Wow! Annihilated in Lausanne 1000m!
Wow! Annihilated in Lausanne 1000m!
Nice try
Perfect example of pacemakers ruining a race that was just a boring time trial
What was his time and the winning time?
nicetrythough wrote:
Nice try
Nope, Centro got absolutely crushed. More proof Centro's gold medal means absolutely nothing to any real runner. I can beat Centro at any distance on any day. Centro will go down as the worst gold medalist in the history of the World and Olympic championships.
sbeefyk1 wrote:
nicetrythough wrote:Nice try
Nope, Centro got absolutely crushed. More proof Centro's gold medal means absolutely nothing to any real runner. I can beat Centro at any distance on any day. Centro will go down as the worst gold medalist in the history of the World and Olympic championships.
This was worth a good laugh. Worst Gold Medalist = Gold Medalist. Your'e an idiot, but on the bright side at least your'e a childish one.
I heard he went home devastated. Not sure if that was mentioned or that his Olympic win was a fluke and the slowest time since 1932.
Too bad we didn't see the Makh daddy, he could've popped a huge one here with that pacing. Probably would've given Souleiman some choice elbows as well.
Centro will go home DEVASTATED wrote:
I heard he went home devastated. Not sure if that was mentioned or that his Olympic win was a fluke and the slowest time since 1932.
If anything he proved it wasn't a fluke since he won worlds and the Olympics in one year. 3:50.61i was no joke either.
Oh and people who say went home devastated are zit faced losers in their mom's basement. The three D's Deer, Discus, Devastated.....losers.
sbeefyk1 wrote:
nicetrythough wrote:Nice try
Nope, Centro got absolutely crushed. More proof Centro's gold medal means absolutely nothing to any real runner. I can beat Centro at any distance on any day. Centro will go down as the worst gold medalist in the history of the World and Olympic championships.
Right, gold medals mean nothing to real runners. Real runners must skip the Olympics so they can focus on faster European time trial races.
Centro is a good runner, but also a one-trick pony.
He only does well in strategic slow-paced races. A fast pace spells doom for him.
Also, he's a pure 1500/mile guy. Can't handle the 800 or 1000. 5000 would be questionable as well.
Does that mean Komen was also a one trick pony?
Fortunately for him, there's no country/athlete who is making championship races of a different variety. Throw in the fact that the world record is so far out there, that really what there is to achieve (unless you are Kiprop) is medals where Centro does just fine. It'd be cool if he was a time-trialer, but this is better than him running 1:43/3:29 and doing well in the Diamond League but mid-pack in the championships.
sbeefyk1 wrote:
nicetrythough wrote:Nice try
Nope, Centro got absolutely crushed. More proof Centro's gold medal means absolutely nothing to any real runner. I can beat Centro at any distance on any day. Centro will go down as the worst gold medalist in the history of the World and Olympic championships.
1500m = 1000m!
1500m = 1000m!!!
Breaking news! Go spread the word from town to town!
There was this guy I think named Alex Kipchirchir, who won the 1000m at an outdoor Adidas meet in New York City, like in 2001 or 2002 ? May have been as late as 2004/2005. He ran 2:11 or so I think! Can you guess how many Olympic 1500m golds he has?
Whoops he ran 2:16. 2:11 goes to Ngeny who did get some 1500m hardware. Oh well you haters still can sukhet
From the diary of Edwin Flack of Australia, 1500m gold medalist in the Athens games of 1896:
"April 12, 1896. My mates and I took steerage from Athens around the southern horn of Greece including Olympia appropriately enough and have been without a wink for two straight days and nights, but no bother. In our frenzied joy at our results in Athens (I took a medal of gold in both the 800 and 1500 by our Lord!) it is wonder we remembered even to eat much less to sleep or rest. Our nights are filled with song and carousing and I must confess I may have stolen a kiss or two from a blushing Betty onboard. We're bound for Switzerland via Italy, there to run a 1000m race in which I hope to scrawl my name in the book of athletic history as one of god's greatest running creations. Time will tell and any man's another's equal on any day the sun shines, but god and the stars above know I'm fit and I've a will to make my name in this all-important kilometer."
