“Little Mary Decker”
by Rob Leachman
From the “Great Rivalries of Olympic Track and Field” Series
This Series
- Mary Decker and Zola Budd – Los Angeles 1984 – Part One
- Mary Decker and Zola Budd – Los Angeles 1984 – Part Two
- Mary Decker and Zola Budd – Los Angeles 1984 – Part Three
- Mary Decker and Zola Budd – Los Angeles 1984 – Part Four
- Mary Decker and Zola Budd – Los Angeles 1984 – Part Five
Some rivalries are made for the media, storylines of perpetual quests for Olympic glory, or battles of perceived good versus evil serving to drive up ratings and circulation. In the case of Mary Decker’s tragic encounter with Zola Budd in the 3,000-meter run at the 1984 Olympics, it was literally a rivalry made by the media, a match-up engineered through the scheming efforts of a London tabloid.
To be clear, this race was a publicist’s dream. Both athletes were former child prodigies, especially Decker, who boasted the greatest competitive record of any junior distance runner in history. Due to her youthful age in 1972, injuries in 1976, and the U.S. Olympic boycott in 1980, Decker had been thwarted in her efforts to attain the Olympic success long considered the capstone of the careers of athletes of her caliber. Her stellar performances to upset favored Soviet athletes in winning both the 1500- and 3000-meter runs at the inaugural World Championships in Helsinki in 1983 (famously dubbed the “Decker Double”) solidified her status as a favorite in the upcoming Los Angeles Olympics. Though only 25 in 1984, the LA Games would come to represent Mary Decker’s only real opportunity for an Olympic medal. But to her countless fans, this iconic American runner’s time had finally arrived.
Like her idol Mary Decker, whose poster adorned the wall over her bed, for different reasons 1984 would represent Zola Budd’s one real opportunity for Olympic glory. As a childhood runner with obvious but untapped potential, the shy and introverted Budd found great enjoyment running barefoot on the veldt near her South African home. After an unexpected death in her family shook the young athlete to her core, she found solace in her running, increasing the intensity and duration of her workouts. In time, she was dominating competitions in her native country, and early in 1984 while still just 17, she broke Decker’s world record in the 5,000-meter run. As South Africa had been shunned from international competition because of its segregationist apartheid policies, Zola Budd’s world record would never be considered for ratification.
While Decker seemed bound for Olympic success, because of that international ban, Zola Budd seemingly had no path to the Los Angeles Games. As a result, just six months before a stellar 3,000-meter field stepped onto the track in the Los Angeles Coliseum, a Mary vs. Zola match-up was not even a possibility. Then a London newspaper stepped in, seeking an increase in circulation by attaining for Budd and her father a British passport that would allow her to seek a spot on the British Olympic team. With an Olympic opportunity and a significant family payday as motivation, young Zola Budd found herself uprooted from the life she loved in South Africa and secretly absconded to another world in Great Britain. It allowed her to run in the Olympics and to compete against her idol Mary Decker, but it was a move she would quickly realize had been a huge mistake.
Journalistic shenanigans and political ramifications notwithstanding, the South African Zola Budd was now a British citizen and Olympian. And despite the presence of at least one runner worthy of being considered the favorite in any field, in the eyes of much of the world, and particularly sports fans in the host country, the 1984 Olympic Women’s 3,000 was suddenly a showdown between Mary Decker and Zola Budd. On many levels, the result would be tragic.
“Little Mary Decker”
For the only athlete to hold every American distance record from 800 through 10,000 meters, Mary Decker’s running career began inauspiciously, but characteristically with a win. After living in New Jersey for the first decade of her life, Decker moved with her family to Southern California, living in various towns near Los Angeles. A precocious and energetic eleven-year-old, she and a friend saw a flyer promoting a cross-country race sponsored by the local parks and recreation department. Having never run competitively and not even knowing what “cross-country” entailed, they both decided to enter the ¾-mile race. Though her friend didn’t finish the race, Decker won easily. She later recalled the race as being not particularly difficult but very satisfying and enjoyable. Her family in some turmoil due to marital difficulties that would eventually lead to her parents’ divorce, she would find in running a diversion from what was occurring at home. As she explained, “After that, all I wanted to do was run. I just loved the freedom it gave me.” She was hooked, and running soon became a vital part of her young life.
Decker was coached in her early competitive years by Don DeNoon of the Long Beach Comets. In part because of the dangers posed to pedestrians on busy roads in the Los Angeles area, DeNoon emphasized interval training in the workouts he designed for his young distance runners, repetitions typically completed on a track. In time as the young athlete dealt with recurring injuries, some would criticize DeNoon for pushing Decker too hard and too early in her career, a charge he fiercely denied and Decker refuted. Similarly, DeNoon responded to these criticisms by describing the hard-driven young athlete in this way. “She (Decker) ran only what she wanted to run and when she wanted to run,” he explained. “Ultimately, Mary was the driving force. I gave direction, encouragement, and held the watch.”
As an example of the independence her first coach described and that she would exhibit throughout her career, in May 1971 she ran her one and only marathon. While cooling down from an afternoon workout with her fellow Long Beach Striders, she overheard a conversation about a “marathon” that was scheduled for the coming weekend. Not even knowing the details of what such an event entailed, after teammates explained the distance and rigors of such a race, she thought it sounded like fun. Over the objections of her coach, and though she was only twelve and had never completed a distance that even approached the scheduled 26.2 miles, Mary Decker entered the Palos Verde Marathon.
Despite the lack of long training runs and sense of pace required for the marathon distance, and despite the hilly course and strong ocean winds that particularly impeded her small physique, Decker won the female division with a time of 3:09:47. That would be a respectable time even in the modern era, but in 1971 young Mary’s time was just more than eight minutes over the women’s world marathon record. And though it is commonly believed that the course was a quarter-mile short of the full marathon distance, the result demonstrated the phenomenal ability, and potential, of this pre-teen runner.
With her focus now firmly on middle distance events, Decker’s rise to prominence was meteoric. She soon broke five minutes for the mile, a significant accomplishment for a girl of 13 but one that meant little to the young runner. “Five minutes didn’t mean anything to me,” she later offered. “I almost never ran for times… The only thing I thought about was getting to the finish line first.” But such a time, a world best for 13-year-old runners, was incredibly meaningful, particularly given that the five-minute mile barrier had first been broken by a woman of any age only eighteen years earlier. Later that same year, she lowered her time in the 880-yard run to 2:12.7, which in the Olympic year of 1972 placed Decker, barely a teenager, on the verge of being national-class in that event. The following year, this phenom would become known to the world.
