SIR MURRAY HALBERG (1933- 2022): “CATCH ME IF YOU CAN.”

the mounting threshold of fatigue. Follow the leader. Put off the evil moment, and keep faith in a last lap sprint, and the weariness of others. An emotional furnace, with the runners in a nervous lather of indecision.

But one runner in black had already made his decision, as he marshalled his killer instinct. For Halberg the evil moment could wait no longer. Suddenly he detonated some internal fireworks. Against all traditions of the event, Halberg flicked a switch marked willpower and swiftly broke into a much higher cadence. He had figured he would make his break when the knife was sharpest. When the Germans and the Pole had their dithering doubts.

Halberg came from behind, moved out a lap and a half and into the position of front runner. The lap took but 61 seconds of the Omega Swiss timers, when the average time of the preceding laps were churned out in around 66 seconds.

The author, Vern Walker, was a nationally-ranked distance runner, and competed against Murray Halberg on numerous occasions.

MURRAY Halberg’s performances as the world’s leading distance runner were enhanced by a brand of savage determination. This was most graphically demonstrated when he won the 5000 metres event at the 1960 Olympic Games held in Rome.

5.10pm, Friday 2 September: The twelve finalists heard the call: “Ai vostri posti.” “On your marks.” Facing Halberg were competitors from Poland, Australia, Kenya, France, Italy, Hungary, Russia, and three runners from Germany. Twelve and a half laps of the orange coloured cinders faced the field.

The Australian veteran, Dave Power took over the front running. Still, Halberg lurked in twelfth spot. Continually the file of runners in front of him stretched and shrank as they surged. Then the East German, Hans Grodotski put his foot down and sharpened the pace. A beautifully smooth runner with his blonded hair flopping up and down to his rhythmic flow.

There then came a phase of deliberation. With three laps still to run, it was too far from the finish to try and make a break on the field. A stanza in the 5,000 metres when any decisive tactical bursts were too challenging to even contemplate, since the brain was being sand-papered away due to

The field failed to respond and Halberg had surprisingly put a precious 25 metres between him and the three runners chasing him. Only Grodotski reacted and set out to chase the New Zealander, with the slender shoulders and powerful thighs.

For the group of Kiwi track fans seated near the 200 metres mark the next two minutes were a nervous ordeal as they screamed their encouragement and tried to fortify their hopes. On the other hand, thousands of spectators in the vast open bowl of the Stadio Olimpico were voicing their doubts: “Does that skinny guy in black know what he is doing? Has he miscounted the laps?” As Halberg desperately strove to maintain his precious lead a conversation between two Italians, could have gone something like this: “Gee, Giuseppe, he could be the winner. He seems to have more speed than Caesar’s sandals” His friend Mario quickly responded: “But he could die like Julius Caesar: suddenly.” Tongue-in-cheek though this may be, it did turn out to be a gladiatorial contest.

If on lap ten, Halberg looked a world-beater, the final two laps would prise open a crack of fallibility as Grodotski took off in his quest to catch Halberg. In front of the German was a gap of around 12 metres. It was now a two man contest for the gold medal as 70,000 spectators roared their encouragement. The blocks of East Germans howled out in unison: GRO-DOT-SKI, GRO-DOT-SKI, GRODOT-SKI.

Ominously, Halberg’s eleventh lap took 65.5 seconds. He was slowing and Grodotski was ever so slowly gaining. Normally the lead runner can hear the rasp of the footfalls of the chasing runner upon the cinders. But the stadium was in an uproar, and Halberg could not hear the chasing German. So on every bend Halberg snatched a quick left-hand backward glance to see where the German was. This may well have translated to the German that Halberg was now having his own doubts.

Down the straight to the bell. Grodotski, the hunter was now inexorably chasing down Halberg, the hunted. By now the lifting muscles of Halberg’s thighs must have seemed to be as heavy as grand pianos. Each stride must have seemed like an expedition. Down the back straight with the German still gaining, gaining, gaining. Halberg’s face was now salt-white against the black of his uniform. Into the final straight and Grodotski was now only nine metres away. But finally, for Halberg eight metres was just enough. The gold medal was his. Limp as a wet rag he tottered off the cinders and on