Rod Dixon holds court five minutes from downtown Victoria. He is standing in a rain-soaked, gravel parking lot at the back of the Cedar Hill Recreation Centre. The champion has an enraptured audience. The crowd includes a handful of early-arrival runners who have come to spend six hours listening to him talk of the finer training details. He is here as a representative of the Arthur Lydiard Foundation.
On first meeting him at 6:30 AM one would be remiss to blame him for being bleary-eyed. He is anything but that. After all, Dixon is a much-travelled Kiwi with an American address or two — he gets around. The man is highly engaging, entertaining, and perpetually energetic. He talks with his hands in smooth sweeping gestures. He lights up the early morning grayness with his giant, ivory grin. Dixon seems more like a rock star than a running legend.
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He appears tall compared to your typical world-class, long-distance runner and seems younger than his age. The group collectively chuckles at his good-natured stories. During our lap of the trail, he continued to be a storyteller, making the run seem shorter than it was.
Dixon is often referred to as the most versatile runner ever. Although some may argue, any debate comes to a screeching halt when one considers his versatility as well as the longevity of his career.
Dixon is a two-time World Cross Country Championships medallist and an Olympian with a bronze medal in the 1500-metre event. In his first steeplechase race in 1974, he set a national record with an 8:29 (long before super shoes). He also ran a 2:08:59 marathon (personal best), with his stunning, 1983 New York City Marathon victory.
I recently watched that marathon in its entirety. The race also included Lorraine Moller, Greta Waitz, Alberto Salazar, and Geoff Smith.
Watching the race was not dissimilar to watching an Alfred Hitchco*ck thriller. As the race footage rolls along, we watch an unaware leader, Geoff Smith of Great Britain, gradually and methodically being hunted down by Dixon. The pick-off was timely in that over the 42.195 kilometre (26.2-mile) course, he catches Smith and slips past him with just a few hundred metres to go. The carnage in the chute is Geoff Smith on his back. The Brit is splayed prone on the asphalt, defeated and exhausted, while Dixon stands with arms raised, heavenward.
Dixon is as infamous for his incredible running career as he is for his appreciation of a good brew. Knowing this and having my own appreciation for the occasionalIPA or Stout, I welcomed him to town with a surprise.
Dixon famously coined, “All I want to do is drink beer and train like an animal.”
We have a local microbrew here called Hermannator by Vancouver Island Brewery. Hermannator is arguably the finest double ice-bock beer in the world. I stole from my cache a red nylon first aid kit, complete with a white cross. I replaced the contents with a six-pack of said, fine stout. Accompanying the kit was a letter from the “RCMP,” which stated, “Under Canadian Immigration and Visitation Laws, all guests are required to familiarize themselves with the Canadian First Aid Kit.”
The letter quoted a federal law ordinance number, containing disguised race numerology like 262208-59-83 which is 26.2 miles, 2:08:59 in 1983. The letter provided further explicit and legal-sounding instructions requiring the visitor’s attention. The hotel staff were accommodating in placing said kit on his bed, in plain view, so he would not miss it. A wanton act, but functional in its effect.
Later, when I arrived to escort him to a popular eatery, I was greeted in the hotel lobby by the happiest Rod Dixon that I could possibly anticipate. “Cheers mate, you had me going with that one, then when I opened the first aid kit I sat down and drank two straight up.”
A year or so later, I interviewed him about his career.
Dixon told me to phone him at 5:30 AM his time. Surprisingly, I had contacted the most effervescent man on the planet. He was cheerily orating in soft undulating rhythms, replete with visualization, painting colourful images of an Eden of sorts. I could picture him resplendent in a maroon smoking jacket with a cuppa. He is surrounded by finches, pecking seeds from his shoulders while his voice in Keith Richard’s timbre, gently flows.
“Yeah, no worries, mate, it is my pleasure really. Today is going to be another absolutely beautiful day. The sun will be coming up over the trees shortly. I can hear the birds chirping now, it is beautiful. Leaves are on all the trees, everything is fantastic. My daughter is getting married in a couple of weeks. I will be off for that, and I cannot wait and am happy to be on the phone with you now — ready to roll. Listen, how are you doing?
Who cares about how I am doing? I want to hear about drinking beer and training like an animal and hunting wild boars, while on a long run.
Hunting wild boars during a long run
While in a group chat with several legendary athletic characters (who shall remain nameless), I finally substantiated the folklore of the Olympian, hunting a wild boar while on a long run. Here is how the conversation went.
Christopher: It would be great if I could get someone to substantiate a story I have heard from time to time about Rod Dixon. The story goes that he was seen exiting the bush during a three-hour-long run with a rifle in hand. Was he hunting too?
Rod Dixon: No guns, mate, just dogs and a knife.
Christopher: Rod! You hunted a wild boar with dogs and a knife while on a long run?
Rod: Yeah. We had seen a pig rooting on a training run. It was really fresh and the smell was very strong.
Chris: We?
Rod: My great friend Roger Sowman. He was one of New Zealand's best young junior runners in the 70s. We are still great mates and he is a fantastic trophy hunter and big boar hunter to this day
He can nail a stag with one shot from 250 metres! Top man, top animal hunter, big drinker.
Christopher: I like him already.
Rod: We decided to get back to the area after the 2.5-hour run, grab the dogs and go back. We just get back and the dogs were off like sh*t. We just sprinted through the bush and up over the hill. The dogs bailed the boar out as we arrived and we realized this pig was f$&king huge about 160-180lb.
Christopher: That's huge.
Rod: Yeah. Then it broke and was off with the dogs in full chase. We raced after it, losing ground as the bush was getting thicker and thicker and harder to get through. Then we could hear yelping from the dogs, which meant one had got ripped. We arrived about 10 minutes after. F$&king chaos. One dog down another ripped front to hind leg and blood everywhere. The boar bolted again and off we chased, leaving the others; they weren't going anywhere. Fighting under the growth towards all the barking, we emerged into a natural cove.
The dogs had the boar well contained. Roger went up around and behind a bank, and called to me to focus the boar by running the dogs at it front and side and keep it pointed out. Roger jumped down onto the pig's back and in one swift move stuck it into the throat.
Christopher: Character.
Rod: Yeah, mate. Side to side thrust, he opened the windpipe and throat blood was spurting everywhere, Roger said, “F%#king brilliant!”
We took the hindquarters and shoulders and left the rest. That was about 60 lbs. It took us almost twohours to get back to the other dogs. One was dead and the other needed sewing up with dental floss. Another hour back to the truck. We were rooted.
Christopher: That is like fouror fivehours after a 2.5-hour long run.
Rod: Yeah and no guns.
Two years later, Dixon was back in town for the Royal Victoria Marathon as a featured guest speaker at the race exposition. He delighted the crowd, but he didn’t talk about the boar hunt. He talked about training.
While out for a morning jog, he told me about one training run including him going out 20km while his brother-coach drove to the turnaround point. He was to pick up Rod and drive him back. To his surprise, his brother locked the car doors and said, “Nope, you can run back.”
Forty kilometres in the bank.
There is no doubt some beer was later consumed.
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