Running in an indoor mile race in Virginia, the 14-year-old faced the famed Soviet runner Lyudmilla Bragina. Decker lowered her best time to 4:40.1, finishing just over a second behind the 1972 Olympic 1500-meter champion from the previous year. Of even greater significance was her selection to a U.S. national team that would tour parts of Europe and Africa, with the highpoint of the tour being the dual meet with the Soviet Union.
Initiated in 1958, the U.S.-U.S.S.R. dual meet in its early years had represented a microcosm of the Cold War tension that existed between the two countries. By 1973, the series had lost some of its luster as tensions between the United States and the Soviet Union slowly thawed. Still, for a teenage phenom from Garden Grove, California, facing the favored Soviets in Minsk’s Dynamo Stadium represented her true entry into the top echelon of the track and field world.
Decker was entered in the 800-meter run in which she would face the silver medalist from the Munich Olympics of just one year earlier, Niele Sabaite. That Mary Decker was even in Minsk had taken some cajoling and convincing of her mother, who allowed her daughter to embark on the trip only after being assured she would always have both an early curfew and chaperone. While much of the American team was particularly tired after long collegiate and international seasons, with her earlier curfew and shorter and less intense competitive season, Decker was less fatigued than many of her teammates. As women’s coach Brooks Johnson suggested heading into the meet, “Mary has a good chance to win. She’s gotten the most sleep and had the most consistent workouts of anyone on the team. “In essence, the teenage athlete was too young to be out carousing with her teammates, and when she walked onto the track in Minsk, she was ready.
In her brief running career, as she competed against athletes close to her age, Decker had typically run out front, most often way out front. As a result, tactics and strategy had seldom been needed, as the young runner simply ran to get to the finish line as quickly as possible. But as she faced the Olympic silver medalist in what was thus far the biggest race of her career, Mary Decker ran a masterful race. Well into the second of two laps, she ran comfortably in the fourth position among four runners, still in close contact with Sabaite. Coming off the last turn, she began her kick, quickly moved into the lead, and held off the Soviet to finish in a personal best of 2:02.9 to defeat Sabaite by .3 seconds. Explaining her tactics, Decker shared afterward, “I knew I had something left to sprint with. I didn’t know what she had left.”
For the young runner, all of 5 feet tall and 89 pounds with braces and pigtails and just ready to turn fifteen, this international tour was a game-changer. She came away with a new level of confidence and a sense of the type of runner she wanted to become. Still a teenager, her competitive future seemed limitless, and with the next Olympic cycle just three years away, she seemed destined for more international success and ample Olympic success. But though she would set countless world and American records in the injury-riddled next decade, her next true international triumph would not occur for another ten years. And for Mary Decker, Olympic glory would never be attained.
Beginning when she was twelve, two common themes of Decker’s training were the intensity and length of her workouts, to be expected of world-class runners, though not necessarily young athletes whose skeletal and muscular structures were still developing. Watching her complete long sessions of intense intervals, some of her teammates on international tours expressed concern about her training too long and too hard given her small body and young age. As she was preparing for a meet in the Soviet Union, hammer thrower George Frenn interrupted one of Decker’s workouts to warn her that she would “burn out.” As he explained to her, “You can only take so much out of the cash register without going bankrupt.”
Another concerned athlete who could directly relate to Decker’s drive and determination was Steve Prefontaine, the iconic Oregon runner whose gutty Olympic performance in the 5,000 the previous summer in Munich had left him sprawled on the track after diving across the finish line for a fourth–place finish. Like Mary Decker, Pre, as he was known, had demonstrated tremendous potential as a high school runner, pushing himself relentlessly in both training sessions and races. When he heard that Decker had run a 400-meter leg on a relay less than a half-hour after setting an indoor world record in the 880-yard run, Prefontaine attributed such potentially dangerous squandering of her talent to a coach not doing his job. As he explained, “It was the job of the coach to tell her, ‘You have done enough,’ even if she wanted to run.”
Steve Prefontaine could see some of himself in “Little Mary Decker,” a runner who pushed herself to the front in races and tried to run the competition into the ground. He was concerned that by pushing herself so hard at such a young age, Decker would suffer injuries or burn out and lose the passion that drove her to success. As he commented in 1974, “Her future could go up in smoke if she’s pushed too hard. I couldn’t believe her training schedule when I saw it. She could become so sick of running that she’ll want to retire at eighteen.” As she later recalled, “That fall, Pre called about once a week. He wanted to be sure I would preserve my talent. . . When I watched him race, I felt that I had the same instincts inside me.” Tragically, Steve Prefontaine would die in a car crash a year later.
Both Decker and her first coach, Don DeNoon, later pushed back on notions that she had trained too hard, too fast, and too long in the early part of her career. He stressed that he never pushed his athletes, including his most famous one, to run more than 35 miles a week. Perhaps as important, he emphasized that he didn’t push Mary Decker nearly as much as she pushed herself, a fact repeatedly verified by the young runner. “People think DeNoon pushed me,” she offered. “They think my mother pushed me, but I can’t honestly say I was ever pushed. I trained and raced hard because that was me. It was something within myself.” In many respects, as her talent and endurance grew, it was as if Decker couldn’t hold back. “I just liked to run fast,” she explained. “It came so natural to me… The speed always came easily.”
Regardless of the motivation, Mary Decker’s natural ability and innate competitiveness combined with DeNoon’s program of interval training placed tremendous stress on her young body. She abhorred losing, and as a result, every workout came to resemble a race. In some respects, it was inevitable that such a talented and maturing athlete would eventually break down.
While Decker had great respect for Steve Prefontaine, she struggled to identify an American woman who could serve as a role model, a runner who demonstrated the drive and bold front-running she was coming to admire. As she explained, “I didn’t have any women runners I could emulate. They all seemed too girly to me. I wanted to be tougher than that. . .” She came to admire John Walker, the front-running and charismatic New Zealander who held the men’s world record in the mile.
For Mary Decker in 1973 and 1974 was progressing to a new level for American women middle-distance runners. In the annual rankings provided by Track and Field News, the preeminent periodical covering the sport, Decker was fourth–ranked in the world in the 800 in 1973 and the top-ranked American in that event in 1973 and 1974, all while still in junior high school.
To illustrate the juxtaposition of her immense talent and youthful appearance of pigtails and braces, Decker was scheduled to run the 1,000 at the Sunkist Invitational in Los Angeles early in the 1974 indoor season. As she walked onto the track to complete her warmup before the race, a suspicious but uninformed official suspected this little girl was where she shouldn’t be. When he asked Decker to leave the track, she refused, and he escorted her to an exit. Cooler, and more track and field savvy, heads prevailed, and the teenager was allowed to run the race. Against a quality field, she calmly ran her race and won decisively, setting a new indoor world record in the process.
