Promise unfulfilled
© SI.com. Author: Tim Layden
Jennings isn’t much older, but he’s definitely wiser
Posted: Friday October 7, 2005 12:11PM; Updated: Friday October 7, 2005 6:38PM

The face was vaguely familiar — but the name escaped me, dodging around the recesses of my brain, avoiding capture. Plus, it was early.

I had traveled all day from my home on the East Coast to the clear-air, high-altitude paradise of Mammoth Lakes, Calif., to write a distance-running story. Three flights ending in Reno, Nev., and then a three-hour drive through high Sierra, which is probably beautiful in daylight but just bludgeoning in the dark. I had a fitful sleep, wheezing for air at 8,000 feet with sea-level lungs.

Now it is morning. I can’t even run out the cobwebs because of a sore, surgically repaired knee that I suspect will eventually turn me into a cyclist. I am standing in the parking lot of a modest motel with Team USA running coach Bob Larsen, shivering against a morning chill that will rapidly turn into a postcard afternoon under cloudless skies.

Soon the runners begin arriving from their homes, their motels, their flophouse condos. There is Meb Keflezighi, U.S. silver medalist in the 2004 Olympic marathon. Here comes Deena Kastor, bronze medalist in Athens and the fastest U.S. female marathoner in history. (Watch her this weekend in Chicago. She recently broke the American record in the half-marathon, and in Mammoth I asked her if she was as fit as that performance would indicate. “Yes, I am,” she said, her pixie’s eyes doing nothing to hide a warrior’s readiness. Something special is coming..

There were others milling around: Olympian Jen Rhines and former Stanford distance stars Lauren Fleshman and Ian Dobson.

Among them is a tall man with fine, black growth on his chin and beneath his nose. Hair falls out from beneath his winter hat. I have seen him before. Many times. The name, the name? I asked Larsen. “Him?” replied Larsen, as if I should know. “That’s Gabe Jennings.”

Of course it is. The big, expressive eyes, the wide mouth. That look, part rebel, part Prefontaine, part … part … who knows what?

I met Jennings in June 1997, when he was a senior in high school in Madison, Wis. He was a gifted runner, the son of free-spirited hippies Jim and SuzanneJennings. This was back before Alan Webb, when journalists would revel in deconstructing the mystery of America’s inability to produce a high-school miler who could break four minutes. No one had done it since Jim Ryun ran 3:55.3 in 1964. (Webb would shatter that record with a seminal 3:53.43 at the 2001 Prefontaine Classic, but in ‘97 Webb was an eighth-grader and Ryun was untouchable.)

On a humid night in Raleigh, N.C., Jennings ran 4:02.81 in a race that was twice restarted after runners fell on the first turn. It was a terrific performance but still not a sub-four. In the oppressive twilight that followed, Jennings was a whirl of energy. “We can do this!” he shouted at his peers.

Even then, Jennings was a delightfully odd duck. He could rave on about yoga and diets, and when he ran, it was in a fast shuffle that looked like a marathoner’s, only much faster. He went to Stanford and helped coach Vin Lananna’s Cardinal win NCAA titles. At the 2000 Olympic trials, Jennings made a crazy, bold move with 600 meters to go in the 1,500-meter final and, wouldn’t you know? He held on and won the race. Afterward he entertained writers with a re-creation of the beat he heard pounding in his mind as he ran the race, befitting his musician’s spirit. Gabe was eccentric. Gabe was cool.

A year later Jennings crashed out of the opening round of the 1,500 meters at the World Championships in Edmonton, and then, in the mixed zone after the race, told writers that he could beat the best in the world, bragging far out of proportion to his resume.

“I’m on the same plane as these guys,” he said. “I see fear in their eyes. I own Hicham El Guerrouj. In two years I’ll be whipping all their butts.”

It was funny listening to him, but a little uncomfortable too. We printed his quotes and reminded our readers that El Guerrouj was the world record holder and probably the great miler in history. (Three years after Edmonton, Hicham won both the 1,500 and 5,000 meters in Athens). Was Gabe Ali or was Gabe delusional?

In the short term he was the latter. After Stanford, he took a bike journey to South America and suffered beatings and robberies that he detailed in journals he kept. He became a curiosity in the running world, not an athlete. Last year he went to Kenya and began training hard again. He felt himself getting fit.

