Boston bound: Ryan Hall Runs Free (and Checks his Watch)

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y Roger Robinson/ Running Times

"My aim was to have fun and run free. ‘Joy’ and ‘freedom,’ those were my key words for today."

Ryan Hall was irrepressibly positive at the press conference after his Boston fourth place in 2:08:41, a new best American time for the course. He was happy with having led for many of the early miles, he was happy with his halfway split, he was happy with following Bill Rodgers' advice to maintain on the Newton hills and "fly down," he was very happy with his result and time. "I had fun, and it was a great run—my best time on the course."

A less optimistic personality might have felt a little sore with having set up the pace for someone else to break the course record, with dropping from the key break when it predictably came soon after halfway, and perhaps most of all with missing a third-place medal that looked to be there for the taking.

"I had fun on the last stretch," Hall said blithely, referring to his zestful exchanges with the crowd and moments of airplane zigzags while Deriba Merga was slouching painfully to the third-place finish only 2 seconds ahead.

"After my New York experience last fall, I decided in my next big race I was going to celebrate whatever the Lord had in store for me. If that cost me a place, that's OK. I ran with joy. Running's not all about records and place. I love to run and I want to enjoy it."

So at 27, Hall says, "I'm getting older and better." When the youthful winner and record-breaker Robert Kiprono Cheruiyot, was speaking about the new generation of world-beating Kenyans (Sammy Wanjiru, age 23; Vincent Kipruto, 22; Cheruiyot, 21), Hall took a swig at his drink, his face unreadable.

Beneath the beatific smile and engaging boyish confidence, there were glimpses of a different, deeper Ryan Hall—a fighter, a tactician, a runner willing to suffer, an obsessive clock-watcher. He checked his free and joyful running against his watch every half-minute or so—five times in 2 minutes, by my count at one stretch—and he was peeking at it every time he was on camera. He even checked it at the 26-mile point. I have unlimited respect for anyone who can register time and calculate splits at 26 miles in a marathon.

And there were other brief glimpses of the inner competitor within the fun-lover.

"The crowd today was unreal. I gave the Wellesley girls a little pump up. I had a good time, even though I was in pain..." The last two words changed the tone.

"When I passed Meb, I gave him a little swirl on his head. No [responding to a question], I didn't say anything—I couldn't speak."
Then there was the preparation.

"I was here for three weeks, studying the course, running on it, doing intervals, talking to Bill Rodgers. So much went into this race. Being here so early made me hungry."

He persisted in believing he was still in the race even when the leaders had gone from sight.

"I always believed I had a shot to get back into it, and that's the key to running your own race. But at 24 miles, I saw the helicopter over the leaders, and I thought, 'Today I'm running my own race.'"

Ryan Hall, so charming and seemingly so innocent, remains a mystery. Being hungry for the race, being in pain during it, being unable to speak, running to a rigid time schedule (or anyway being preoccupied with time)—these sit strangely with having fun, running for the joy, air-planing for the crowd and being free of care for records or places. From this strange mix he has forged a career near the top of the world, and today another success—a muted success, perhaps, as most of us assess it, but not for him. Not on the surface.