There are others vying for attention at this national meet, staged at the Prince George's Sports and Learning Complex. The two exchange hand slaps. The Spokane, Wash., runner set the mark the spring after President John F. Kennedy was killed, then soared to win a spot on the 1964 Olympic team. He disappeared like Bobby Fischer, turning up years later in Hawaii, living under an assumed name. Such stories of emotional or physical burnout are discomfitingly familiar in distance-running circles, the list of fabulous performers whose running careers swiftly plummeted a depressingly lengthy one.
Young legs are fragile, psyches even more so.
Webb is all stillness. One minute now. Webb removes his headphones and black turtleneck, pumps his knees, and then runs the two-mile of his young life. Beaming, his golden status affirmed for another day, Webb takes a victory lap, poses for photos, meets with the press for 20 minutes, hugs a girl, signs autographs and shakes the hand of every graybeard who wants a piece of him. He runs down the track to slap more hands, his gregariousness a rare trait on a stage with more than its share of quiet, stressed one-hit wonders running right off the sport's edge.