Running News Daily

Nearly 50 years ago I fell in love with running. I was far from a natural. When I was 8 years old, I was struck by an illness that left me with pneumonia in both lungs with one lung being collapsed. I survived that but was left with asthma that persists to this day. This was unfortunate as I loved sports. Asthma more or less disqualified me from participating in “running sports, " leaving me only with baseball as something I could do relatively comfortably.

In high school, I wanted to try wrestling. I figured that I could handle three 2-minute periods. However, I would soon learn that a lot of the training involved running and I struggled mightily to keep up with the other kids early in the season. The next season I hit upon the idea to ask our cross-country coach if I could train with that team, though not be part of the team. In this way, I could be conditioned before the start of wrestling season. And during wrestling season, I would show up two hours before the match to check my weight and run 2-4 miles before weigh-in. 

I graduated high school, but the running never stopped. I ran every weekend (4-10 miles each day) for decades. Running was so important to me that when setting up one of my company offices in Japan, I purposely chose a location in a place with a suitable place to run, near the Emperor’s Palace near Tokyo Station. The palace is surrounded by a circular (3km) moat that is a popular running destination. My ritual was that after a week of business, I would do four laps around the palace and then fly home to San Francisco.

Though I loved running I was never interested in racing until about age 50. In 2010, my new son-in-law invited me to join him in a 5K fun run in Lafayette. Passing all those 20-year-olds was all I needed to get the “bug.” I went on to run many dozens of races over the next years, mostly marathons, an ultra, and a triathlon. I was in the best shape of my life, rarely got sick, and was at the top of the world. That would change dramatically.

In 2013, I started noticing that on some days I would experience a strange fatigue that required me to take a walking break. I remember one day that I cut one of my runs short because I was disgusted with my performance. I kept my running clothes on and decided that I would try again later that day. That was the time I set a new PR for that training course. Something was not right, and these episodes of fatigue were increasing in frequency.

The last marathon I ran was in April 2016, a miserable affair clocking in a 4:53. By September, I couldn’t run a mile without a break. I complained to every doctor I met that “something was wrong”, but the standard response was that I was just getting older and I needed to lower my expectations. Even a cardiologist I had seen 10 years earlier told me that there was nothing wrong with me and even quipped “Guys like you are bad for business.” I wasn’t amused.

Finally, in 2019, my asthma doctor recommended a private practice cardiologist in Los Altos who might be willing to work with me. She spent two hours examining me, including an EKG and blood work. She found no problems but listened to my story about my newfound exercise intolerance. She said the only way to get to the bottom of it was to put me under a cardiac stress test.

I showed up at the hospital and they were ready for me. My doctor was there along with two technicians: one to operate the treadmill and monitor the EKG, and one with an echocardiogram scanner for a pre- and post-test scan of my heart. About 15 minutes into the test, about the same interval that I would experience fatigue during a run, the EKG technician exclaimed “Doctor!” and ran out of the room. The doctor told me to stop, asked me if I was OK, and asked me to lie down and have the other technician scan me.

The EKG technician quickly reappeared with defibrillating paddles and was stunned that I was calmly talking to the doctor. The cause of my fatigue was now clear– I was having a heart attack. A very deadly one at that, called Ventricular Tachycardia (VT) in which the top and bottom chambers beat at different rates causing your heart to stop pumping.

Now that the mystery was solved (I was not “fine”), we needed to identify the cause of this electrical misfiring. I was then directed to a cardiac electrophysiologist (EP) that specializes in this sort of disorder. He also took several hours to explain that there are nearly a dozen potential causes of this, and nearly all of them treatable. There was one (the least likely) however, that was not so easily treatable.

As it turns out, the least likely one Cardiac Sarcoidosis, was the one. This is a rare auto-immune disease that typically attacks the lungs but in even rarer cases can attack the heart. Lucky me. These “attacks” leave scar tissue on the heart that disrupts the normal electrical activity of the heart. My EP regretted telling me that this was out of his skill area and needed to refer me to Stanford where they have a cardiologist that specializes in this.

