for this service in 1975 by Queen Elizabeth II.  He served as the President of the International Council for Sport and Physical Recreation from 1976 to 1983 and was Master of Pembroke College, Oxford from 1985 to 1993.

Bannister wrote his book The Four-Minute Mile in 1955 during the six-week period between retiring from running and beginning his career in medicine. The book spans Bannister’s introduction to sports and running as a youth during his school days, through his last competitive race, with the experiences of his training and races detailed throughout.

We selected this book as Ripkik’s second GOATnote because of the psychological significance of breaking the four-minute barrier. At the time, most believed running sub-four was a physical barrier, beyond the limits of human foot speed.  The record stood at 4:01.4 for nine years becoming an elusive holy grail.  However, Bannister proved it was a psychological barrier, not a physical one, as by 1957 sixteen other athletes had also run sub-four-minute miles.  This transformational event eliminated a psychological barrier to achieve what had been thought impossible.  This is the epitome of Ripkik, pure and simple.

In pure GOATnotes fashion, it is time to have some fun alongside the GOAT. We love to use our obscure eye to find a random tidbit from the book that is interesting or amusing about our beloved GOAT. For Roger Bannister, we found it intriguing that he liked to rock climb.  He mentioned multiple trips where he went climbing and how these excursions provided a fun adventure as well as a mental and physical change. In Chapter 12: “So Far and Yet – 1953” Bannister tells us: 

My training was going well. At Easter I had taken a break from running and spent a long weekend climbing in North Wales. The sport of rock climbing was comparatively new to me, but its fascination already gripped me. In contrast to the all-out fury of running it provided a more critical, delicate approach. But after finding some laborious route to the summit it was always possible to run down the mountainside.

In Chapter 13: “Four-Minute Mile – 1954” Bannister describes a rock climbing trip that helps highlight this random tidbit:

In December 1953 we started a new intensive course of training and ran several times a week a series of ten consecutive quarter-miles, each in 66 seconds. Through January and February we gradually speeded them up, keeping to an interval of two minutes between each. By April we could manage them in 61 seconds, but however hard we tried it did not seem possible to reach our target of 60 seconds. We were stuck, or as Chris Brasher expressed it – ‘bogged down’. The training had ceased to do us any good and we needed a change.

Chris Brasher and I drove up to Scotland overnight for a few days’ climbing. We turned into the Pass of Glencoe as the sun crept above the horizon at dawn. A misty curtain drew back from the mountains and the ‘sun’s sleepless eye’ cast a fresh cold light on the world. The air was calm and fragrant, and the colours of sunrise were mirrored in peaty pools on the moor. Soon the sun was up and we were off climbing. The weekend was a complete mental and physical change. It probably did us more harm than good physically. We climbed hard for the four days we were there, using the wrong muscles in slow and jerking movements.

There was an element of danger too. I remember Chris falling a short way when leading a climb up a rock face depressingly named ‘Jericho’s Wall’. Luckily he did not hurt himself. We were both worried lest a sprained ankle might set our training back by several weeks.

After three days our minds turned to running again. We suddenly became alarmed at the thought of taking any more risks, and decided to return. We had slept little, our meals had been irregular. But when we tried to run those quarter-miles again, the time came down to 59 seconds!

After spending some time with this book, we decided the one idea we wanted to feature is how Roger Bannister treasured the joy of running. We selected this featured idea because regardless of the ups and downs experienced by Bannister throughout his athletic career, he continued to look for, find, and relish in the joy of running.  Again, the featured idea is how Roger Bannister treasured the joy of running. Bannister discovered his joy for running on the beach in his youth and continued to find joy in running whether in the struggle of training to get the best out of himself, the camaraderie he found in a team and training partners, or in pushing both his physical and mental limits during competition.

For starters, let’s look at the first few paragraphs of the Introduction to the book where Bannister describes the pivotal moment where he first discovered the joy of running.

What are the moments that stand out clearly when we look back on childhood and youth?