The remainder of that 1974 season was one of transition for the young runner. After experiencing marital difficulties for many years, Jackie and John Decker finally divorced, a factor that contributed to Mary Decker prematurely ending her season that summer. (“It’s their business. If they’re not happy together, then why shouldn’t they get a divorce?” she explained in a tone that likely belied the impact a parental break-up would have on any teenager.) With her father largely out of her life, her mother began to exert greater influence over her daughter’s athletic career. Concerned about comments suggesting that Mary might potentially burn out of running at an early age, she extended that influence to coaching, informing Don DeNoon that she would be the final authority on all decisions regarding her daughter. Understandably, DeNoon refused to accept that ultimatum and his time working with such an incomparable young runner soon ended. Jackie Decker intended to fill at least a portion of that void. “I asked Mary,” she explained, “whether she would rather have me along than Don, and she said, ‘Of course.’ Don has been tagging along with Mary, seeing the world with her, when I could be doing it.” As a result, Mary Decker soon had the first of what would be a string of new coaches.
Other factors pushed the budding teenager in a different direction. “My workouts aren’t fun anymore,” she proclaimed in the spring of 1974. She didn’t necessarily dislike Don DeNoon, and she was certainly not averse to the workload he expected of her. What she did dislike was how the coach had changed the location of the club’s training sessions, and because of increased distance, most of Decker’s friends were suddenly unable to attend workouts. Most prominent among these friends was Bill Graves, Mary’s boyfriend and a talented miler at a nearby high school. While her mother and others pondered what the young phenom should do with her career, Decker quietly gravitated to another coach. That unlikely mentor was Ted Devian, Graves’ high school coach, who seemed to relate well to athletes who were only a few years younger than he was. Regarding his newest charge, “She’s just another person on my team,” the young coach suggested. “The only thing about her that’s new for me is that she doesn’t complain. I’m not used to that.”
Midway through the shortened 1974 season, Decker reflected on the importance of running and the goals she had set for the future. “Right now, track is 99% of my life. I’ve set myself goals in it. I want to break two minutes in the half-mile, and I want to win a gold medal in the 800 meters at the Olympics.” Unexpectedly and perhaps tragically, that first goal would not be reached for a surprising six years. And she would never reach the second goal in the 800 or any event.
In addition to her parents’ divorce and a new coach, 1974 brought other changes to Mary Decker. As she had tangled with the top Soviet runners, she was literally “Little Mary Decker,” just over five-foot-tall and 90 pounds. Young athletes, particularly young women, often experience growth spurts that naturally, but sometimes significantly, alter their bodies, and some are unable to maintain performance levels after that transformation. As she later recalled, “My body was changing so much at that age. I was ripe to get hurt. I grew several inches taller in a year or two and gained weight. My stride changed and I was awkward – there was all this extra ‘me’ and I didn’t know what to do with it.”
In February of 1975, organizers of the Sunkist Invitational Indoor meet in Los Angeles planned a race between Decker, the holder of multiple indoor world records, and Francie Larrieu, who was equally decorated and arguably the only true American rival for Decker during this stage of her career. They would run the 1,000, with a hope the world record could be broken in this less prominent event. The promoters and fans would not be disappointed.
As was her typical tactic, Decker shot to the front of the pack at the start, and for a brief time, she appeared to have the race under control. Larrieu eventually took the lead and Decker, inexplicably to the fans in attendance, began to fade. Francie Larrieu that night won going away, adding the indoor 1,000 to her own list of world records. Decker finished ten seconds back, an unexpectedly significant gap.
This surprising performance wasn’t the result of a lack of fitness or motivation or poor tactics. As Decker crossed the finish line that evening, she had a painful burning sensation in her shins. Though she didn’t realize it at the time, those shin pains would dog her for the remainder of her career and force her to largely scrap her 1975, 1976, and 1977 seasons. She tried rest and physical therapy and countless other approaches, traditional and otherwise, and none brought any relief to the nagging pain in her shins. Just as she was approaching her prime competitive years, Mary Decker could barely run. Her hope for competing in the Montreal Olympics was dimming each day, and her primary outlet for dealing with the travails of life was no longer available to her. “I had grown accustomed to using running for therapy,” she later acknowledged. “It made me feel whole. When I got injured, I lost that outlet.” Though it was hard to imagine regarding the phenom who had broken so many world and national records as a young teenager, she later reflected, “At sixteen, I was a has-been.”
In 1976, Decker graduated from high school and found her way to Boulder, Colorado, where she worked in the running store owned by Frank Shorter, the 1972 Olympic marathon champion who would later that year win a silver medal in Montreal. Still unable to run without pain, she found herself working at the store around countless young runners who were training to attain lofty goals like those she had set for herself. Despite having already gathered far more athletic accomplishments than most of her co-workers could ever attain, Decker felt oddly out of place in this unique running community. At the end of the day as these other runners prepared for their evening workouts, they assumed that their non-running colleague would close the store and left her alone to do so. “I was the nonrunner.” She later reflected. “I felt almost as if I didn’t exist.”
Her time in Boulder, where she had enrolled in the University of Colorado, and her presence in Shorter’s running shop indirectly led her to a seeming solution to the pain in her shins. She joined the Colorado Buffalo track team in January of 1977, largely based on the prospect that her lower leg issues could be solved sufficiently to allow her seemingly unlimited potential to be uncovered. Women’s coach Rich Castro offered a realistic perspective regarding his new charge, realizing she would need time to heal and might need surgery. “We’re trying to be very low-key. She’s always been pushed into the limelight. We don’t want that.”) Regarding possible surgery, as she began her career at Colorado, Decker offered a somewhat skeptical view. “If I have surgery, will it work, or will it leave me so I can’t run?” she asked. “I want to try everything else I can.”
The highlight of that first year running for the Buffaloes was at the Big Eight Conference Indoor Championships. Running on minimal training, Decker used her natural speed to win the 440 in 56.7, a conference indoor record at the time. She gutted out a third-place finish in the 880, running 2:15.9 to come in a full five seconds behind the winner. Though this race had demonstrated the focus and determination of the young runner, it also represented quantitative proof of the impact of her injuries. Just two years earlier she had hoped to run under 2:00. The issues with her shins had never been resolved, and they resurfaced in time to force an early end to her 1977 outdoor season. It was as if her time in Boulder had brought her no closer to eliminating the searing pain in her shins.
Then she met Dick Quax.
Like her role model John Walker, Quax was a brash and talented New Zealander. He had won the silver medal in the 5,000 at the Montreal Games and would break the world record in that event the following summer. Earlier that year he met Mary Decker, and as the young athlete offered a frustrated description of the issues with her lower legs, Quax stopped her and pointed to scars on each of his lower legs. He then told her his story of dealing with a condition known as compartment syndrome.