My experience at Stanford was great where a team of cardiologists took care of me. The first step was to see if the VT response to exercise was repeatable (it was). The second step was to confirm that sarcoidosis auto-immune cells were present in my body. The result of that test was positive. The cells were present, but the good news was that they were no longer in my heart and were “dormant.” But the damage was done. The final step was to install an implantable cardiac defibrillator (ICD) in my chest that has two wires screwed into the side of my heart. In case of a sustained VT episode, the ICD would automatically shock me back into rhythm.

My ICD was installed on February 12, 2020 shortly before the Covid lockdown. I cleared to begin running after about six weeks which I gleefully did after eight months of no running and four years of poor running. I am happy to report that I have had zero VT episodes, nor any other serious arrhythmias since the ICD was installed.

But my story is not quite over. Despite the lack of arrhythmias, my running performance has not returned to pre-sarcoidosis levels. I’ve worked with the Stanford cardiology team who have reiterated that my heart is working perfectly. With that ruled out, I asked for a referral to their pulmonary team to see whether there might be some lung function issues that are interfering with my return to normalcy. Like with my heart, I undertook a battery of tests looking for anything unusual.

The results of all these tests were that my lungs, despite a lifetime of asthma are working quite well. The penultimate step in this battery was a cardiopulmonary exercise test (CPET) that is most commonly used to test professional athletes. Despite my running complaints, the tests showed that my body was responding fairly well to exercise as I posted a 12.2 MET (Metaboloic Equivalent of Task).

I studied the voluminous data from the CPET and was struck by one thing– max heart rate. No, not the calculated 220-<age> that most runners are familiar with, but rather seeing that my heart rate levels off at 149 bpm and can go no higher no matter the stress. This is Father Time making his presence known. The reason I can no longer run as fast as I used to is because my heart can’t pump fast enough to generate the required oxygen to propel my body at those speeds. It's basic physics, so simple. 

I decided to investigate this briefly and look at some representative races to see if I could see this in actual race data. I looked at the data from the California International Marathonfrom 2022 curious to see an age-related pattern. During my short racing career, I would typically place in the top 20% of my age bracket. I extracted data for Mens Masters into a chart to show Max HR vs. the top finisher and the top 20% finisher. This has given me some consolation that the slowdown is natural and will continue.

One more thing I’d like to share, especially with older runners. Since the ICD, I have found it hard to rebuild my aerobic base. I’ve concluded that the reason for this is that I was still trying to train like when I was a teenager back when my Max HR was 200! Somewhere in my memory banks, I recalled something about low heart rate training and quickly found the MAF methodby Dr. Phil Maffetone. In a nutshell, Maffetone advises training at ultra-low heart rates (180-<age>) to develop a core aerobic base. The process can take 3-6 months and involves running at an agonizingly slow pace (at first.) I am happy to report that this is the one thing that is working for me and for the first time in a long time I am again running with joy.

This has been a very personal story but one that I thought I should share with our running community. I feel that running may have saved my life. If I hadn’t challenged my doctors that I was not “fine” the worst could have happened. We runners know our bodies better than anyone and when something doesn’t feel right, it’s probably not. Don’t be afraid to aggressively advocate for yourself. Your life might depend on it.

Long before he became the fastest man in history, before the Olympic gold medals, world records, and global superstardom, Usain Bolt was simply a gifted teenager with extraordinary speed and limitless potential. In 2002, on the track at Kingston's National Stadium in Jamaica, the world witnessed the first chapter of a story that would forever change athletics.

At just 15 years old, Bolt lined up for the men's 200 metres at the World Junior Championships with the weight of expectation resting on young shoulders. Competing before a passionate home crowd, the Jamaican prodigy produced a performance that instantly captivated the athletics world. Crossing the finish line in 20.61 seconds, he became the youngest athlete ever to win the men's 200m title at the championships.

It was far more than a gold medal. It was the moment the world realised that a once-in-a-generation talent had arrived.

Bolt's victory in Kingston marked the beginning of one of the greatest careers in sporting history. Over the years that followed, he rewrote the record books, dominated the Olympic Games and World Championships, and transformed sprinting into a global spectacle through his breathtaking speed, infectious personality, and unrivalled confidence. His legacy continues to inspire young athletes across the globe, many of whom dream of following the same path he once began as a teenager.

