‘I felt like an exploded flashlight’

I was a college sophomore at Princeton and arrived at track practice that afternoon to learn that Bannister, a 25-year-old medical student, had just run a mile in 3 minutes and 59.4 seconds on the Iffley Road Track in Oxford, England. Our workout was magical. Bannister’s race made us feel that our potential was unlimited. For years, medical researchers had been saying that there were human limitations, and a sub-four mile was one of them. However, when Gunder Haegg of Sweden lowered the mile record to 4:01.4 in 1945, many assumed a sub-four was coming.

But for more than eight years, no one could improve on Haegg’s time. This only increased the sub-four’s mystique, and whetted the public’s appetite for those runners willing to attempt it. By early 1954, three great champions stood out from the pack: John Landy of Australia, Wes Santee of the United States and Bannister.

The lead-up to Bannister’s epic race tells much of the man and the era.

Bannister, a loner by nature, began doing track sessions with two of Britain’s top middle-distance runners: Chris Brasher, a 3,000-meter steeplechase specialist, and Chris Chataway, a 5,000 runner. For Bannister, his medical studies came ahead of his training. In fact, he knew that 1954 would be his last year as an athlete.

In those days, track and field was a sport for students. There were no professionals. I once asked Bannister about rumors of money in track and field, those little brown envelopes that we heard talk of back in the 1950s. He told me that there was a strict limit of not accepting anything greater than $20 in value, and that he had once turned down a beautiful silver trophy that was worth much more. ‘‘It just wasn’t done’’, he said.

On the morning of his big race, Bannister went to St. Mary’s Hospital in London. After completing a few duties, he sharpened his spikes on a grindstone in the hospital’s lab, then took an early train to Oxford.

When he arrived, the gusty winds were whipping up the leaves on campus. He and Chataway discussed postponing the attempt at the record and instead running an easy mile that evening. The final decision was held until the last moment. As Bannister lined up with five other runners for the start a few minutes after 6 p.m., he noticed that the flag on nearby St. George’s church had begun to flutter more gently as the wind died down. ‘‘The decision was mine alone’’, he said later. He told his pacemakers, Brasher and Chataway, that the sub-four attempt was on.

Brasher went right for the lead, and Bannister settled in effortlessly behind him. Brasher ignored Bannister’s urging to go faster, and took the field through a 57.5-second first quarter. Perfect pace. After the halfway split of 1:58, Chataway took over as planned and brought the crowd of some 1,000 to a full-throated roar. He led Bannister past the three-quarter mark in 3:00.7. On the backstretch, Bannister swept by Chataway, accelerating into the cool, damp evening.

‘‘I felt at that moment that it was my chance to do one thing supremely well’’, Bannister wrote in The First Four Minutes, his autobiography. Of course, that is what he did, crossing the finish line in 3:59.4 and collapsing into the arms of track officials. ‘‘I felt like an exploded flashlight’’, he recalled.

Within minutes came the slow, suspense-filled words of the track announcer, Norris McWhirter: ‘‘Ladies and gentlemen, here is the result of event No. 9, the one-mile. First, No. 41, R.G. Bannister of the Amateur Athletic Association and formerly of Exeter and Merton colleges, with a time which is a new meeting and track record, and which, subject to ratification, will be a new English native, British national, British all-comers, European, British Empire and world’s record. The time is three….’’ The noise of the crowd eclipsed the rest.

Bannister grabbed Brasher and Chataway for a victory lap. ‘‘We had done it — the three of us!’’ he rejoiced in his book.

Bannister never tried to capitalize on his fame. A few months later, he won the so-called Mile of the Century against John Landy in Vancouver, running 3:58.8, and he also added a European championships gold medal in the 1,500 meters to his resume for that year. Then he quietly retired from track and field to become a doctor and researcher.

Chataway once said, ‘‘There must have been times when Roger felt that a good day for him was one when nobody mentioned the four-minute mile.’’

In 1979, when I was publisher of The Runner magazine, I invited Bannister to New York for the 25th anniversary of his sub-four. He agreed only after making me promise not to make a big fuss of it. I planned a small luncheon with the news media and an interview or two, leaving plenty of time for Roger and his wife, Moyra, to enjoy the city. As we walked through Central Park one day, Bannister marvelled at the running boom that was in full swing in the United States. In his day, there were no recreational runners. Today, as we look back, that evening at Oxford 50 years ago may seem like some gauzy image out of Chariots of Fire. And, in truth, it comes close.

Noble purpose counted for more than winning at any cost. Bannister and the others in his race seem drawn from another time. Yet their goals and ideals are as refreshing today as they are old-fashioned. ‘‘We remember the sun on our backs, the laughter and friends’’, Bannister said 10 years ago. ‘‘And we forget the torment.’’

Perhaps that’s why we need Roger Bannister more today than ever.

(George A. Hirsch, worldwide publisher emeritus of Runners World, is the founding publisher of New York magazine.)The New York Times