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MICHAEL JOHNSON: 'FOR EIGHT YEARS I WAS A FIVE-TIME GOLD MEDALLIST. THEN IT WAS FOUR-TIME. IT'S NOT THE SAME'
Michael Johnson's steely perfectionism made him the fastest man on
earth, but not necessarily the nicest. Now he's learned to relax -
sort of
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/sport/olympics/athletics/9378922/Michael-Johnson-For-eight-years-I-was-a-five-time-gold-medallist.-Then-it-was-four-time.-Its-not-the-same.html
09 Jul 2012
The gold shoes may have been auctioned off and his 200m record broken
but Michael Johnson is still - in many people's minds - the fastest
man on earth. Not only does he hold the world record for the 400m,
he is the only male athlete in history to win the 200m and 400m at
the same Olympics.
"I was the face of the 1996 Games," says Johnson, now 44,
matter-of-factly, when we meet at his exquisite home high in the hills
above San Rafael, northern California. More than the face of the
Games, he was the feet of the Games: those gold Nike racing spikes
pummelling the ground as he sped over the 200m finishing line and -
in an uncharacteristic display of emotion - roared with pure joy when
he saw his phenomenal time flash up: 19.32 seconds.
But Johnson was more than just an extraordinarily fast runner: he
was the sport's first multimedia superstar, a sort of Tiger Woods of
athletics, bringing it into the mainstream. The Man With The Golden
Shoes - as he became known - graced magazine covers around the
world and secured multimillion-dollar-endorsement deals previously
unthinkable for a sprinter. "I'm proud of being remembered as someone
who changed the sport in terms of what's possible," says Johnson
in his distinctively deep voice. He sits down on a gold-print
sofa adorned with pale gold cushions. "People thought it wasn't
possible to be a champion at 200 metres and at 400 metres. What I
did changed sprinting and how people looked at sprinters. It also
changed the economics of the sport in terms of the financial demands
I was able to make." Dressed in a purple-and-white-striped shirt,
jeans and black loafers, Johnson is far more relaxed and friendly
than I had anticipated, with a streak of wry humour. In fact, he is
so approachable that I find myself telling him that I had not been
expecting an easy interview.
"I didn't used to be this way," he agrees amiably, taking a sip of
coffee. "I have changed. As an athlete, I was never really comfortable
with being a celebrity. Everybody wanted something of me and I didn't
really do a good job of understanding that. It was a huge intrusion
into my life... and when journalists asked me questions... it became
this kind of..." he trails off and growls to show the stand-off
that resulted.
Despite the austere demeanour he projected in those days, Johnson
was always an athlete who stood out - partly because of his peculiar
running style: the stiff straight back coupled with the short piston
stride. As a child, his friends laughed at him for running "funny";
as an adult, reporters compared him to a running duck. "It was funny
to me too," says Johnson drily. "I was winning."
"Opting for gold shoes could have been considered downright cocky,"
he writes in his book, Gold Rush, recently published in paperback,
"but I was confident and never doubted my ability to deliver gold
medals to match my shimmering footwear." His confidence was not
misplaced. Even 12 years after retirement, Johnson is still tied with
Carl Lewis for the most gold medals won by any runner in history. He
has four Olympic golds and eight golds at world championships.
There is a fine line between confidence and arrogance and Johnson
treads it carefully. He has high expectations of himself but knows
his flaws. "I work hard to improve myself as a person - as a father,
as a husband, as a manager. I'm always on that mission." In the past,
he says, he was a perfectionist. Was that a good thing?
"No," he says, smiling. "It creates some struggles when you have that
expectation of other people. I've gotten much better with it.
I've had to learn that not everybody does things my way. But I do
expect the absolute best of everyone around me and I'm disappointed
when people don't expect that of themselves." He once said he was
difficult to live with. "I think I was. I don't know if I still am -
you'd have to ask my wife." He and his first wife, Kerry D'Oyen,
an entertainment reporter and the mother of his 12-year-old son
Sebastian, broke up after Johnson retired from racing. Now he is
married to Armine Shamiryan, a chef - whom he says he met "randomly"
through friends in Los Angeles nine years ago.
So while he is having his photograph taken, I ask Johnson if he
minds if I talk to her. "Go ahead," he says, unfazed. I find Armine,
a petite, dark-haired Armenian, in the kitchen, making Greek salad
for lunch. "He is a control freak," she says affectionately. "And he
makes me work out in the gym every day, which I hate. But I think
he's changed a lot. As he's got older he's realised that he can't
make everything perfect and once you realise that, you can either
accept it or be miserable about it. He's accepted it."
Johnson thoroughly enjoys the wealth that his success has bought him.
"From as young as I can remember, this is the life I always wanted.
I wanted to have the luxury of having really nice fast cars - I have
a couple of McLarens and a Porsche and..." he stops himself, perhaps
thinking he has said enough. But in his garage, I also glimpse a
silver Mercedes SLS AMG - which seriously impresses the photographer
who identifies it for me - and a Ferrari. "I wanted to be able to
live wherever I wanted, to travel the world and to be able to take
care of my family back in Texas." Indeed, his large, secluded house
looks like a high-end show home, with a general impression of tasteful
opulence but hardly a hint of anything personal. A bar with a wine
refrigerator dominates the living room (Johnson is something of a
wine buff) but there is none of the usual paraphernalia of family life.