This week, that dream comes alive once again as the World Athletics U20 Championships take centre stage at the iconic Hayward Field in Eugene, Oregon. The venue has already witnessed the birth of future superstars. In 2014, it was where Britain's Dina Asher-Smith and Uganda's Joshua Cheptegei captured their first global titles, launching careers that would later produce world championships, Olympic medals, and lasting legacies in athletics.

Twelve years later, another generation arrives in Eugene hoping to create its own defining moment.

Among the brightest young talents is Great Britain's Jake Odey-Jordan, the 200m bronze medallist from Lima who now owns the European U20 100m record after an astonishing 10.01-second performance. He enters the championships eager to build on his growing reputation as one of Europe's most exciting young sprinters.

The United States will look to Tate Taylor, who has already made history as the first American high school athlete to break the 20-second barrier for the 200 metres. Fresh from a Diamond League victory in a sensational 19.75 seconds, he arrives in Eugene carrying the momentum of one of the most remarkable junior seasons ever recorded.

Jamaica, the nation that introduced the world to Usain Bolt, will once again have high hopes through Shanoya Douglas. The talented sprinter has established herself as one of the championship's leading contenders after producing lifetime bests of 10.98 seconds for the 100m and 22.11 for the 200m this season.

History has repeatedly shown that the World U20 Championships are far more than a junior competition. They are often the first chapter in the careers of future Olympic champions, world record holders, and global icons. Every generation arrives with ambitious dreams, but only a select few leave having announced themselves to the world.

No one can say with certainty whether the next Usain Bolt will emerge this week. Greatness cannot be predicted, and legends are never manufactured. Yet every legendary career begins with a single breakthrough performance.

For Bolt, that defining moment came in Kingston in 2002.

Now, under the famous lights of Hayward Field, another group of gifted teenagers stands ready to chase history. Somewhere among them could be the next athlete whose name will inspire the world for years to come.

"An athlete cannot run with money in his pockets. He must run with hope in his heart and dreams in his head." More than seventy years after those words were spoken, they remain among the most powerful messages ever shared in distance running. They are often quoted as simple motivation, but behind them lies a remarkable story of sacrifice, courage, conviction, and an unwavering belief that true greatness is never measured by financial reward.

Few athletes have left a legacy as enduring as Emil Zátopek. Known around the world as "The Czech Locomotive" for his relentless determination and unmistakable running style, he redefined what was possible in endurance racing. His legendary performance at the 1952 Olympic Games in Helsinki still ranks among the greatest achievements in athletics history. In the space of just nine days, he captured Olympic gold in the 5,000 meters, the 10,000 meters, and, incredibly, the marathon—a race he had never attempted before.

Yet the world in which Zátopek competed was vastly different from today's professional athletics landscape. During the 1950s, elite sport officially operated under strict amateur rules. Olympic athletes were forbidden from accepting prize money or earning a living directly from competition, although unofficial financial arrangements existed in many sports. Zátopek himself never raced for appearance fees or lucrative prize purses. Instead, he served as an officer in the Czechoslovak People's Army, receiving a military salary while representing his country. Running brought him glory, but not personal wealth.

It was within that environment that his famous words carried genuine meaning. For Zátopek, success was never driven by the promise of money. He believed the greatest performances were fueled by hope, ambition, discipline, and the courage to pursue dreams that seemed impossible. Those qualities, rather than financial incentives, formed the foundation of lasting excellence.

With the benefit of history, his words carry even greater significance. In 1968, during the Prague Spring, Zátopek openly supported democratic reforms in Czechoslovakia. When the movement was crushed, he paid a heavy personal price for standing by his principles. He was stripped of his military rank, removed from public life, and forced into years of manual labor. The man who had once stood proudly atop the Olympic podium found himself performing physically demanding jobs, far removed from the stadiums where he had inspired millions.

His story reminds us that the values he expressed were not empty words crafted for public admiration. He lived by them, even when doing so came at enormous personal cost. His belief that hope and conviction mattered more than material rewards became evident not only in the races he won, but also in the hardships he endured with remarkable dignity.

Distance running has changed dramatically since Zátopek's era. Today's elite athletes compete in a fully professional sport where prize money, sponsorship contracts, appearance fees, and endorsement deals can be worth millions. Success on the track and roads now offers opportunities that were unimaginable during the age of amateur competition. Professionalism has transformed the sport, allowing athletes to train full-time, access world-class coaching and sports science, and build financially secure careers.