Much less commonly diagnosed in 1977, athletes with symptoms of what is technically referred to as “chronic exertional compartment syndrome,” such as Mary Decker, were often thought to be suffering from common shin splints. As a result, treatments seldom brought much relief. With this form of compartment syndrome, an athlete’s muscles (such as in the lower leg, which is most common) expands but the tissue, or fascia, surrounding that muscle doesn’t expand, potentially causing intense pain in that section of the muscle, called the compartment. The pain intensifies with training and then largely goes away when the athlete is at rest. As Quax explained this painful affliction, Decker realized she was experiencing identical symptoms.
Putting a name to the debilitating condition that had largely eliminated three seasons of running was an important step. But of greater importance, Dick Quax explained to Decker the surgical procedure he had undergone. For the first time in years, she had a glimmer of hope that she might return to the performance levels of her younger years. Later that summer, back in California, she underwent the first of multiple surgeries in which the fascia around her swollen calf muscles were cut in a manner that allowed the release of pressure, and as a result, the elimination of the pain that had dogged her for three years. The results were nearly miraculous, and within weeks Decker was back to an intensive training schedule.
It took Decker some time to get back to her competitive peak, and in the fall of 1977, she competed for the Colorado cross country team. It was slow going at first, shaking off the rust and lack of conditioning that came from years of inactivity. But the drive that had characterized “Little Mary Decker” had never left her, and she was soon training with the men’s team as she tried to hasten her return.
She finished second in the Big Eight Conference cross country meet and qualified with her teammates for the AIAW National Cross-Country Championships, in that era the women’s version of the NCAA Championships. Heading into that meet, Rich Castro commented on his new athlete, offering a realistic but ultimately enthusiastic take on her competitive future. “We really don’t have a superstar right now,” he offered. “But give her another year, and Mary Decker will challenge everyone. That’s a year away. What she lacks just takes time, and only time can give it back to her after the surgery. But after that, look out.” Against a strong field, Decker finished seventh nationally.
After the cross-country season had concluded, Castro asked his athletes to set their goals for the upcoming outdoor track season. Decker listed 1:58 for the 800 and 4:05 for the 1500, each of which would be a personal best and just under the American records at the time. Mary Decker may not have been viewed as a superstar on the Lady Buff team, but these were superstar goals.
After the cross-country season, at the urging of Dick Quax, Decker accepted an invitation to travel to New Zealand for some special training and racing opportunities during the summer season in the southern hemisphere. She trained utilizing a schedule developed by Quax, and the result was some particularly fast times as she won all seven races she entered. Most notably, she lowered her personal bests in the 800 and 1,500, running 2:01.8 and 4:08.9 respectively. By all indications, in the winter of 1978, Mary Decker returned to the United States from her sojourn to New Zealand having regained her trademark speed, greater endurance, and of no small significance, the confidence that had been ever-present before being sidelined with shin pains.
Her first major race of the 1978 indoor season was an arranged race in Los Angeles, site of her clash three years earlier that left Francie Larrieu with an indoor 1,000 world record and Decker writhing with burning pain in her lower legs. This time the tables were turned, with Decker breaking that same 1,000 record in beating Larrieu by six seconds. As she ran a victory lap to a standing ovation from the crowd of over 16,000, Decker felt a sort of joyous vindication. Interviewed afterward, she commented, “This is elation! . . .No more injuries and no more losses. I’m looking only upwards.”
Though she was perhaps still looking upwards, there were more injuries and more losses in what would end up being a disappointing 1978 season. After falling behind in her coursework during the indoor season, Decker withdrew from the University of Colorado and began to focus more fully on her running. Working again with Quax, her twice-daily workouts emphasized over-distance training, running as many as 90 miles a week until having to back off when she developed Achilles tendonitis. She was able to finish third in the 800 at the AAU National Championship meet, a disappointing result given her stellar performances earlier in the year in New Zealand. And then she experienced a flare-up of the shin pain she had hoped had been surgically relegated to her past, necessitating a second procedure in August of 1978 to reduce the effects of her compartment syndrome. A season with such a promising beginning had ultimately ended in frustration.
But she was Mary Decker, a phenomenally talented, still-young athlete who through all the ups and downs of her career had demonstrated great perseverance. As she would comment a couple of years later, “. . . I would start coming back and start doing well and then something else would happen. But I wouldn’t give up hope, didn’t give up on myself.”
Her second surgery providing results similar to the first one, she returned to Colorado for the 1978 cross-country season. The AIAW National Cross-Country Championships that year were held in Boulder on the Buffalo’s home course, and the weather on that November day was unseasonably warm, a boon to the young runner who had found prominence in sunny California. Against a stellar field that included future icons of women’s running like Joan Benoit, Lynn Jennings, and Julie Brown, Decker held back and allowed others to set the pace through almost the entire race. Down by almost 30 yards with just a quarter-mile remaining, she kicked hard, demonstrating the speed of a former Big Eight Conference indoor 440 champion. Against a deep field on a challenging course at altitude, Mary Decker was the national collegiate cross-country champion.
With that race, though, her time at Colorado and as a collegiate athlete came to an end. As she had in late 1978, Decker traveled again to New Zealand, though the results were far less promising. She developed a case of sciatica, a condition that was compounded when she slipped and fell on wet pavement. Later in the year, she tore a muscle in her back that caused her to miss much of the 1979 season. Despite these issues, she showed glimpses of her vast potential, including a Pan-American Games title in the 1,500 and an American record in the mile. Despite her ongoing challenges, assuming she could stay healthy, competing for a medal at the 1980 Moscow Olympics still seemed to be an attainable goal.
For American athletes like Mary Decker, however, there would be no Moscow Olympics.
In December of 1979, most Americans would have had difficulty locating on a map the nation of Afghanistan, a large, mountainous, and rather primitive land in South-Central Asia. But as many in the United States were preparing for Christmas Eve activities, on the other side of the globe, motorized divisions and troops of the Soviet Union were invading this neighboring country.
President Jimmy Carter sought ways to effectively respond to this obvious intrusion into another sovereign state, and as he outlined those possible responses in an address to the nation, near the end he mentioned almost in passing the possibility of an American boycott of the Olympics scheduled for six months later in the Soviet capital. After much debate and effective pressure placed on the U.S. Olympic Committee, no athletes from the United States or most other western nations competed in Moscow that summer.
