On the morning of August 7, 2021, 88 female distance runners gathered at in Sapporo, Japan. They were set to embark on a 26.2-mile journey for Olympic gold.
The field was littered with accomplished athletes – record holders and outright marathon winners who hailed from all corners of the globe. Among them was a 27-year-old Wisconsin native named Molly Seidel.
Seidel hadn’t racked up any marathon wins or set any records at that distance before. In fact, she’d only raced in two marathons before jetting off to Japan.
She’d done well enough in one of those races – the United States Olympic Trials Marathon – to earn her spot at the starting line. But few were expecting much from her as she took on the world’s best.
The weather in Sapporo was brutal that morning. Bright sun baked the streets, and high humidity made the air feel heavy.
The conditions evened the playing field somewhat. So, as the race reached its final few miles, there was no breakaway leader. The alpha pack remained largely intact.
The expected contenders were in that pack – runners from Kenya and Ethiopia. But so was Molly Seidel.
The TV commentators looked on with astonishment. Would Seidel hold on? Or would any number of factors – the pressure, the conditions, the fatigue – cause her to fade?
Less than twenty minutes later, the answer emerged.
A Kenyan runner crossed the finish line first. Another Kenyan was the second across the line.
But the third runner? That was Molly Seidel.
Seidel had secured a Bronze medal – only the United States’ third ever medal in the women’s Olympic marathon. And she’d done it in style – finishing a mere 26 seconds behind the gold medalist.
With one incredible race, Seidel had become an American hero. Her post-race interview – where she told her family back home to Have a beer for me – went viral. Her face was on TV screens from coast to coast. Her following on social media and the workout app Strava grew exponentially.
It was an incredible story. But one that would carry a heavy price.
What do we do after an accomplishment?
It seems like a silly question to even ask. For in American society, there is but one answer: Accomplish more.
Successful entrepreneurs look to capitalize on the next big idea. Oscar winning actors yearn to tackle the next big role. Musicians seek to launch the next big album.
And athletes seek the next big competition.
I know this as much as anyone.
As regular readers know, I’ve taken up competitive distance running in recent years.
I’ve done this for many reasons, including fun and fitness. But I’ve also yearned to push my limits.
I had this objective in mind when I signed up for my first half marathon. I’d never raced anywhere close to that distance before, and I was more than a bit apprehensive. But I trained diligently and set what an aggressive goal for my finish time.
As I made my way into the starting corral, I was still unsure if I’d hit my goal time. But 13.1 miles later, I looked up at the clock and found I’d beaten it by 10 minutes.
I was elated, but I didn’t celebrate for long. By the end of the day, my focus had turned to my next half marathon, where I aimed to post an even better time.
I did just that, lowering my personal best by nearly three minutes. So, once again, I set my sights on an even better performance in my next race.
I attained that as well. And I was on my way to tackling even loftier goals when injuries got in the way.
That broke the spell. With my running future suddenly murky, I was left to ponder what was already behind me. What I’d attained before and might never accomplish again.
This swing from highs to lows was brutal. It nearly destroyed me.
But it wasn’t all that unique. Many distance runners must contend with it. Including Olympic bronze medalists.
Molly Seidel followed up her podium performance in Sapporo with a fourth-place finish in the 2021 New York City Marathon. She set a personal best in that race.
Seidel was on her way to a similar performance in the 2022 Boston Marathon when she injured her hip. She had to bow out of the race 16 miles in.
Suddenly, the next goal wasn’t right in front of Seidel. There were no personal bests to chase, no marathons to win in her immediate future.
Instead, an arduous rehab awaited Seidel. Along with the real possibility that her best races might be behind her.
But Seidel didn’t have the luxury of coming to terms with this in private, as I had. She was a professional runner at this point, with sponsors to please and a livelihood to maintain. Plus, she had millions of runners across America following her every move.
Each workout she posted on Strava would be scrutinized. Anything she said on Instagram would be commented on.
And if she didn’t post anything to those places, her followers would notice that too.
The expectations were sky-high. There was no room to be human.
This all took its toll on Seidel. So, she started speaking out about the mental challenges she was facing. And she eventually took some time away from the sport to reset.
It wasn’t a universally popular decision. But it was the right one.
Molly Seidel found herself in an impossible situation. And she did what she needed to make it manageable.
As I write this, another Olympic Games is in full swing.
There have been plenty of memorable performances. And a few surprises on the level of Seidel’s bronze medal run in Sapporo.
But behind all the glamour and athletic glory, there’s been a steady conversation going on. An open discussion about what these venerable athletes must contend with.
You see, most athletes at the Olympic games are not set up to capitalize on their success. The International Olympic Committee does not generally pay medal bonuses, and most national delegations only pay a modest reward to their decorated athletes.
These are the remnants of a system formed by elitist 19th-century aristocrats obsessed with the spirit of amateurism. It was an impractical system then, and it’s no less impractical today.
(The fact that the rapper Flava Flav is financially supporting the United States Women’s Water Polo Team is both noble and absurd.)
And yet, the system remains.
What Olympic athletes don’t get in money, they get in attention. Over the course of two weeks, they have the eyes of the world upon them. Literally.
It’s a spotlight many would crave, an opportunity wholly worth seizing. But it only comes around every four years.
Add it all up, and you have accomplished athletes gaining massive followings overnight, but without a corresponding gain in dollars. They’re stuck in the purgatory of notoriety – carrying all the pressures of fame without enjoying the spoils of it.
It’s no wonder that these athletes are forced to chase the next Olympic cycle and the next world record. Their relevance relies on it. Their followers demand it. Their finances might depend on it too – if they’re lucky enough to amass corporate sponsors.
And it’s no wonder that so many of these champion athletes – Caeleb Dressel, Allyson Felix, Simone Biles, and others – have nearly broken under these pressures. Much like Molly Seidel, they’ve found themselves saddled with the impossible.
We seem to have reached an inflection point. We can no longer hide behind the myths of athletic heroics carrying the day. There’s no denying the humanity of the athletes who captivate and inspire us. Not anymore.
But it’s what we do with this moment that matters.
Will we commit to giving talented athletes more than our attention? Will we provide support in all facets – from financial to medical to emotional? Will we offer up some grace if their journeys take a left turn, or if they feel compelled to step back?
Will we be better than we have been?
There’s only one real answer. Only one response that will stand the test of time. Only one path that will stay on the right side of the moral boundary.
Let’s make sure it’s the one we choose.
Success needn’t be cost-prohibitive – whether it’s found on the athletic field or beyond its boundaries.
It’s time we make it right.