Yet despite these changes, the essence of Zátopek's message has never lost its relevance.

Every elite runner naturally hopes to earn a good living from years of dedication and sacrifice. There is nothing wrong with financial success, and the rewards available today have elevated the standard of competition across the world. But history consistently shows that money alone is rarely enough to sustain greatness. The athletes whose careers endure the longest are often those driven by an inner passion to improve, to test their limits, and to chase excellence for its own sake. Financial rewards become the result of that commitment, not the reason for it.

When competition is motivated solely by wealth, its deeper purpose can fade. But when an athlete races with genuine belief, relentless determination, and an unwavering dream, extraordinary performances often follow naturally.

That is why Emil Zátopek's words continue to resonate across generations. His legacy extends far beyond Olympic medals and world records. It lives in every runner who laces up their shoes with a goal that cannot be measured in dollars, every athlete who refuses to surrender when the race becomes painful, and every competitor who understands that the greatest victories begin long before the finish line.

The economics of distance running may have evolved beyond recognition, but the heart of the sport remains unchanged. Every athlete still arrives at the starting line carrying something far more valuable than money—hope in their heart and dreams in their head. Those invisible qualities have always been, and will always remain, the true fuel of greatness.

Winning a major championship is never just about crossing the finish line first. Behind every gold medal lies a carefully crafted race plan, and Josh Kerr's unforgettable Commonwealth Games triumph in Glasgow was a perfect example of tactical brilliance meeting extraordinary finishing speed.

While the final time of 3:54.12 for the mile will be remembered as the official result, the split times reveal a much deeper story—one of patience, precision, and devastating acceleration when it mattered most.

Kerr resisted any temptation to force the pace from the gun. Instead, he settled into a controlled rhythm, allowing the opening stages to unfold naturally. His first four 100-metre segments—14.9, 15.1, 15.3 and 15.1 seconds—brought him through 400 metres in 60.4 seconds, a measured opening that conserved valuable energy while keeping him firmly in contention.

The second lap remained equally composed. Passing 500 metres in 15.3 seconds before recording splits of 15.7, 16.2 and 15.4, Kerr reached 800 metres in 2:03.0. The pace had eased, but that was exactly where the Scottish star wanted to be. Rather than chasing early speed, he was setting the stage for a decisive finish.

Everything changed after halfway.

Kerr gradually increased the tempo with smooth, controlled acceleration. His 900-metre and 1,000-metre splits of 15.2 and 14.9 seconds signalled that the race was beginning to stretch. He then surged through 1,100 metres in 14.3 seconds before covering the next 100 metres in just 13.4 seconds to reach 1,200 metres in 3:00.8.

From there, the home crowd witnessed championship running at its finest.

Instead of fading, Kerr became even stronger. He reeled off three consecutive 100-metre splits of 13.4, 13.4 and 12.8 seconds, dismantling the field with every stride. His final 100 metres were covered in a stunning 12.5 seconds, sealing an emphatic victory and sending the Glasgow crowd into celebration.

The progression of his race was remarkable. After opening with relaxed 15-second splits, Kerr transformed the closing stages into a demonstration of world-class speed endurance. His ability to accelerate continuously over the final 600 metres highlighted not only exceptional fitness but also supreme confidence in his race plan.

Championship middle-distance racing is rarely about producing the fastest possible time from the start. More often, it rewards athletes who understand when to conserve energy and when to unleash everything they have left. Kerr executed that philosophy to perfection.

His split chart paints the picture of a runner who never panicked, never wasted effort, and saved his greatest weapon for the closing stages. It was a textbook display of patience followed by relentless aggression—a combination that turned a tactical race into a memorable Commonwealth gold medal performance.

For aspiring middle-distance runners, Kerr's Glasgow masterpiece offers an important lesson: the strongest finish often belongs not to the athlete who runs hardest from the gun, but to the one who knows exactly when to make their move. On home soil, Josh Kerr timed that move to perfection, producing a performance that will stand as one of the defining moments of the championships.

At just nine years old, Oliver Smith has achieved something extraordinary—not by chasing records or medals, but by proving that determination, compassion, and consistency can create a life-changing impact.