For Mary Decker, 1980 simply represented the next chapter in her story of Olympic woes. Numerous athletes loudly expressed their outrage at having this ultimate competitive opportunity taken from them, but Decker seemed to take the boycott decision in stride, at least outwardly. “I would love to win an Olympic gold medal, but if it isn’t possible, it isn’t possible,” she offered. “Maybe I can prove I’m the best in other ways.” Years later, as she reflected on this challenging time, Decker offered what was perhaps a more realistic perspective. “I was still young, just 22, and I felt that I would have other Olympic chances. But I felt bad for the athletes who wouldn’t be around in another four years. We were angry, but there was nothing we could do about it.”
By now, Decker had withdrawn from the University of Colorado and relocated to Eugene, Oregon, which offered arguably the most track and field-centric population in the United States, a more temperate climate than Boulder, and the University of Oregon, though she would never enroll there. It was also the home of the legendary Bill Bowerman, retired coach of the Oregon Duck program, mentor to Steve Prefontaine and numerous other world-class runners, and head men’s coach of the 1972 Olympic team. After working with Dick Quax, Decker was now being guided by Bowerman, who reportedly suggested that he was “honored to be entrusted with her talent and a little burdened with her temperament.” Their brief time working together would hasten Decker’s return to track and field prominence.
After a 1980 season that included her first outdoor world record in the mile and indoor world records in the 800 and 1500, Decker lined up to start the 1,500 at the U.S. Olympic Trials in her adopted hometown of Eugene. Adding to the serendipitous quality of this now non-Olympic year, in April she had been forced to endure an extended period of roller skating and swimming as she rehabbed an Achilles tendon injury. There was an odd atmosphere as many of the best track and field athletes in the world gathered at historic Hayward Field, the allure of earning a spot on an Olympic team that had nowhere to go. Still, for many of these athletes, this competition represented the high point of their seasons, and unfortunately in some instances their careers. In the 1,500, Decker darted to the front at the start, led by 25 meters at the halfway point, and won easily with the second-best time ever by an American woman.
Then, like so many of her American Olympic teammates, she was forced to watch as the largely Eastern Bloc field competed in Moscow. In the 1,500 final, the legendary Soviet runner Tatyana Kazankina blistered the field with an Olympic record performance that approached her own world record. As she reflected on this race afterward, Decker commented, “I don’t think I would have won a gold medal – 3:56 is a little fast for me – but I do believe I would have won a medal.” As Dick Quax had similarly commented, “For Mary to be in the top echelon of women middle-distance runners, she’s going to have to run another four or five seconds faster. There is no question in my mind that she can do it.” These reflections were largely confirmed in two post-Olympic meetings between Kazankina and Decker in which the Soviet won easily, the second race by seven seconds over the American champion with a world record that would not be broken for thirteen years. Regarding that second meeting with the Olympic champion, Decker candidly offered, “This is only the second time I have raced against Kazankina, and I don’t know if I will ever beat her. She is so strong.” Then, alluding to the ever-present rumors about the use of steroids and other performance-enhancing drugs by Eastern Bloc athletes, she commented with more forthrightness than was typical when addressing this issue during this era. “Their muscle definition is so pronounced,” she bluntly offered. “I don’t doubt that they are females biologically speaking, but, shall we say, chemically, I’m not so sure.” In a time in which such views were shared through whispers and off-the-record comments, such a statement was blunt indeed.
Though the boycott precluded any Olympic opportunity, 1980 was a year of significant change for Mary Decker. And the most impactful of those changes was associated with a program called Athletics West, or AW.
Leading up to the early 1980s, the governing bodies that controlled track and field, most notably the International Amateur Athletics Federation (IAAF) and the International Olympic Committee (IOC), worked to maintain a system of amateurism that prevented athletes from being directly compensated for their participation in the sport. Athletes from Eastern Bloc nations like East Germany and the Soviet Union were supported by their national federations in all aspects of their training, often living relatively lucrative lives in those communist countries. An East German runner might have an official position in the military or police force, as an example, but in reality, he or she was a professional athlete who did nothing but train and compete.
Phil Knight and Bill Bowerman had created Blue Ribbon Sports in 1964, which became Nike in 1971. Utilizing some of the financial power of the growing company, the former Oregon Duck runner and his coach sought to level the playing field for American track and field athletes as they competed against subsidized athletes from communist countries. Their vehicle for providing that assistance was Athletics West, an organization that provided for its athletes coaching and training facilities, meet expenses, travel arrangements and negotiations with meet promoters, and medical assistance. In other words, many of the same benefits provided to athletes from Eastern Bloc nations.
Not long after leaving Boulder and relocating to Eugene, Mary Decker became a part of AW, which was headquartered in that college town. The assistance Decker received through her affiliation with Athletics West was no doubt significant, but perhaps the most impactful contribution made by AW to her injury-plagued career was a new coach. The largely retired Bill Bowerman moved from being her primary coach to a new role as simply an advisor. Decker’s 1980 season had ended early, again, with surgery to repair a torn Achilles tendon. Her 1981 season ended before it began, with renewed pain in her shins that required yet another surgery. A generational talent with fragile lower legs, she suggested of herself, “People have always described me as ‘the perfect runner from the head to the knees – and glass from there on down.’” Mary Decker needed a coach with the knowledge of running anatomy and physiology needed to bring out her performance potential while still protecting her from continuing injuries.
Enter Dick Brown, the director of Athletics West who was known for his deep knowledge of the physiology of running. In many respects, Brown was just what Decker needed at this critical juncture of her career – a calm personality who understood her both as a runner and a person. To reach her athletic potential, she didn’t need to get faster or stronger; she simply needed to avoid getting injured. In fact, as Brown suggested to his new charge, “If we keep you healthy, no one can beat you.” Regarding her new coach, Decker would later reflect, “He was so calming, so confident in me that he was like a father…” It was a fortuitous matching that would help propel Decker to the greatest successes of her storied career.
Previously after having been sidelined by an injury, Decker had returned to training as soon as possible, eager to resume her tough workouts and as a result pushing too fast, too long, and too soon, and invariably breaking down. Now with Brown as her coach, her training schedule was revamped, her weekly mileage was limited to thirty-five miles, and was gradually increased to no more than the sixty miles her coach believed she could handle. Unlike in the past, this time Decker didn’t break down. Brown watched Decker with an analytical eye and scrutinized her training data to identify problem signs, reducing distance or intensity as needed. Trusting her new coach implicitly, Decker followed his direction, and the result was one of the longest stretches of pain-free running of her career.
Another influence on Decker’s running during the early 1980s was a young, aspiring marathoner from Missouri. Ron Tabb and Mary Decker met at Athletics West, and after a whirlwind romance, the two were married in a small ceremony in September of 1981. By the end of 1983, they had divorced.
