Olympian Races At Harvard

The gun goes off, and after seven seconds I figure that I’ve seen everything I need to see.

The 60-meter dash is the shortest possible race, but one competitor easily separated himself from the field, and it is with little surprise that I note his name atop the overall scoreboard through five events.

Bryan Clay—the best athlete in the world that you’ve never heard of—seems well on his way to another win in the heptathlon, a baby step in his return to international prominence.

Despite gracing the front of a Wheaties box, Clay remains relatively unknown outside the track world. Indeed, the fact that little more than 25 people have come out to watch the man who earned silver and gold medals for the decathlon in the last two Olympics cannot be attributed solely to an uninformed Harvard community. After all, the meet is open to the public.

But I’m not lamenting the fact that Clay’s name doesn’t draw a crowd. If anything, I was pleasantly surprised to learn that the “World’s Greatest Athlete” would have time to chat the day before the meet. And as I quickly learned, Clay is much more than even that title suggests.

At Harvard, we are accustomed to visits from the world’s most accomplished individuals. Although Olympians don’t stop by as often as Nobel Laureates, Clay’s pedigree seems fitting—in addition to his medals in Athens and Beijing, the multi-event star is the reigning world indoor champion, and, despite his compact frame, boasts the best discus throw ever in a world decathlon (55.87 meters).

None of these feats are lost on Clay, who shed the humility act that so many use to stonewall reporters.

“I feel like I can call myself one of the best decathletes that the U.S. has ever seen, and I think I can be pretty proud of that fact,” says the owner of the second-best heptathlon and decathlon scores in the nation’s history. “And I’ve got a chance to go and possibly win a third medal at a third Olympic games…and that’s something that no decathlete has ever done before.”

Of course, there is a reason that a third medal has proven so elusive for Clay’s predecessors.

Like NFL running backs, decathletes decline quickly under the strain of such rigorous competition. But Clay, who turned 30 last month, has a chance to defy this tradition. After all, the decathlete scored a 130.40 on the Nike SPARQ test—a sport-specific evaluation designed to determine overall athleticism. Clay’s score in the football version was the highest ever, leaving the NFL’s most electrifying stars, such as Super Bowl-bound Reggie Bush (93.38), in the dust.

So whether or not Clay has the longevity to stand out in London, the decathlete has already proven himself among the globe’s best.

My colleague Dixon asks Clay about his take on the title, and I eagerly anticipate his answer. Surely someone with so much confidence would show some pride in the distinction. But to my surprise, Clay is unimpressed:

“It’s just a fun title to have, that’s how I look at it,” he says. “But does it really change anything? No. I always tell people, I still have to go home, I still have to change diapers, I still have to take out the trash…and I can’t act like an ass to all my friends.”

“So yeah, it’s cool, and it’s an accomplishment,” Clay continues, “but it’s just something that I’ve done, it’s not who I am.”

At this point I’m confused. Clay has spoken at length about “rewriting history books” with a third Olympic medal, and yet would balk at the idea that these efforts define him. But as Clay continues talking, I begin to understand where athletics stand among his priorities.

Rather than let track take over his life, Clay lets his life take over the track.

The decathlete nods in the direction of two young children playing in Gordon Track’s long jump sand pit. I cringe, expecting the derision of an Olympian accustomed to pristine facilities, but instead he explains,

“This is my two kids [on a typical day back home]. My kids are at the track all day…If they want to come see Dad, I live two miles from the track, so [my family] can just hop in the car and come on down. I’m way blessed in that. Maybe some people think it’s a distraction, but it helps me be more focused knowing that my family is happy and taken care of.”

Suddenly, “who” Bryan Clay is becomes clearer. Despite the personal glory that accompanies a highly individual sport and superfluous titles, it is the ability to balance everything important to him that keeps the decathlete working.

“I’m competitive enough that my big goal is…to win a third gold medal at a third Olympic games, but if I don’t,” he shrugs, “then okay, I don’t. The next couple years are just for the love of the sport.”

Of course, Clay realizes that even world-class track and field athletes don’t make enough to lounge around, and it is not difficult to guess what will happen, whether or not he earns his third trip to the Olympic podium.

“When this all ends, I’m still going to have to go out and get a job and figure out what I’m going to do with my life,” Clay laughs.

Back at last Saturday’s meet, I make a crucial mistake following the gold medalist’s dominant performance in the sprint. I leave early to cover the Crimson wrestling team in a double-header, departing just as the warm-ups for the pole vault get underway. It is not until the next morning that I find myself staring incredulously at my computer screen.

Clay finished fourth. Not even on the medal stand. The competition’s standout athlete failed to clear a height in that fateful pole vault, forcing him to concede 804 points to eventual winner Maurice Smith—a blow magnified by Clay’s 785-point loss.

Undoubtedly, Clay was frustrated by his effort, but the Olympian didn’t take time to pout. Instead Clay rushed from Gordon Track immediately, trying to get to California as quickly as possible. He had more important things than the pole vault to think about, such as returning to his wife, Sarah, who delivered the couple’s third child yesterday.

As the two-time Olympian welcomes the fifth member of his family, it seems unlikely that he will brood over the Harvard Multi Meet for very long.

Clay’s experience in Cambridge was not so uncommon. Many of us stride onto this campus as freshmen no less confident than the decathlete seemed last weekend, and unsurprisingly, Clay is not the first of us to face a reality check. But while we may not have Olympic medals to comfort us when we fail, Clay’s perspective transcends his accomplishments. The decathlete insists on consistently focusing on what makes him happy, advice he readily shares:

“The thing I would tell kids and college athletes…is they just need to have a good understanding of who they are, what they believe…and they are going to be successful in whatever they do.”

By track standards, Clay wasn’t successful last weekend, but the decathlete’s outlook allows him to be flexible in his definition of the word. When we inevitably come up short at some point in our four years, may we too be so content in defeat.

—Staff writer Max D. Brondfield can be reached at mbrondf@fas.harvard.edu