Samuelson's 1984 Marathon Win Gives Women Equal Time

by Marc Bloom

The Race

When Joan Benoit Samuelson took the line in Los Angeles on August 5, 1984 in the first Olympic marathon for women, she was not the favorite. How could she have been? Samuelson, 27, had gone through knee surgery in April and an exhaustive trial 17 days later in May. She had little going for her other than pluck. Grete Waitz of Norway, on the other hand, had already won five of her nine New York City marathons and the previous year's inaugural world championship marathon in Helsinki, which Samuelson had passed up. Samuelson had set a 2:22:43 world record at Boston in '83 but that was a mixed race-not the kind of head-to-head confrontation she'd find at the Olympics against Waitz and company.

So what was Samuelson doing with an in-your-face surge 14 minutes into the Olympic marathon, exposing herself before all the world? The field of 50 women from 28 nations was loaded: Waitz, her Norwegian teammate Kristensen, Rosa Mota of Portugal, Lorraine Moller of New Zealand and Julie Brown of the U.S., champions all, were knitted together at the front on a difficult, humid morning. The moment was historic: a decade-long fight for equality in distance running had led to this 26.2-mile testament to a women's athletic power. No one would personify that power more than Samuelson, who defied running convention with her courageous advance.

At 10 kilometers, Samuelson's split was 35:24 and she had an 11-second lead. At 15 kilometers, her split was 51:46 and she had a 51-second lead. Where was Waitz? And Kristensen, who'd set a world 5,000m record in June? The two women had prepared with excruciating care. They'd trained in double warm-up suits for the heat. They'd taken anti-smog inhalants. They'd listened to recordings of their own voices telling they would succeed no matter what. "Everything is perfect," the Norwegian coach, Johan Kaggestad, has declared beforehand.

The Norwegians had not accounted for one thing, a quality absent from most training manuals. Pluck. For Samuelson, this weapon had its gestation when she'd started running as a teenager in her native Maine. She was laughed at. "I was so embarrassed I'd walk when cars passed me," she'd recalled earlier in '84. "I'd pretend I was looking at the flowers." Pretense gave way to perseverance. Samuelson competed in high school and college and ran her first marathon in 1979.

In Los Angeles, with women marathoners in the spotlight, the early days of limitation and humiliation seemed so foreign. Here was Samuelson, minute by minute, mile by mile, past the barren landscape of the Marina Freeway, increasing her lead to almost two minutes at 15 miles. Daring frontrunners, especially in the marathon, always got swallowed up. Who "steals" a marathon in the Olympics? What vast amount of fortitude can enable a lone runner to hold form for more than 20 miles when she knows that behind her lay the greats, en masse, conserving energy, poised like a cycling peloton to eat her alive?

The answer came from Samuelson herself after the race, when she recounted her last affirming thought. "I said to myself, 'Are you prepared to deal with victory?' I decided I was." She raced home a winner in 2:24:52, 86 seconds ahead of Waitz, the silver medalist, and another 39 seconds up on Rosa Mota of Portugal, the bronze medalist. Kristensen was 4th. Suddenly, in the aftermath, everyone was saying yeah, sure, we knew it all along, knew Joanie would take it. That was okay too. No runner had more friends. No runner deserved her title more. No runner set such an example of the complete athlete.

Eyewitness: Bob Sevene, Samuelson's Coach

Joanie's greatest quality is her mental toughness. After Stan James did the knee surgery, he told me in confidence that Joanie would probably not be able to run the marathon trial. That night in Eugene when I saw Joanie, she was sitting in bed in a pre-natal position looking very tiny. She looked up at me and said, "Can I start running tomorrow?" From that point on, she broke every rule of running. When Joanie resumed running a few days later, she promised the doctor she'd only do 4 miles. She did 9. I ran with her that day. I remember Joanie turning to me with a scary look in her eyes. She said, "Sev, I don't have time to play."