Ron Tabb was a promising runner of some repute, having broken every distance record at Central Missouri State University, the small school he had attended. Mary Decker Tabb, as she was known for the eighteen months they were together, was an athletic phenomenon who broke world and American records. Training and competing in the shadow of a more successful spouse in the same sport is a challenge for most individuals in that situation, and there is evidence that the couple struggled with that lopsided dynamic. As Decker commented regarding their strained relationship, “He (Tabb) was unhappy with me if I ran well because I got so much attention. And he was unhappy if I ran poorly because I ran poorly. I felt I couldn’t win.” Regardless of fault, by the 1983 season, she was back to being called Mary Decker.
After an early end to a frustrating 1980 and a 1981 season that had largely been discarded because of injuries, and finally, with a firm training base and relatively healthy legs, Decker was ready for yet another comeback year in 1982. Overcoming the turmoil of her failing marriage and under the calm tutelage of Dick Brown, she completed a full season measured by four indoor world records and multiple outdoor world records, with best-ever performances in the mile, 5,000, and 10,000. The circumstances leading up to the world record in the 10,000 spoke volumes about the phenomenal untapped talent Decker possessed.
Particularly in the early 1980s before the world track and field championships were implemented, the closest athletes could come to championship events in non-Olympic years came in a series of invitational meets conducted in Europe each summer. The early portion of Decker’s 1982 European campaign was highly successful, and following Dick Brown’s cautious approach, she returned home to Eugene for a three-week break before returning for several meets in late August. During sixteen hours of travel between Switzerland and Oregon, she was on a plane with Alberto Salazar, the former Oregon Duck who had broken American records in the 5,000 and 10,000 while in Europe. Salazar suggested that he felt he still had a strong 10,000 in him and pondered whether the all-comers meets commonly held at Hayward Field were sanctioned events and whether records established in those less formal competitions would be accepted by the IAAF. They were sanctioned and any resulting records would be eligible for ratification.
After a grueling day of travel, Decker didn’t get to bed until 1:00 a.m., slept until 11:00 a.m., and lacked the motivation for her typical morning training run. Later that afternoon, her husband was reading the local newspaper and told her, “They’re having a women’s 10,000 tonight.” Her interest piqued and her competitive juices suddenly flowing, she called Dick Brown, whose cautious and protective nature kicked in. He somewhat reluctantly gave his blessing to this spur-of-the-moment race, but with conditions. He told her she needed to wear more supportive racing flats, not spikes, to reduce the pounding on her legs. She needed to drop out if she felt any distress during the race. And she would not do any speed work during the week after the race.
The world record (32:17.19) and American record (32:52.5) were admittedly a bit soft, the women’s 10,000 having not yet gained international prominence. After having confirmed that official marks from the event would be accepted, Brown told Decker, “Go to break Mary Shea’s American record – but just by a little bit. Seventy-nine seconds per lap will do it.” Both Decker and her husband, and likely Dick Brown, knew she could, and likely would, go quite a bit faster.
Word of a Mary Decker-Tabb 10,000 race traveled quickly in track-crazy Eugene, and as a handful of runners lined up for this all-comers event, around 500 fans were in attendance. Lined up next to Decker at the starting line was Oregon runner Eryn Forbes, runner-up in the recent NCAA 10,000 and thus someone who knew something about running such a longer race. “What pace are you going out in?” Decker asked the younger runner. “Seventy-nines,” responded Forbes. “I’ll just stay behind for a while,” Decker responded.
That uncharacteristic restraint lasted all of about fifty yards. “The pace felt way too slow,” she suggested afterward. I just picked it up to where I felt relaxed.” Her coach’s admonitions seemingly forgotten, her first four laps were 76, 77, 76, and 77, very consistent pacing for a middle-distance runner for the first time running a much longer race. As she ground out lap after lap, Decker looked relaxed and completely unpressed. Voicing her inexperience in the 10,000, she reflected after the event, “I wasn’t sure when you should try to push it, or even whether you should.” Her finishing time was 31:35.3, breaking the previous world record by 42 seconds and the American record by 77 seconds. So much for Brown’s admonition that she try to break the American record “just by a little bit.”
Decker characteristically added perspective to this third world record in six weeks, stating, “I am surprised because it was my first 10,000 on the track. It just proves the records aren’t real stiff yet.” Her viewpoint had some validity, but her performance in this event was amazing, nonetheless. Jetlagged from travel and tired from weeks of racing in Europe, unprepared specifically for this distance, competing against virtually no competition, and running in racing flats, the obliteration of this record showed the raw talent and still-untapped potential of this runner.
It had been a stellar year for Decker, her pent-up competitiveness contributing to what was thus far the best season of her already long and successful career. Showing incomparable range, at the end of 1982, she held every American record from 1,500 to 10,000 as well as seven indoor and outdoor world records. At the end of the season, she was named winner of the Jesse Owens Award, the first woman to receive this honor given to the top American track and field athlete. Among American women, no one could compete at her level.
But Mary Decker aspired to compete with the best athletes in the world, including the top runners from the Soviet Union and East Germany who had dominated the championship events of 1,500 and 3,000 in recent years. And as the 1983 season began, she had not yet demonstrated the ability to do that. While Decker was top-ranked for the 1982 season in the 5,000 and 10,000, in the 1,500, the annual rankings in Track and Field News were dominated by Soviet runners, including the top two in the event and five of the top ten. And arguably the top Soviet and world record holder in that event and the 1980 Olympic champion, Tatyana Kazankina, had not competed in 1982 after giving birth to her second child and was not even included in the rankings. Mary Decker was ranked ninth. The 3,000 that year was similarly dominated by Soviet women, including the top-ranked athlete and seven of the top ten. Decker was world-ranked at fourth. To be truly competitive internationally, she had to improve her times and tactics and had to remain healthy.
Before 1983, the only “world champions” in track and field were crowned at the quadrennial Olympic Games. In that year, the IAAF conducted the inaugural World Championships in Helsinki, Finland, and suddenly athletes had an additional opportunity to win a world title. Through 1991, this major international meet was held in the summer of the year before the Summer Olympics. Beginning in 1993, the championships moved to a biennial schedule, with competitions in all events conducted the year before and the year after each Summer Games. The World Championships quickly grew in popularity, and the prestige of a medal in the World Championships soon approached that of those won in the Olympics. And unlike in the Summer Games, with countless sports vying for attention, the World Championships would have no such competition.
For Mary Decker, who despite her dominance among American women had never competed in an Olympics, this new competition represented a huge opportunity, particularly coming off her record-breaking 1982 season. And she was excited as she and Dick Brown directed their planning toward this prestigious new competition. “We all had the same feeling – that Helsinki was going to be a pure track championship. In some ways, it was better than the Olympics,” she reflected later. “There were no politics, no boycotts. Everyone would be there. Everyone wanted to perform their best.”
