My introduction to track racing was through the background of cross country running, which is not a sport perhaps as popular in America as it is in England.

Our concept of a family holiday was going to a guest house in the Lake district or Wales, where walking was part of the holiday.

Every time I ran the mile I was aware of my own weakness, there was some opponent who could give me a hell of a fight, so I never went into a race with a sense of invincibility. I always had that feeling of fragility and nerves which made me run faster.

Whether we athletes liked it or not, the 4-minute mile had become rather like an Everest: a challenge to the human spirit, it was a barrier that seemed to defy all attempts to break it, an irksome reminder that men's striving might be in vain.

I couldn't touch my toes with straight legs, but I could break 4 minutes for the mile.

I think that is a universal adolescent feeling, trying to find your place. The adolescent who is perfectly adjusted to his environment, I've yet to meet.

The man who can drive himself further once the effort gets painful is the man who will win.