“I went to these meets where they had five heats of the 1,500 meters with 30 people in each heat and I’m the only white guy in the whole stadium,” said Jennings, beaming. “I could hang with any of them for three laps and then it was over. But I figured I’d come back home and blow everybody away at the trials.”

He didn’t. Back home at the Cardinal Invitational in Palo Alto last May, Jennings won an unseeded section of the 1,500 meters in a slow 3:43.83. More than 40 American men ran faster in ‘05. “I was wrong,” says Jennings. “I wasn’t ready. Three-forty-three. What can I say?”

In September Jennings went to Mammoth, where he and Dobson share a Spartan condo subsidized by USA Running. One day last wee they ran together through a series of scorching intervals.

“Felt good,” said Jennings. Larsen, listening to Jennings talk, marveled at his talent, his ability to get in shape fast.

“But he’s got to put in the hours and the miles,” Larsen said.

It’s important to say that Gabe Jennings could be terrific for U.S. middle-distance running. Not because he sees the world sideways (although that’s not a bad thing), but because he has — and has always had — the talent to help do what Webb is presently doing alone: compete against the best in the world.

A couple years ago I talked at length with about Jennings with Lananna, who now has taken over the storied — and faded — Oregon track program. He knows Jennings far better than Larsen, but his words were similar. “He just needs to do the work, physically,” said Lananna.

Now Jennings is standing by the side of a cold, mountain stream, barefoot and smiling. He will be 27 in January. The young boy who ran that hot night in North Carolina, the wise kid who said the wrong thing in Edmonton — they’re buried somewhere inside his soul. But the runner who loves his sport, he’s still there. He doesn’t have a shoe contract or a job. He seems to have the passion to try again, and he is not yet too old.

“This is perfect here,” he said, surveying the mountains, the sky. “This is just running.”

He is lifting weights, doing his core work, mixing distance with threshold training. He is thinking long-term, but working day by day.

It’s tricky at this point to bet on Gabe Jennings. There is a history betting big against him. But you see the face, you look in the eyes and you remember the promise from almost a decade ago. That promise is still worth fulfilling.

1998, September, Mammoth Lakes 12:00am

I wake up sweating from an intense dream. I had just dreamt that I had won the 2000 US Olympic Trials in the 1500m. I had made a ballsy move with 600m to go. The stands erupt with African drum rhythms, and “Go Gabe Go.” I drop the field and open up a piercing lead. Ecstasy climaxes as I punch the finish line at 3:35, Olympic A standard, 20 meters ahead of second place. I had just won a birth to the Olympics at twenty-one years old. The exhilarating dream left me sweating in bed; it felt so near I could almost taste the victory.
It was midnight and I lay there in bed shivering with excitement. Stanford had rented Snow Creek Condos in Mammoth Lakes for our pre-season cross country camp. As a nineteen year old sophomore at Stanford I was flushed with the glory of taking second at the NCAA 1500m just three months earlier. I was obsessed with visualizing myself winning future races. In the heat of such passion and fantasy, sleep was impossible. I sensed that this would be one of those nights. I had my mind set on being the best in the world and nothing was going to stop me.
Mammoth Lakes sits at 8,000 feet, nestled on the eastern side of the Sierras below the stunning 11,000 foot Mammoth Mountain. The elevation, trails, friendly, quiet town, and recent Mecca to world class runners makes it a superior training spot for endurance athletes. Tonight, the full moon energy was unbearable as I realized my fate. I shot out of bed to put on my running shoes and racing shorts. Bare-chested I set for the door when my room-mate Jon Stevens, Bug, beckoned, “Hey, Gabe, where are you going?”
“To the top of Mammoth Mountain,” I responded. “Do you want to come?”
“Uh, no.” Bug rolled over. It was past midnight and we had a fifteen mile long run scheduled at 8am that very morning.
I left the condos in a heavy mist, uncanny for Mammoth’s usually clear, dry weather. The fog was so dense I could barely see my feet beneath me as I set out on the familiar running route towards Mammoth Rock, continuing up to Lake Mary at the base of Mammoth Mountain.

