In actuality, upon hearing the news in the early fall of 1923—months before the Summer Olympics—that the opening 100-meter heats were set for a Sunday, Eric knew without question what his response would be. He would not run on the Sabbath—even for the Olympics. End of discussion.
Eric’s deep-seated reverence for the Sabbath was rooted in the seriousness of his missionary upbringing, cultivated in the rigidity of his boarding school, and nourished by D. P. Thomson’s strong legalistic theology. In Eric’s thinking, it stood to reason that mankind should adhere to one of God’s earliest commandments. But even to Christians of his day, Liddell’s practice was in the minority and seemed like foolish extremism to non-Christians and those of weak belief.
After his conversation with Eric, D. P. helpfully framed Eric’s Sabbath understanding to those who inquired by saying, “Eric [believes], as I myself have always done, that, one day in seven, different in every way from the others, gives new significance and value to the remaining six.”[7]
While Eric considered his decision to be quite commonplace, the majority of onlookers perceived it as a much bolder statement, especially considering everything at stake. Not only would Eric withdraw from the 100 meters, but his participation in two relays—the 4 x 100 meters and the 4 x 400 meters—would be withdrawn as well, since those events also fell on Sundays. Having Eric step out of three races would be a genuine deathblow to Great Britain’s chances not only to lay claim to the fastest man on earth but also to mark a triumphant return to global sports dominance. In the wake of World War I, this was of immeasurable value for national pride and morale.
While Eric was more than equipped to make the sacrifice, he was not prepared for the ensuing aftermath. He had always been likable, with hardly a disparaging word spoken against him, and in recent years only good press followed wherever he went. All that was about to change.
Everyone, it seemed, had an opinion about his decision.
After Eric refused to run on Sunday, Britain ran through the stages of grief. They said Liddell would ultimately change his mind. When that hope went unrealized, they grew angry, calling him a coward and asking how he could turn his back on his country. They bargained, suggesting that he dedicate the race to the Lord or that the Sabbath ended at a particular time of day.
“My Sabbath lasts all day,” Eric replied.
There was even speculation that the British Olympic authorities should appeal to the International Olympic Committee to reschedule some events, owing to religious observance. Any such controversial conversations that may have taken place were behind closed doors, unpublicized, and without success. Ultimately Great Britain dissolved into depression as the winter months set in, accepting that Eric—their greatest hope for national pride and glory—could not be swayed from his beliefs.
Eric genuinely lived according to the doctrines of his faith—which he believed and clung to—and he would not waver or consider it shrewd to compromise. He did not see the wisdom in competing on the Sabbath, nor did he worry about what his choice cost him. Seeking the glory and praise of other people was not his purpose. He would have accepted never competing in the Olympics at all, without losing any sleep in the process, had no reasonable solution come forward.
Lost in all the nearly political hullabaloo was the fact that Eric still planned on competing in the 200 meters, held on a Tuesday and Wednesday. But a wounded nation preparing for battle saw this only as a pale olive branch.
And then there was the 400 meters, which was not scheduled on a Sunday, and there was still time to qualify. However, there was one glaring problem. Eric had never—ever—seriously competed at that distance before.
This jump might not sound like much to a novice, but to the seasoned competitor, it bordered on preposterous. Those who had spent years training and competing in the 400 would surely leave Eric in their dust. But in some attempt to continue to do right by his country without turning his back on God’s order, Eric sought out his coach, Tom McKerchar, to explore the prospect.
The year before, during the 1922 track season, Eric had run the 400 meters after his featured events in the 100- and 200-meter races, but only twice. They served, more or less, as extra events to sneak in a full workout on a race day, thereby strengthening him for later in the season. His times were decent for a world-class sprinter, but nothing to write home about. They were surely nothing to assure a gold at the Olympics.
Except for one event . . .
Eric’s performance at this Stoke-on-Trent event during the summer of 1923 convinced McKerchar that Eric should at the very least try.
Eric ran the event without the benefit of lanes. Legally, the runners could cross in front of each other but were prohibited from boxing in other runners. From the firing of the gun, Eric fell behind. Then, fifteen yards down the track, another runner, J. J. Gillis, fouled Eric, who rolled onto the grass infield. When Eric heard the judge cry “foul,” he assumed the ruling was toward him. But just then another judge screamed at Eric to get up.
Eric stood and stared down the track. The other runners were now twenty yards ahead.
Once he had his bearings, Eric took off at lightning speed. By the 300-yard point, he had caught up to the others. Then spectators watched in awe as his “heid went back.” Legs pumping and heart pounding, Eric passed Gillis, who was in the lead, and won by two yards.
The Scotsman, in its article on the race, wrote, “The circumstances in which [Liddell] won made it a performance bordering on the miraculous.”[8]
Eric fell to the infield grass, his heart pounding as though it might erupt from his chest. A teammate helped him onto his feet, then over to the pavilion. He suggested Eric have a drop of brandy to revive him.
