Eventually, the last call for the 400-meter finals rang through the stadium, and Eric took his position. Before the Games, both he and McKerchar had been pleased to hear that the races would be run on marked lanes, thereby eliminating the chance for being boxed in. But Eric had drawn lane six, the outermost lane—the most difficult position and least-desired assignment. The staggered start around the track’s curve thrust him far out in front, which prevented him from being able to see any competitors during the majority of the race.
Eric’s visible advantages had been all but removed, but he had an undetectable edge few others could see, let alone understand. He ran not only for Britain, but first and foremost for God. No matter what transpired during the race—whether he won or lost—Eric knew he already possessed an eternal peace that surpassed understanding.
The spectators’ eyes went to Eric. Here stood the Scottish sprinter who refused to run on Sunday. The magnitude of the unfolding story line had swelled with each heat. Electric anticipation galvanized the stadium when Eric and the other runners crouched into their starting stances. Eric held more of a raw sprinter’s mind-set and more experience in the shorter distances than his opponents. If he had raced against these same runners in the open 100 meters or 200 meters, there would have been no question who would have won. He had superior turnover leg speed. But this was the 400 meters.
Could Eric maintain his speed during the second half of the race?
The gunshot reverberated through the stadium, releasing the tension of both the sprinters and the crowd. Eric Liddell’s moment of reckoning had arrived. He burst out swiftly, building a gradual lead on the runners, and maintained command of the race down the back straightaway. The other runners chased after him, fully expecting to reel him in. The closing turn of the track would assure this. Or so everyone thought.
Everyone but Eric.
As the finish tape waved in the late afternoon heat, Eric tilted his head back in his unorthodox style and dug in hard for the finish. His gait was not as fluid as the other runners’, and as his muscles tightened in the second half of the race, Eric’s stride appeared more hindered. He propelled forward, pushing through the turn, and led into the final straightaway.
The last 100 meters of the open 400 is the most grueling end to a race of any distance. The sheer speed needed to run a sub-50-second quarter rivals the shorter sprints yet calls for inordinate strength for a closing kick, which the longer distances require. The most difficult aspects of both ends of the running spectrum marry in those last one hundred meters.
Eric presided over these two demands marvelously as he flew down the track toward vindication. The other runners crept closer as they passed through the curve, but Eric showed no sign of slowing. The crowd stood in uproarious appreciation as #451 drew closer to destiny—his head back, his face lifted toward God.
In the last few strides one challenger fell. The pace had proved to be too much. Eric crossed the line first, setting a new world record of 47.6, as spectators gasped. Eric had broken his own record from earlier in the day by six tenths of a second—an astonishing feat by any stretch of the imagination.
Colombes Stadium thundered in frenzy and adoration as Eric breathed at a rapid pace, all the while taking in the moment. He shook hands (notably with two of the runners who had fallen) and flashed a smile, which simultaneously exuded exoneration and joy. He rested his hands against his hips, willing his body back to normal, reveling in his unexpected triumph.
Within seconds, journalists flocked to Britain’s freshly reinstated darling in astonishment, but as soon as the band played “God Save the King,” Eric Liddell quietly slipped out of the stadium.
[11] D. P. Thomson, Scotland’s Greatest Athlete: The Eric Liddell Story (Barnoak, Crieff, Perthshire, Scotland: Research Unit, 1970), 59–60.
CHAPTER 7
A VICTORY LAP
For everyone who has been born of God overcomes the world. And this is the victory that has overcome the world—our faith.
1 John 5:4
July 1924
The reporter grinned at Eric with his pencil poised, ready to write on the palm-sized pad of paper cupped in his hand. “To what do you owe your victory?”
Eric swallowed back a smile. “I ran the first 200 meters as hard as I could.” He paused long enough to raise his brow, to prove—once and for all—the conviction that burned within his heart. “Then, with God’s help, I ran the second 200 harder.”
The journalist and those around him chuckled good-naturedly.
“Eric,” one of them called out. “Harold Abrahams said . . .” He looked down at his notes. “That people may shout their heads off about your appalling style. ‘Well, let them. He gets there,’ he said. Do you have anything to add to that?”
Now it was Eric’s turn to laugh. “We each have our own way to perform the gifts God gave us.”
Another reporter raised his hand. “One paper—The Scotsman—said you achieved immortality in Paris.”
“No, sir,” Eric remarked quickly. “My immortality comes from Christ—not a track and field stadium in France.”
FORTY-FOUR NATIONS COMPETED at the 1924 Olympics in Paris, France. Germany and China were absent from participation. The British traded blows in the short sprints with Charley Paddock and Jackson Scholz of the United States. Ultimately the British prevailed, winning gold in the 100 meters, the 400 meters, and the 800 meters, by Harold Abrahams, Eric Liddell, and Douglas Lowe, respectively. Finland equally dominated the longer distances. Albin Stenroos took gold in the marathon; Paavo Nurmi in the 1,500 meters, the 5,000 meters, and the cross-country run; and Ville Ritola
