SPORTING anniversaries have always fascinated me. Last weekend, 63 years to the day after Roger Bannister’s epic first sub-four minutes for the mile, Olympic champion Eliud Kipchoge covered the marathon distance in 2:00.25. 

Though the fastest ever, the Kenyan’s time won’t be ratified as a world record because relays of three pacemakers sheltered him, some 20 in all, dropping in and out. Nevertheless, this prodigious feat puts the magical two-hour marathon less than one second per mile away.

And so I got to thinking about the spring of 1954. I was an impressionable seven-year-old and remember my father’s recurring amazement at athletics achievements: Bannister’s mile eclipsed within weeks by Landy; Emil Zatopek breaking the world 5000 metres record and then the six miles and 10,000m marks - Sunday in Paris, then Tuesday in Brussels - all inside 51 hours. On his return home Zatopek insisted his wife, Dana, keep a promise by kow-towing to him in public!

“I have saved the pictures, just in case anyone ever tells me that I never achieved anything through running.” That’s what he said in their joint autobiography. That weekend in 1954, he became the first man in more than 30 years to hold both 5k and 10k records simultaneously.

There was no pacemaker in the 5000, and in the 10k he had dropped them by 3000m, becoming the first man under 29 minutes. In setting in five world 10k bests he carved off 41 seconds and won 38 successive races at the distance.

He set 18 world bests and won three European titles. Monday marks another anniversary, that of Zatopek’s first race. I learned about it from the best of three 2016 biographies of the iconic Czech: Quicksilver*, by my good pal and fellow athletics correspondent, Pat Butcher.

Though his daily 100 x 400 metres training (in three sessions) became the stuff of legend, Zatopek was not always obsessively enthusiastic, fighting to avoid his debut race as an adult. It was May 15, 1941, and he was an apprentice at the Bata shoe factory in Zlín. There was a race for the workforce, but Emil knew there were fitter apprentices in his dormitory, so he had no interest. He tried to con a doctor, feigning a knee injury, and went to extremes to avoid competing, but to his great annoyance was rail-roaded to the start.

Surprised, he finished second, winning a fountain pen and the approval of his self-serving supervisor who took the credit. Soon after he ran a 1500m, again finishing second. His time of 4min 21sec was decent for a poorly nourished teenager in Nazi-occupied Czechoslovakia, and he was invited to train with established regional athletes. He was hooked.

As a young man in the army, Zatopek would run 10-12k in heavy snow, wearing boots, in severe sub-zero temperatures. “I wore three pairs of jogging bottoms so that I wouldn’t feel cold,” he said, describing his regime. “After training, there was only cold water available; so cold, even, that icicles hung from the taps in the washroom. I would always move the hose into place and tie it so that a huge blast of water shot out into the middle of the washroom. When I jumped into the blast, steam would rise from my skin . . . I was so hot that nothing could cool me down.”

Training under bad conditions meant racing would be a relief. His greatest claim to fame is winning 5000, 10,000 (as defending champion), and marathon gold at the 1952 Olympics. He had never run a marathon before, and introduced himself to world record-holder Jim Peters on the start line. Before half-distance he asked Peters if the pace was fast enough. Peters said “no”, and crossed to the other side of the road to discourage further dialogue. Zatopek ran off alone, and was soon chatting to his only companion - a news cameraman recording the race.

In one of the great Olympic romantic tales, Dana had won Olympic javelin gold within seconds of his 5000m victory. Prior to the Helsinki Olympics, Zatopek had risked his life to persuade the authorities to select Staislav Jungwirth whose father was an anti-Communist activist. Challenging the regime was potentially lethal, as Butcher discovered after his death.

“People don’t realise how dangerous it was,” said his wife. “They were executing people.” Emil had been assured Jungwirth would be on the plane to Helsinki. When he was not, Zatopek disembarked, leaving his wife on board, and went to Jungwirth’s home. The pair trained together for the next few days, until the regime capitulated. “I was in tears,” said Dana.

“Emil was taking a big chance.” Zatopek and his wife signed the so-called 2000 Word Manifesto. He was stripped of his army rank (colonel) and expelled from the Communist party. He worked as a bin man, but on the streets of Prague the public came out to applaud him, and emptied their rubbish into his truck. So he was sent into exile, labouring in a uranium mine and living in a caravan.

Cruelly he was obliged to recant support for the liberal manifesto. Butcher casts fresh light on a legend, debunks some apocryphal tales surrounding one of the sports most revered figures, and, recalls how in one of sport’s most selfless acts, Zatopek presented one of his Olympic gold medals to Ron Clarke, whose world record-shredding career ended without a championship title.

*Quicksilver, Pat Butcher (£14.99). www.globerunner.org