Healthy and entering 1983 having attained peak form the previous season, Helsinki would represent Decker’s opportunity to take on the Soviet women in a prestigious, high-profile event.
As she had demonstrated since the early years of her career, she could compete at the highest of levels if only she could reach the starting line uninjured. Invariably in past years, Decker would succumb to her fierce competitive instincts, train too hard and race too often, and eventually break down with an Achilles tear or calf issue. What was different in the run-up to the World Championships was the cautious guiding hand of Dick Brown, who helped Decker map out the season that would culminate in the pivotal August meeting in Helsinki.
Compared to past seasons, she raced much more sparingly, particularly indoors, though she was able to notch a world best in the indoor two miles and American records in the road 10 km and as part of a 4 x 800 relay. Her focus was two-fold, to first run well at the TAC National Championships in June in Indianapolis and then compete well against the Eastern Bloc runners in Helsinki. If all went as planned, the former would be largely a formality and she would easily qualify as part of the U.S. team. The latter, under even the best of circumstances, would be a huge challenge.
Though few gave her much chance for a high finish in either the 1,500 or 3,000 at the World Championships, Decker toyed with the possibility of entering both events at the national meet as well as the Worlds. In a season in which she and her coach were focused on staying healthy, the challenge at the TAC meet involved scheduling, with the 3,000 final starting less than an hour after the 1,500 final. Dick Brown supported the notion on one condition, that she not run from the front and that she stay in the pack for at least much of the race. As he suggested before the race, “I’d like for her to go out and run with the pack and then let her kick handle it.” He continued, alluding to an issue that had faced the front-running athlete throughout her career, “It would be good for her to run with the pack and get a feeling of what it’s like to run with other people around her.” Both he and Decker knew that in Helsinki, she was not going to run away from the Soviet runners.
To “run with the pack” against a field of American runners, the direction Brown had given her as she doubled at the national championship meet, the other runners had to follow a pace fast enough to in any way feel comfortable to Decker. And in 1983, they simply could not do so. As one of her rivals, the former University of Virginia runner Margaret Groos, reflected at the time, “I don’t think it would matter if Mary tripled. I wish for her sake we could give her some competition.” In the months leading up to the World Championships, at least among American runners, Mary Decker was simply in a class by herself.
At the TAC Championships, the 1,500 final was run first with the 3,000 final starting less than an hour later. In the first race, quickly putting aside the notion of “running with the pack,” Decker ran the first 400 in sixty-two seconds, a torrid pace under any circumstances, and then easily won by more than six seconds. Though she recognized she had started “far too fast” in the 1,500, she later commented, “I wanted to see how I could run the 3,000 when I was tired. But the 1,500 really didn’t make me that tired.” As a demonstration of her fitness, she came back fifty minutes later to win the 3,000 by almost ten seconds in a world-leading time and the second-fastest ever by an American runner. It was an impressive performance even by her own standards; by all measures, Mary Decker was ready to take on the Russians in both events.
The track and field world, however, remained unconvinced that Decker could stay with the Soviet runners, particularly in the 1,500. In its World Championship preview, Track and Field News predicted the Soviets would sweep the medals, with Decker finishing fourth. For the 3,000, Decker was projected to win the silver, but questions remained about her ability to handle such intense competition. “She (Decker) can run the pace, but can she stay with the kick?” T&FN questioned. “She hasn’t been in this kind of competition since her teenage days as an 800-meter runner. . .”
Demonstrating her speed, before traveling to Helsinki, Decker ran 1:57.60 to break Madeline Manning-Jackson’s seven-year-old American mark in the 800. Still, her ability to kick with the Russians remained in question. In response, she offered before traveling to Helsinki, “I think I have a good kick. If I have to kick, I will be able to kick. I’m fast and strong enough. They will not run away from me.” Still, she spoke confidently of her ability to push the pace from the start and then be able to respond when the Soviets accelerated, as she knew they would. “I’m looking forward to having someone with me on the last lap. Then I’ll really have to run. It’ll be fun.”
The three Soviets in the 3,000 were Svetlana Ulmasova, the world record-holder in the event, the venerable Tatyana Kazankina, and Natalya Artymova, a virtually unknown 20-year-old newcomer. It was the entry of this last runner that caused unexpected consternation in the Decker camp, concern that she would be used to set a torrid early pace or even to impede Decker at a critical stage of the race. “We are aware of both of those possibilities,” responded Dick Brown, “and we’re prepared for them.” Other entrants of note included Brigitte Kraus of West Germany and Wendy Sly of Great Britain.
But the intriguing entry, one that had been unexpected by some, was Kazankina. In the decade before the inaugural World Championships in 1983, the powerful Soviet had been a dominant force in women’s middle-distance running. In the 800 at the Montreal Games, she surged on the homestretch to break the world record and win her first gold medal. In those same Olympics, she used a similar kick to win her second gold in the 1,500, and then defended her title in that event four years later in the Moscow Games. By the early 1980s, Kazankina had all but vanished from the international scene, and with Soviet officials doing nothing to dispel such rumors, it was widely believed that she had retired. Yet when runners lined up for the heats of the 3,000, the defending 1,500 Olympic champion was there, battling Decker to a draw in the second heat. In some respects, it was a harbinger of what was to come in the final.
With input from Bill Bowerman, Decker and Brown settled on a strategy for the 3,000, tactics that this time she would actually put into action. With the Soviets known for their blistering kicks, she would try to take the lead at the start and then increase the pace in the last laps of the race to take some of the sting out of their finishes. When the gun sounded, Decker took the lead as planned, unimpeded by the pack of runners bunched up behind her. She hit a quick sixty-six seconds on her initial lap before settling into a steady pace four to five seconds slower. By the halfway point, Decker’s pace had separated the field, with just a handful of runners, including the top two Soviets, Sly, and Kraus, within striking distance. While this small group jostled for position, the American continued to set the pace.
As the bell rang for the last lap, with Decker still leading, the pace picked up considerably. Down the backstretch, Kazankina was behind the leader but boxed in by Wendy Sly. Further back was Ulmasova, the world record-holder, boxed in herself by Brigitte Kraus and the Italian, Agnese Possami. Coming off the last turn, Kazankina broke free and began her famous kick, nearly drawing even with Decker. Earlier in the race, as he commented as part of NBC’s coverage of the World Championships, Frank Shorter had suggested that Decker needed to establish enough of a lead heading into the last lap to sustain the Soviet’s incredible kick. Many of the most knowledgeable Helsinki fans assumed that, given her Olympic champion’s 800-meter speed, a Kazankina win was inevitable.