I remember a moment when I stood barefoot on firm dry sand by the sea. The air had a special quality as if it had a life of its own. The sound of breakers on the shore shut out all others. I looked up at the clouds, like great white-sailed galleons, chasing proudly inland. I looked down at the regular ripples on the sand, and could not absorb so much beauty. I was taken aback — each of the myriad particles of sand was perfect in its way. I looked more closely, hoping perhaps that my eyes might detect some flaw. But for once there was nothing to detract from all this beauty.

In this supreme moment I leapt in sheer joy. I was startled, and frightened, by the tremendous excitement that so few steps could create. I glanced round uneasily to see if anyone was watching. A few more steps – self-consciously now and firmly gripping the original excitement. The earth seemed almost to move with me. I was running now, and a fresh rhythm entered my body. No longer conscious of my movement I discovered a new unity with nature. I had found a new source of power and beauty, a source I never dreamt existed.

From intense moments like this, love of running can grow. This attempt at explanation is of course inadequate, just like any analysis of the things we enjoy — like the description of a rose to someone who has never seen one.

A few paragraphs later in the Introduction, Bannister explains his perspective on the joy of sports and more specifically the joy in his running and training. (note: “athletics” refers to “track & field”):

The satisfaction we derive from games is complex. We enjoy struggling to get the best out of ourselves, whether we play games of skill requiring quickness of eye and deftness of touch, or games of effort and endurance like athletics. It is not just the desire to succeed. There is the need to feel that our bodies have a skill and energy of their own, apart from the man-made machines they may drive. There is the desire to find in sport a companionship with kindred people. I have found all these. The sportsman enjoys his sport even if he has absolutely no prospect of becoming a champion. In athletics there are many events, running, jumping, and throwing, which suit different physiques, the long and thin, the broad and strong. Industry and perseverance, without any great natural aptitude, bring greater success in athletics than is possible in ball games.

For nearly ten years I have run about 25 miles a week: my grasp of the reasons why I run continues to grow. Running through mud and rain is never boring. Like 100,000 cross-country runners, their number ever increasing, I find in running – win or lose – a deep satisfaction that I cannot express in any other way. However strenuous our work, sport brings more pleasure than some easier relaxation. It brings a joy, freedom and challenge which cannot be found elsewhere.

Now we turn our attention to the joy camaraderie brought Bannister as he shares in Chapter 13: “Four-Minute Mile – 1954”:

The great change that now came over my running was that I no longer trained and raced alone. Perhaps I had mellowed a little and was becoming more sociable. Every day between 12.30 and 1.30 I trained on a track in Paddington and had a quick lunch before returning to hospital. We called ourselves the Paddington lunch time club. We came from all parts of London and our common bond was a love of running.

I felt extremely happy in the friendships I made there, as we shared the hard work of repetitive quarter-miles and sprints. These training sessions came to mean almost as much to me as had those at the Oxford track. I could now identify myself more intimately with the failure and success of other runners.

In my hardest training Chris Brasher was with me, and he made the task very much lighter. On Friday evenings he took me along to Chelsea Barracks where his coach, Franz Stampfl, held a training session. At weekends Chris Chataway would join us, and in this friendly atmosphere the very severe training we did became most enjoyable.

It is now storytime so we can bring the featured idea to life. Let’s set the stage. In 1954, Roger Bannister was planning his first attempt of the year to break the four minute mile. He would get the help of his training partners and close friends Chris Brasher and Chris Chataway who would rabbit the race through three-quarters of a mile.  It was a windy day so Bannister was going to make a game time decision on whether to make the attempt.  At the starting line, Bannister looked at the flag which showed the wind was dropping slightly.  He gave the go ahead and the attempt was on. We will pick up the story on the starting line in Chapter 13: “Four-Minute Mile – 1954”:

There was complete silence on the ground . . . a false start … I felt angry that precious moments during the lull in the wind might be slipping by. The gun fired a second time . . . Brasher went into the lead and I slipped in effortlessly behind him, feeling tremendously full of running. My legs seemed to meet no resistance at all, as if propelled by some unknown force.