A week later, with the trials upon us, Joanie's status was still questionable because of a second injury, to a hamstring muscle. She insisted on doing a long run as a test and I couldn't hold her back. She wanted to go 20. At 17 miles, I convinced her to shut it down. When Joanie goes "into herself" visualization-wise, she gets very spacy, almost incoherent before a major race. Joanie was so intense that the night before the trial she threw Scott [her fiancé] out of the hotel room, and he spent the night with me. The morning of the trial, Joanie had her Walkman on. She was playing "Chariots of Fire" and so loud I could hear it. She was ready to go to war.

I believe the injury was a blessing. Joanie never feared the Olympics but always feared the trials. She pressured herself to unbelievable fitness levels and was ready too early for the trials. That's what probably led to the injury. Getting hurt forced her to stop, get back to basics and peak for the Games.

In Los Angeles, Joanie's knee was fine. Everything was fine. Pressure? Joanie always ran well under pressure. Weather? Joanie had trained in heat and humidity on the Maine coast. The competition? Joanie had a plan. If at three miles, the lead group was not running fast enough, Joanie would drop down to 2:27 pace, and go from there. The night before at dinner, Joanie pulled me aside and said, "What are you going to do when I win tomorrow?" I said, "What do you mean?" She said, "You'll be stuck with me forever. Even when they bury you, it'll be on your obituary."

On raceday, Joanie had envisioned six women together at 18 miles and the race being won between 18 and 23. Some people believed that Joanie's 2:22:43 world record at Boston the year before was a fluke. Grete Waitz and Ingrid Kristensen were more focused on each other than on Joan. At 3 miles the pace was slow and Joanie took off. No one went with her. The rest was history.

With all the security, it took me two hours to see Joanie afterwards. When we finally hooked up, she whispered in my ear, "Don't tell anybody, but this was the easiest race I've ever run."

Eyewitness: Scott Samuelson, Fiance (They Married That Fall)

We were on a rollercoaster that would make the one at Coney Island seem like an anthill. There were some real highs, and lows. The knee surgery wasn't Joanie's worst problem. While recovering and in rehab, she hurt her hamstring a week before the trial. That's what really devastated her. She was so consumed by the trial it was almost funny. You hear about people like Einstein, so involved with their work they can't think about any basics. That was Joanie. Anything at all, other than her training, was a distraction. The buzzwords were: "Can't deal with this, can't deal with that."

Before the Olympics, she trained in Eugene while I was in Maine. When friends and I picked up her at the airport in Los Angeles, we dressed in black punk rock garb to get a rise out of Joanie. She was so spaced out she didn't notice. She was already in her zone. It was a week before the women's marathon.

We stayed away from the Olympic tumult at a friend's house in Santa Monica. One day Joanie was running in the park and happened to see Rosa Mota [who would win the Olympic marathon in '88]. Joanie came back with a fierce demeanor. Her competitive blood was surging.

Two nights before raceday, we were out to dinner with Joanie's parents and other family. At one point, Joanie's father, Andre, announced, "If my daughter wins, I'm going to jump out onto the track no matter what..." On the eve of the race, Joanie needed to be alone, and I stayed elsewhere.

On raceday, we kept track of the women's marathon from high up in stadium, checking updates on the screen. We'd made a banner for Joanie, "Maine's Finest Kind," but the security people prevented us from flying it. The race reports were maddeningly inadequate. One of the people with us was Joanie's Maine friend Martha Agan, who would be the matron of honor at our wedding. When Joanie took the lead, Martha reminded me that in high school she had told Joanie, "If you ever make it to the Olympics, I'm going to be your coach."

When Joanie pulled away, I felt absolute disbelief. Her coach, Bob Sevene, sitting with us, declared at 17 miles, "She has it." I said, "How can you say that?" He insisted. "She has it." When Joanie finally came through the tunnel and into the stadium ahead, the stadium let out with the most enormous roar that I can still 'hear' when I close my eyes. As she did her lap on the track to the finish, Joanie's father did hop the fence, but officials seized him and escorted him back to his seat.

It took forever for me to reach Joanie afterwards. When we finally embraced, I gave her a hug to squeeze out any last energy she still had, and a newlywed kind of kiss. She had that wonderful aura of victory and humility she always has. Then, the first thing she did was hit the sales booths for Olympic stamps to add to her collection back home. She wore a hat and sunglasses so no one would recognize her.

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