But something unexpected happened. Disproving her detractors and doubting fans and journalists, with 50 meters to go, Decker found another gear and began to pull away from her more accomplished Soviet rival. As she described the moment, Decker suggested that when she sensed the Soviet runner beside her, she “took a deep breath, relaxed, and went.” There was no pain or sense of panic evident on her face as she accelerated, just a calm sense of determination. Leading from start to finish, Decker opened a gap of several meters to become world champion. Dispirited by Decker’s move, Kazankina appeared to ease back when it was apparent she would not win and was passed at the line by Kraus. Ulmasova was fourth, followed by Sly in fifth.
Kazankina minced few words when interviewed afterward, reflecting, “I was sure I would win it. But I lost in the final sprint to the American Mary Decker, who proved to be stronger at the finish.” Decker was similarly forthright in her reaction, stating, “I wasn’t worried when Kazankina came up on me in the stretch because I know I have a good kick.”
With one world championship, Decker still had work to do, with the heats of the 1,500 scheduled for two days later.
All the top contenders made it through the heats with little drama, so the 12 athletes who lined up for the 1,500 represented a particularly strong field. In the run-up to the World Championships, few prognosticators had considered Decker much of a threat for a medal. But after her commanding performance in the 3,000 just four days earlier, she was now being viewed with renewed interest. Other anticipated contenders included Wendy Sly, Gabriella Dorio of Italy, Doina Melente of Romania, and the Canadian Brit McRoberts.
But other than Decker, as in the 3,000, the focus was on the three outstanding Soviet runners. Zamira Zaytseva and Yekaterina Podkopayeva each had 1,500 PRs faster than Decker’s, and the third, Ravilya Agletdinova had run only slightly slower. Of perhaps greater significance, in a race that would likely be tactical and decided by which runner had the greatest speed at the end, all three Soviets had 800 PRs at least a second faster than Decker’s American record and none had run in the preliminary round and final of the 3,000. Despite her win from earlier in the week, many still believed that in the end, the American would be hard-pressed to overcome such Soviet firepower.
Helsinki track and field fans are among the most knowledgeable in the world, and as the runners lined up for the start, there was a sense of anticipation and the stadium was electric. That sense of anticipation extended to the runners, and the Soviet champion Zaytseva actually false-started. The second try resulted in a clean start, and in cool, windy conditions, Decker moved to the front, again. This time, though, leading from the start wasn’t necessarily a part of the plan. “If someone else wanted to lead, I would have let them,” Decker commented after the race. “I didn’t want to lead the pace into a strong wind and then find I didn’t have what I needed at the end.” So lead she did, completing the first 400 in a quick 64 seconds.
European middle-distance running was often tantamount to a contact sport, with athletes jostling for position and simply maintaining close contact with other runners. And few were more aggressive than the Soviet women. This was one of Dick Brown’s concerns regarding Decker’s preparation for these championships, her ability to race at a quick pace in a pack or at least close to other runners. And like few other races in her career, this 1,500 tested her ability, tenacity, and composure. Within the first 100 meters, Zamira Zaytseva, arguably the best of the three Soviets in the race, purposely latched onto Decker’s outside shoulder and stayed there for over three laps. And it bothered Decker. “She hit me practically every stride the whole way. Not obviously, but brushing elbows, touching shoes,” she reflected later. “I thought about taking a swing at her…” But she maintained her composure, and the lead, as she led the field through a fairly evenly-paced first three laps.
Then heading into the last turn, after having bumped Decker several times, Zaytseva took off, looking more like a quarter-miler than a 1,500-meter runner. She shot past Decker and immediately cut to the inside, forcing the American to break stride. “She moved in so suddenly, she blocked me,” Decker recalled. “I had to slow down, I had no place to go. That pissed me off. I thought, ‘That’s cheating.’”
Cheating or not, Zaytseva’s kick was fierce, with an almost frantic stride, and heading onto the home stretch, she had opened a two-meter gap on Decker. With 60 meters to go, Decker glanced over her shoulder and started her drive to catch Zaytseva, who was pushing hard toward the finish. At this point, it looked like the American would add a silver medal to the gold she had won four days earlier. Then the Soviet started to tie up, just slightly, and Decker was coming quickly. With ten meters to go, the two were even, but Decker had greater momentum. At five meters out, Zaytseva began to lunge for the line, lost her balance, and skidded across the finish.
Remaining upright, Decker strode across the line with an expression that was devoid of emotion. Everything had happened so quickly at the end that she didn’t realize she had won. “I hadn’t seen her fall. My eyes had been shut. I didn’t know I’d won until I saw the replay on the scoreboard,” she reflected after the race. But rather than ecstatic, she was still irritated at the tactics Zaytseva had utilized. “The only way of getting back at her was to win.”
Proving the skeptics wrong, Decker had won not one, but two world titles, completing what was quickly dubbed the “Decker Double.” Over a decade after wowing track fans with her precocious teenage talents, and just a few years after injuries prevented her from running at all, in the eyes of the world, Mary Decker had arrived. And with the 1984 Games, in her hometown, just a year away, it seemed likely that she would finally put her Olympic frustrations behind her.
Up next:
Part Two: Mary Decker and Zola Budd – Los Angeles 1984
Read the full Mary Decker and Zola Budd – Los Angeles 1984 series:
References
Amdur, Neil,1980, “Mary Decker Runs to Maturity,” The New York Times, June 13, 1980
Burfoot, Amby, 2016, First Ladies of Running, Emmaus, Pennsylvania: Rodale Books
Goodman, Mark, 1983, “Woman on the Run,” The New York Times Magazine, August 7, 1983
Hendershott, Jon, 1980, “Mary Decker Interview,” Track and Field News, April 1980
Henderson, Jason, 2016, Collision Course, Edinburgh: Arena Sport Books
Hersh, Bob, 1983, “3000: Decker Stuns Soviets in Stretch,” Track and Field News, September 1983
Moore, Kenny, 1982, “It Was Just Another Mary Chase,” Sports Illustrated, July 26, 1982
Moore, Kenny, 1983, “She Runs and We Are Lifted,” Sports Illustrated, December 26, 1983
Murphy, Frank, 2000, The Silence of Great Distance, Kansas City: WindSprint Press
Reid, Ron, 1976, “Mannerly Murder in Minsk,” Sports Illustrated, August 6, 1976
Track and Field News, “WC Preview,” August 1983
Verschoth, Anita, 1974, “Mary, Mary, Not Contrary,”, Sports Illustrated, April 22, 1974
Willman, Howard, 1983, “1500: Decker Kayos the Soviets Again,” Track and Field News, September 1983
Copyright 2021 by Rob Leachman – All Rights Reserved
