Frank's Story

"I threw a 4:33 surge between miles nine and 10, and from that point on I was out of sight of the guys trailing me—Mamo Wolde [of Ethiopia], Derek Clayton [of Australia], and Kenny [Moore of the United States]," Shorter says, recalling the Munich marathon. "The whole second half, I kept hitting my pace. I had the talent to go out fast, by myself, and ride the pain. I learned that from watching Clayton and Ron Clarke, but it was also something I internalized from my childhood."

Until John Brant's profile on Frank Shorter in the October edition of Runner's World, discussions of his gold medal-winning race at the 1972 Munich Olympics did not touch upon what the above quote addresses. That's because, for the most part, the details of Shorter's childhood was something only he was privy to.

News that our father of the American running boom's own father was abusive first broke in 1991, the first time Shorter shared this information with a reporter. The New York Times, based on a story that ran in a Florida newspaper, ran a brief. Shorter's father, who died in 2008, denied the accusation. The story dissipated.

With the publication of this article, Shorter tells Brant, his silence has officially been broken. With it, we have a new window into Shorter's soul.

This story is wrenching. This is a story you find out about, find it and read all the way through. Its length, or whatever is happening at work, are of no consequence.

In the picture above, Shorter, left, is racing against Bill Rodgers. It was a great rivalry. These are two runners students of the sport continue to both romanticize and study. I, for one, read both of their biographies while in high school. It was my first year of competitive running, and here's what sticks with me:

Rodgers: High mileage yet all over the the place training. Big eater.

Shorter: 17 miles a day, two track workouts, 20 miles or two hours (whichever came first) on Sunday. Barely ate. Few cans of beer per night.

This is to say that these were books about training, about the sport.

But there is something else, something more awkward. Everyone loves Boston Bill. Shorter? What I had always heard was that he was not a very nice guy - that he was kind of hard to figure out. "I'll have to see to believe it," I'd say.

This, meanwhile, was Shorter's secret. His training partners, his rivals ... no one knew.