Eric agreed to train for the annual sports day—and so far it had gone well—but he didn’t put a lot of stock in what winning might mean.
Not that anyone expected much from the university freshman. But that warm afternoon as the heather began to bloom beneath the sun’s light on Great Britain’s hillsides, Eric took his place at the starting line against Edinburgh’s current fastest sprinter . . . and history took a slow turn.
Perhaps the older student looked at Eric sideways and chuckled inwardly, confident he’d leave the younger Liddell in his dust. Or perhaps he furrowed his brow, wondering, Who is this new man on the track? Either way, when the races were done, Eric had taken a shocking first in the 100 yards and barely got nipped for second in the 220-yard race.
A surprising accomplishment for a freshman—so much so that a Glasgow newspaper declared that Eric “is going to be a British Champion ere long, and he might even blossom into an Olympic hero.”[1]
With such a success, Eric committed to running track for the University of Edinburgh and, with each event, steadily raised eyebrows with his blazing speed and the times he posted, despite what was becoming more of the focus: his unorthodox style.
As a runner, Eric had his own approach to racing, and it was one that would bring him great fame, even though—for Eric—it was simply the way he ran.
Duncan McLeod Wright, a talented Scottish marathon runner who went on to represent Britain in multiple Olympic Games, described Eric’s unconventional style by saying, “In my half century’s connection with Scottish sport, I have met many famous athletes, but I state in all honesty that I don’t remember my first view of anyone as vividly as my first sight of Eric Liddell. It was at the Queen’s Park Sports in 1921. I heard there was a real flyer in the Edinburgh University’s colours. . . . Through a small window from the competitor’s room underneath the Stand, I saw Eric for the first run in the 100 yards and was completely thrilled. Off to a slow start, he ran with blazing speed, chin up, head back on the shoulders, and his arms thrashing the air. ‘Dreadful style’ said the cynical critics. But his space-devouring legs raced on a straight path to the tape, and to me he typified the speed runner putting all his strength into his effort to gain victory.”[2]
Practice and technique were given strong attention in Eric’s training. Eric adopted what he could yet retained his peculiar style and stride. Years later, Eric recalled the first time he saw a cinder track:
Up to then I thought all professional runners would be first-class runners. They danced about on their toes as if they were stepping on hot bricks. Whenever they started to run, they dug big holes for their toes to go into, as if they were preparing for the time when their toes would dance no more. Surely they did not expect me to make such a fool of myself as all that? Yes, I found that they did. . . .
It was at this time that I got to know the trainer who trained me during my five seasons on the running track. He took me in hand, pounded me about like a piece of putty, pushed this muscle this way and that muscle the other way, in order, as he said, to get me into shape.
He told me that my muscles were all far too hard and that they needed to be softened by massage. He added that if they were not softened soon, some day when I tried to start, one of the muscles would snap. He took me out and told me to do a short run. After finishing the run I stopped much quicker than any of the others. When I asked him what he thought of it, he answered that if I wanted a breakdown I was going about it in the best possible manner, for it appears that one must never stop abruptly on reaching the tape.
Thus, being thoroughly humiliated, feeling that my reputation had been dragged through the mud, that my self-respect was still wallowing in the mire, and that if I didn’t get into the clutches of a trainer soon, every muscle in my body would give way and I should remain a physical wreck till the end of my days—I was then in a fit mental condition to start an athletic career.[3]
Between his work within the church and his accomplishments on the track, Eric’s popularity continued to grow. Remarkably, this had little to no effect on his character. Eric’s humble profile remained unchanged.
Eric enjoyed spending time in the young adults group, teaching Bible classes at Morningside, and worshiping with his family. He sensed that within the walls of church and ministry he could still be the person he had always known himself to be, a circumstance that had become more and more rare. Morningside held true sanctuary for Eric in more than the obvious way. Eric had begun to recognize the increasing pressures of fame, and he not only recognized them, he avoided them.
The three-legged stool of church life, studies, and athletics supported Eric, fortifying him through his remaining years at the University of Edinburgh. Each interest grew, strengthened, and enhanced him in every way imaginable. Eric became a fine science scholar, and his prowess on the rugby team ultimately gave way to an opportunity to play for Scotland’s international team.
Eric played international rugby for Scotland over the course of 1922–1923. His blazing speed made him a natural wing three-quarter, and by the end of the season he had earned seven international caps and scored four tries. By pairing Eric up with another speeding winger, A. L. Gracie, Scotland enjoyed thrilling success.
“Is Eric Liddell better at rugby or running?” became a commonly heard question, since Eric’s speed on the rugby field was as astonishing as his times on the track. This sparked an enjoyable debate among athletic fans.