Hailing from Wombwell, on the outskirts of Barnsley, Oliver set himself a remarkable challenge at the beginning of the year. Rather than attempting a single marathon, he decided to complete the equivalent distance of nine marathons over several months. From January 1 to April 26, the young runner covered an incredible 380 kilometres, breaking the distance into manageable daily runs suitable for a child his age.

His routine was built on dedication. Saturdays were reserved for parkrun events, Sundays for junior parkrun, while the remaining kilometres were steadily accumulated throughout the week. Averaging approximately 3.3 kilometres each day, Oliver never lost sight of the goal that inspired every step.

The challenge carried deep personal meaning. Last summer, Oliver's father, Tom Smith, suffered a devastating health setback after losing most of the vision in one eye. Medical examinations revealed a 4-centimetre meningioma wrapped around his optic nerve, leading to a complex 12-hour operation at the Royal Hallamshire Hospital in Sheffield.

Throughout the family's difficult journey, The Brain Tumour Charity provided invaluable guidance, support, and reassurance. Grateful for the help his family received, Oliver decided he wanted to give back in the most meaningful way he could. He launched a fundraising campaign with an initial goal of raising £2,000 to support others facing similar challenges.

What followed exceeded everyone's expectations.

Oliver brought his incredible fundraising challenge to a memorable conclusion at the Mini London Marathon, finishing on the very same day his mother, Hannah Smith, completed her first-ever London Marathon. It was a fitting family celebration of courage, resilience, and perseverance.

By the time Oliver crossed the finish line, donations had soared beyond £16,500—more than eight times his original target. His remarkable achievement captured the hearts of supporters, demonstrating how one young boy's determination could unite an entire community behind an important cause.

For Oliver, however, the journey is far from over. Inspired by the overwhelming support and the difference his efforts have made, he has already begun working toward his next fundraising challenge.

His story serves as a powerful reminder that age is no barrier to making a meaningful difference. Sometimes, the greatest acts of courage are measured not by speed or distance, but by the willingness to take one small step after another for the benefit of others.

Oliver Smith's inspiring journey is more than a fundraising success—it is a testament to the strength of family, the power of kindness, and the extraordinary impact that can begin with the simplest decision to help.

Sometimes the smallest opportunity creates the greatest triumph, and Jamaica's Navasky Anderson proved exactly that with a stunning performance to capture the men's 800m title at the 2026 Commonwealth Games in Glasgow.

Less than 24 hours after scraping into the final by the slimmest of margins, Anderson produced the race of his life, surging to victory in 1:45.33 to complete one of the most remarkable comeback stories of the championships. His gold medal was not only a reward for exceptional talent but also for courage, determination, and unwavering belief when everything was on the line.

The journey to the top nearly ended in the semifinals. Locked in an intense battle with England's Max Burgin for the final qualification place, Anderson threw himself across the finish line in a dramatic dive, stopping the clock at 1:45.38. That desperate effort earned him the last available place in the final as the fastest non-automatic qualifier, keeping his Commonwealth dream alive by the narrowest of margins.

With another chance in his hands, the Jamaican made sure it counted.

In a fiercely contested final, Anderson displayed outstanding tactical awareness and patience throughout the opening stages before unleashing a devastating finishing kick down the home straight. His perfectly timed acceleration left the rest of the field with no answer as he crossed the finish line first, securing a memorable Commonwealth crown and one of Jamaica's standout victories of the Games.

Australia's Luke Boyes delivered an impressive performance to claim the silver medal in 1:45.93, while Kenya's Wyclife Kinyamal battled strongly to take bronze in 1:46.12 after another highly competitive championship race.

Anderson's unforgettable triumph will be remembered as one of the defining moments of Glasgow 2026—a powerful reminder that championships are not always won by the fastest qualifier, but often by the athlete who refuses to surrender. From a fearless dive that kept his hopes alive to a brilliant gold-medal performance less than a day later, the Jamaican wrote one of the most inspiring chapters of these Commonwealth Games.

Men's 800m Final Results

1. Navasky Anderson (Jamaica) — 1:45.33

2. Luke Boyes (Australia) — 1:45.93

3. Wyclife Kinyamal (Kenya) — 1:46.12

Navasky Anderson arrived in the final as the last man to qualify, but he left Glasgow as the Commonwealth champion—a remarkable transformation that perfectly captures the unpredictable beauty of championship athletics.