"April 22, 1896. I live in squalor. The pigs who root and snort and grunt in the pen I pass each day on my way to Lausanne proper to beg enjoy far better provisions than I. Danny, Ian and Nick have long since returned to Perth, but I remain here, a man without a country, a lost soul, a disgraced being, an individual about whom it may be said, 'Perhaps no blighted spirit yet alive has suffered as has poor Ed Flack does now.' I was high and stout after Athens. I rode a draft that lifted me to the heavens and filled me with nothing but hope for Lausanne. But my soaring expectations met with devastation there in ways I cannot even now apprehend and barely can deign to convey to you, Dear Diary. I toed the line of the kilometer - Oh, the kilometer! The distance of the Gods! The one and true test of man! - I took my place there in lane 3 and dug in with my right and stronger foot determined to take my place among the immortals of my pursuit and confident of victory. But alas...the men who toed that line to my left and right cared not about Athens and the splendor of my results there. They, too, thought only of victory and perhaps were spurred to greater effort in hopes of adding sheen to their names by way of stolen glory. They wanted the skin of an olympic champion and I did nothing to deter them from that aim. The gun went off and the great Souledam of Africa shot from the start as if he himself were a bullet fired from that gun. My view of the track was immediately obscured by the jostling backs of 6 or 7 of my competitors and I struggled of an instant to keep pace. In a blink 400 meters were gone and still I could not make up ground, my pitiful legs plodding heavily beneath me as if each was weighted down by not two but 100 golden medals. With 800 meters gone I was so far in arears of the pack I began to contemplate leaping the fence that lined the track and taking refuge under the bleachers that lined its finishing stretch. My humiliation grew with every stride until at last I crossed the finish 6th among the combatants, dead last on history's scroll of honor. Why and how I'd come so low I didn't know. My head swirled. My lungs burned. My shame swelled greater by the moment, rolling over me like waves on the beach at Graincut Home where I never can return. The other runners would not look me in the eye. They knew as I did that I had failed the only test that ever in man's days would matter. And it rang in my head like a death knell: "The Post-Olympic Kilometer! The Post-Olympic Kilometer!" I knew standing there in the cinders of Lausanne that my fate was carried in the leaden chime of those words: The Post-Olympic Kilometer. It was my humiliation, my ultimate defeat, my spirit's death. Utterly devastated, I could not even dare return home.
I'm gonna go ahead and call this the post of the year.
Michael Connor wrote:
From the diary of Edwin Flack of Australia, 1500m gold medalist in the Athens games of 1896:
"April 12, 1896. My mates and I took steerage from Athens around the southern horn of Greece including Olympia appropriately enough and have been without a wink for two straight days and nights, but no bother. In our frenzied joy at our results in Athens (I took a medal of gold in both the 800 and 1500 by our Lord!) it is wonder we remembered even to eat much less to sleep or rest. Our nights are filled with song and carousing and I must confess I may have stolen a kiss or two from a blushing Betty onboard. We're bound for Switzerland via Italy, there to run a 1000m race in which I hope to scrawl my name in the book of athletic history as one of god's greatest running creations. Time will tell and any man's another's equal on any day the sun shines, but god and the stars above know I'm fit and I've a will to make my name in this all-important kilometer."
"April 22, 1896. I live in squalor. The pigs who root and snort and grunt in the pen I pass each day on my way to Lausanne proper to beg enjoy far better provisions than I. Danny, Ian and Nick have long since returned to Perth, but I remain here, a man without a country, a lost soul, a disgraced being, an individual about whom it may be said, 'Perhaps no blighted spirit yet alive has suffered as has poor Ed Flack does now.' I was high and stout after Athens. I rode a draft that lifted me to the heavens and filled me with nothing but hope for Lausanne. But my soaring expectations met with devastation there in ways I cannot even now apprehend and barely can deign to convey to you, Dear Diary. I toed the line of the kilometer - Oh, the kilometer! The distance of the Gods! The one and true test of man! - I took my place there in lane 3 and dug in with my right and stronger foot determined to take my place among the immortals of my pursuit and confident of victory. But alas...the men who toed that line to my left and right cared not about Athens and the splendor of my results there. They, too, thought only of victory and perhaps were spurred to greater effort in hopes of adding sheen to their names by way of stolen glory. They wanted the skin of an olympic champion and I did nothing to deter them from that aim. The gun went off and the great Souledam of Africa shot from the start as if he himself were a bullet fired from that gun. My view of the track was immediately obscured by the jostling backs of 6 or 7 of my competitors and I struggled of an instant to keep pace. In a blink 400 meters were gone and still I could not make up ground, my pitiful legs plodding heavily beneath me as if each was weighted down by not two but 100 golden medals. With 800 meters gone I was so far in arears of the pack I began to contemplate leaping the fence that lined the track and taking refuge under the bleachers that lined its finishing stretch. My humiliation grew with every stride until at last I crossed the finish 6th among the combatants, dead last on history's scroll of honor. Why and how I'd come so low I didn't know. My head swirled. My lungs burned. My shame swelled greater by the moment, rolling over me like waves on the beach at Graincut Home where I never can return. The other runners would not look me in the eye. They knew as I did that I had failed the only test that ever in man's days would matter. And it rang in my head like a death knell: "The Post-Olympic Kilometer! The Post-Olympic Kilometer!" I knew standing there in the cinders of Lausanne that my fate was carried in the leaden chime of those words: The Post-Olympic Kilometer. It was my humiliation, my ultimate defeat, my spirit's death. Utterly devastated, I could not even dare return home.
` wrote:
I'm gonna go ahead and call this the post of the year.
I was going to go POD, but definitely post of the year contender.
From the diary of Edwin Flack of Australia, 1500m gold medalist in the Athens games of 1896: Utterly devastated, I could not even dare return home.
^ THIS is the guy to quote when using DEVASTATED.
Are you freaking kidding me?? You guys are ripping the 2016 OLYMPIC 1500m CHAMPION for having a subpar race FIVE DAYS after he WON GOLD in the BIGGEST MOST IMPORTANT RACE OF THE YEAR? I\'m betting Centro has been on a 5 day bender, celebrating the biggest accomplishment of his career. He has every right to party it up! Who cares that he had a bad race in an off distance low-profile race. I know I don't.