Sam Burley is on track for Beijing. Literally. At the 2003 World Championships, Burley finished a strong 1:46.63 in a competitive 800 meter heat, but was disqualified for a minor lane violation. Given the history of this young man from Cheyenne, Wyoming, he’ll be back at the Olympic trials with focus and passion. In his 800 specialty, he’s gone from being a last placing 2:26 runner his freshman year at Cheyenne Central High to blazing a 1:45.39 PR at the 2002 NCAAs as a University of Pennsylvania junior in the fastest American time of the year (a mere .22 behind Otukile Lekote of South Carolina). He came back to win the 2003 title in a cliffhanger against Texas Tech’s Jonathan Johnson, becoming only the second Ivy League male in history to win the NCAA two-lapper. Then he finished fourth at the U.S. Championships. In the 800, Burley’s awesome kick often starts a long 300 meters from the line. His lean 5′9″, 145 lb. frame does not announce his physical strength, seamlessly complimented by his mental toughness. When this highly competitive athlete loses — at anything — he just goes back and figures out how to get better. But self-obsession is not a Burley trait: under Penn coach Charlie Powell he proved himself a dedicated team player when he anchored a 4 x 400 win against Princeton at the 2002 Outdoor Heps. That performance also sealed the overall team victory, and it came after he ran both the 1500 (first place) and 800 (second). Burley is still at Penn, getting his Masters in Environmental Studies, an academic quest aided by a well-deserved NCAA post-graduate scholarship.

Our championship meet was tied going into the last event, and whichever team won the relay would win the meet. Only our anchor was relatively fresh, having run the 400 finals earlier that day. Our lead off leg had run the 400, 100, and 4×100. Our second leg had run the 400 hurdles a few hours before and I had doubled in the 1500 and 800, both of which had prelims and finals on consecutive days and were only an hour apart. Impossible, the Princeton team was in the first heat of two and had just ran faster than our seasonal best. As we walked up to the line we were forced to weave our way through the celebrating Princeton track team. We could hear them congratulating their relay: “That’s a winning time. It’s all over.” I was the third leg, of three, and when I got the baton we were well in the lead, but winning the heat didn’t matter, we were racing against time.
As my family can attest, I can be a little competitive. Even when I was little I hated to lose, but loved to compete. My dad likes to tell the story of our chess battles. I do not now, nor have I ever, enjoyed chess. Worse, I am no good at it. Throughout my childhood I never beat my dad at chess despite checking out books from the library, and even joining a local chess club. It wasn’t until after I came back from my freshman year of college that I beat him, and promptly retired. This competitive trait caries over to my running as well, I still hate to lose and love to compete. I run my best in big races with big competition, so I was a little worried when I got the baton with no one in front of me and the second place team 20 meters back.
As soon as the baton touched my hand I started to sprint, and I didn’t take a single easy step that entire lap. Even though our team was everywhere, all the way into lane two screaming, I didn’t hear anything except for my own footsteps. I couldn’t feel anything either, everything was calm and nothing hurt. For once I was competing only with myself, and I ran my fastest split ever. When our final leg crossed the line we had bested the Princeton team, our own personal record, and the meet record. Winning that 4×400 is still my greatest sports moment.