At 1:55 p.m., as the elite milers filed onto the track to warm up, temperatures had barely climbed over 40, and 15-20-mph. winds enveloped the complex. All across the edge of the football parctice field behind the bleachers lay improvised pallets of tarps and gear, upon which high-school and collegiate track athletes sat huddled in blankets. I was in the bleachers just above the finish line, layered in a long-sleeve t-shirt, a short-sleeve t-shirt, and a hooded windbreaker, and was freezing my ass off. It was not the best weather for a mile race, to say the least. The wind appeared to die down a little as 2:00 crept closer, but as the runners were introduced, it began to gust again in earnest.
Still, there was hope. I had seen Webb seemingly coast to sub-4 finishes throughout the indoor season, and knew that even though he had been criticized for not having a kick, he did indeed have an extra gear that he saved for the last lap, and rarely did it not work for him.
The gun sounded, and they were off. For about ten seconds. Then the action stopped. I had my eye on Webb, who had already rounded the bend and was starting into the back stretch. when I looked back down the track, I saw that one of the outside runners -- the rabbit, in fact -- had gone down in the turn. The runners were called back, and a hush fell on the crowd. Not good, I thought, not good at all. But as Webb ambled back to the start, I noticed that he had a big grin on his face. He must know something the rest of us don't, I thought.
The race restarted, clean this time, with the rabbit out front and Webb right on his heels. They were running well, working hard, but the splits were not great: a 59-second 1st lap, 1:00 flat 2nd; then, as I had seen happen so often before, the rabbit peeled off and Webb took off -- just not as fast as I had seen him do before. As he approached the bell lap, the clock crept up to 3:00. Again, not good. But as he began his last lap, Webb cocked his head slightly toward the crowd and raised his right had to his ear. The crowd, already cheering loudly, went bonkers. Clearly he knew that he had it. Then came the extra gear. Fwooosh... 26 seconds for the next 200. Then the wind hit, and his stride slowed a bit, but by that time it was all but a done deal. "He's got it," I exclaimed to my wife. The intense roar built to a crescendo as he snapped the tape at 3:57:83, a new SC record and the only sub-4:00 mile that this writer has ever witnessed.