We seemed to be going so slowly! Impatiently I shouted ‘Faster!’ But Brasher kept his head and did not change the pace. I went on worrying until I heard the first lap time, 57.5 seconds. In the excitement my knowledge of pace had deserted me. Brasher could have run the first quarter in 55 seconds without my realising it, because I felt so full of running, but I should have had to pay for it later. Instead, he had made success possible.

At one and a half laps I was still worrying about the pace. A voice shouting ‘relax’ penetrated to me above the noise of the crowd. I learnt afterwards it was Stampfl’s. Unconsciously I obeyed. If the speed was wrong it was too late to do anything about it, so why worry? I was relaxing so much that my mind seemed almost detached from my body. There was no strain.

I barely noticed the half-mile, passed in 1 minute 58 seconds, nor when, round the next bend, Chataway went into the lead. At three-quarters of a mile the effort was still barely perceptible; the time was 3 minutes 0.7 seconds, and by now the crowd were roaring. Somehow I had to run that last lap in 59 seconds. Chataway led round the next bend and then I pounced past him at the beginning of the back straight, 300 yards from the finish.

I had a moment of mixed joy and anguish, when my mind took over. It raced well ahead of my body and drew my body compellingly forward. I felt that the moment of a lifetime had come. There was no pain, only a great unity of movement and aim. The world seemed to stand still, or did not exist. The only reality was the next 200 yards of track under my feet. The tape meant finality – extinction perhaps.

I felt at that moment that it was my chance to do one thing supremely well. I drove on, impelled by a combination of fear and pride. The air I breathed filled me with the spirit of the track where I had run my first race. The noise in my ears was that of the faithful Oxford crowd. Their hope and encouragement gave me greater strength. I had now turned the last bend and there was only 50 yards more.

My body had long since exhausted all its energy, but it went on running just the same. The physical overdraft came only from greater willpower. This was the crucial moment when my legs were strong enough to carry me over the last few yards as they could never have done in previous years. With 5 yards to go the tape seemed almost to recede. Would I ever reach it?

Those last few seconds seemed never-ending. The faint line of the finishing tape stood ahead as a haven of peace, after the struggle. The arms of the world were waiting to receive me if only I reached the tape without slackening my speed. If I faltered, there would be no arms to hold me and the world would be a cold, forbidding place, because I had been so close. I leapt at the tape like a man taking his last spring to save himself from the chasm that threatens to engulf him.

My effort was over and I collapsed almost unconscious, with an arm on either side of me. It was only then that real pain overtook me. I felt like an exploded flashlight with no will to live; I just went on existing in the most passive physical state without being quite unconscious. Blood surged from my muscles and seemed to fell me. It was as if all my limbs were caught in an ever-tightening vice. I knew that I had done it before I even heard the time. I was too close to have failed, unless my legs had played strange tricks at the finish by slowing me down and not telling my tiring brain that they had done so.

The stopwatches held the answer. The announcement came — ‘Result of one mile . . . time, 3 minutes’ – the rest lost in the roar of excitement. I grabbed Brasher and Chataway, and together we scampered round the track in a burst of spontaneous joy. We had done it – the three of us!

We shared a place where no man had yet ventured – secure for all time, however fast men might run miles in future. We had done it where we wanted, when we wanted, how we wanted, in our first attempt of the year. In the wonderful joy my pain was forgotten and I wanted to prolong those precious moments of realisation.

I felt suddenly and gloriously free of the burden of athletic ambition that I had been carrying for years. No words could be invented for such supreme happiness, eclipsing all other feelings.

As customary with every GOATnote, it is time for your mindset challenge. What is one thing you can do to add more joy to your sport?  Take a moment to think about it.  What is the one thing you could do to add more joy to your training, camaraderie, or competition? Got it…great! Now let’s get started on that…TODAY!

This concludes the GOATnote on The Four-Minute Mile: 50^th Anniversary Edition. We hope you enjoyed it as much as we did.

P.S. Let’s get to work on adding some more joy to your sport…starting TODAY!