2005, September, Mammoth Lakes 6pm

While waiting for my running wardrobe of white cotton tee-shirts to dry at the Blue Roof condos in Mammoth Lakes on the backside of Vons I studied a chess problem in our living room. The problem was from the Zhuravlev-Koskin match in Gorky, 1963. The combination involves the famous dragon Sicilian where by all obstacles are removed from the a1 — h8 diagonal. In this particular instance white must eliminate two knights and a pawn from the traditional Sicilian bishop line before white can checkmate the black king. From my perspective, identifying with white, the Sicilian placed bishop represents my 2005 hard won patience in contrast to my 1998 spontaneous attack methods. By analyzing mature chess games, I plot my next mode of training, and race tactics. The contrast is exaggerated in 1998 by the manic, bongo blitzing Gabe who read Ralph Ellison’s “Invisible Man” while at Mammoth. The 1998 Gabe embraced Ellison’s mounting layers of disillusionment hidden in Russian Doll life experiences, ultimately leading to Plato’s Cave itself.
Compared to 1998, 2005 Gabe’s bishop looks confident, protected, with far reaching projections. As I walked down the stairs from our second story condo to get my laundry, I noticed that my low back was sore from the core strength, speed ladder, and the most recent long run of two hours that morning, where I had gotten mercilously dropped by Team USA teammates Deena Kastor, (yeah a woman, and 2004 Athens, Marathon Bronze Medalist), Meb Keflezighi (2004 Athens, Marathon Silver Medalist), and Antonio Arce, All-American. I thought back to my epic Mammoth Mountain ascent and I realized that the climb was the beginning of this long journey of seemingly unending mountains: the 2000 Australia Olympics, a 10,000 mile bike ride to Brazil, a year training in Kenya, and the past year coaching high school track in Mendocino; now, finally coming full circle, I was climbing Mammoth Mountain once again. As I put on a plain white shirt hot from the dryer I watched the sharp angles of light set behind Mammoth Mountain and I realized it would always be the same mountain.

1998, September, Mammoth Lakes 12:30am

As I reached Mammoth Rock, the mist so thick I could drink it, abruptly cleared, but there still remained an inversion layer hiding the mountain from view. Through the clouds the moon lit up my trail. As I passed Lake Mary at 9,000 feet, I strategized that if I took the road to the end and just kept running up the mountain until I ran out of elevation I was bound to reach the top.

2005, September, Mammoth Lakes 8:00pm

As I peeled an orange after dinner: Greek spinach salad, hummus, babaganoush, and brown rice, I cleared the living room floor to practice the back exercises from a book that Team USA’s coach Terrence Mahon had lent me: Jack Heggie’s Running with the Whole Body. As I brought my head, supported by my right elbow towards my left knee, held by my left hand just below the knee cap, I was struck by the amazing yogic relationship that connects our core when we run. In 1998 I was religious about doing running yoga exercises and deep massage. The 2005 Gabe does West African Dance, plyometrics and running sutra meditations. I believe that running is a way for Americans to liberate ourselves from our luxurious, suburban, materially commodified lifestyle!

1998, September, Mammoth Lakes 2:00am

I crest the last rugged ascent before the top after one of the most taxing runs of my life. My sweat was evaporating instantly in the cool dry air. The clouds were now below me and all that was in view was the glowing bald head of Mammoth Mountain and the full moon burning a whole into my soul. I squeezed a handful of dripping wet pine needles full of dew into my mouth before charging towards the top. I was utterly exhausted, yet satisfied.

2005, September, Mammoth Lakes 9:30pm

Seven years have passed since I stood on the top of Mammoth Mountain with my arms raised in euphoria, full of dreams, courage, and determination. Since that time I have scaled many mountains: the Michoacan highlands leading into Mexico City, the steep perilous mountains of Chiapas and Guatemala, the heavenly Andes of Peru, Mt. Kenya and the Rift Valley, rock climbing British Columbia, Yosemite and Red Rocks. However, the first and greatest mountain in my life is Mammoth Mountain.
It is only upon my return seven years later that I realize I haven’t stopped climbing. “Good night. I am going to bed. I have an easy run tomorrow and two mile intervals around Lake Mary Tuesday at 9,000 feet in under 5 minutes per mile pace.”