From: A. Papazian
Michael Johnson's steely perfectionism made him the fastest man on
earth, but not necessarily the nicest. Now he's learned to relax -
sort of
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/sport/olympics/athletics/9378922/Michael-Johnson-For-eight-years-I-was-a-five-time-gold-medallist.-Then-it-was-four-time.-Its-not-the-same.html
09 Jul 2012
The gold shoes may have been auctioned off and his 200m record broken
but Michael Johnson is still - in many people's minds - the fastest
man on earth. Not only does he hold the world record for the 400m,
he is the only male athlete in history to win the 200m and 400m at
the same Olympics.
"I was the face of the 1996 Games," says Johnson, now 44,
matter-of-factly, when we meet at his exquisite home high in the hills
above San Rafael, northern California. More than the face of the
Games, he was the feet of the Games: those gold Nike racing spikes
pummelling the ground as he sped over the 200m finishing line and -
in an uncharacteristic display of emotion - roared with pure joy when
he saw his phenomenal time flash up: 19.32 seconds.
But Johnson was more than just an extraordinarily fast runner: he
was the sport's first multimedia superstar, a sort of Tiger Woods of
athletics, bringing it into the mainstream. The Man With The Golden
Shoes - as he became known - graced magazine covers around the
world and secured multimillion-dollar-endorsement deals previously
unthinkable for a sprinter. "I'm proud of being remembered as someone
who changed the sport in terms of what's possible," says Johnson
in his distinctively deep voice. He sits down on a gold-print
sofa adorned with pale gold cushions. "People thought it wasn't
possible to be a champion at 200 metres and at 400 metres. What I
did changed sprinting and how people looked at sprinters. It also
changed the economics of the sport in terms of the financial demands
I was able to make." Dressed in a purple-and-white-striped shirt,
jeans and black loafers, Johnson is far more relaxed and friendly
than I had anticipated, with a streak of wry humour. In fact, he is
so approachable that I find myself telling him that I had not been
expecting an easy interview.
"I didn't used to be this way," he agrees amiably, taking a sip of
coffee. "I have changed. As an athlete, I was never really comfortable
with being a celebrity. Everybody wanted something of me and I didn't
really do a good job of understanding that. It was a huge intrusion
into my life... and when journalists asked me questions... it became
this kind of..." he trails off and growls to show the stand-off
that resulted.
Despite the austere demeanour he projected in those days, Johnson
was always an athlete who stood out - partly because of his peculiar
running style: the stiff straight back coupled with the short piston
stride. As a child, his friends laughed at him for running "funny";
as an adult, reporters compared him to a running duck. "It was funny
to me too," says Johnson drily. "I was winning."
"Opting for gold shoes could have been considered downright cocky,"
he writes in his book, Gold Rush, recently published in paperback,
"but I was confident and never doubted my ability to deliver gold
medals to match my shimmering footwear." His confidence was not
misplaced. Even 12 years after retirement, Johnson is still tied with
Carl Lewis for the most gold medals won by any runner in history. He
has four Olympic golds and eight golds at world championships.
There is a fine line between confidence and arrogance and Johnson
treads it carefully. He has high expectations of himself but knows
his flaws. "I work hard to improve myself as a person - as a father,
as a husband, as a manager. I'm always on that mission." In the past,
he says, he was a perfectionist. Was that a good thing?
"No," he says, smiling. "It creates some struggles when you have that
expectation of other people. I've gotten much better with it.
I've had to learn that not everybody does things my way. But I do
expect the absolute best of everyone around me and I'm disappointed
when people don't expect that of themselves." He once said he was
difficult to live with. "I think I was. I don't know if I still am -
you'd have to ask my wife." He and his first wife, Kerry D'Oyen,
an entertainment reporter and the mother of his 12-year-old son
Sebastian, broke up after Johnson retired from racing. Now he is
married to Armine Shamiryan, a chef - whom he says he met "randomly"
through friends in Los Angeles nine years ago.
So while he is having his photograph taken, I ask Johnson if he
minds if I talk to her. "Go ahead," he says, unfazed. I find Armine,
a petite, dark-haired Armenian, in the kitchen, making Greek salad
for lunch. "He is a control freak," she says affectionately. "And he
makes me work out in the gym every day, which I hate. But I think
he's changed a lot. As he's got older he's realised that he can't
make everything perfect and once you realise that, you can either
accept it or be miserable about it. He's accepted it."
Johnson thoroughly enjoys the wealth that his success has bought him.
"From as young as I can remember, this is the life I always wanted.
I wanted to have the luxury of having really nice fast cars - I have
a couple of McLarens and a Porsche and..." he stops himself, perhaps
thinking he has said enough. But in his garage, I also glimpse a
silver Mercedes SLS AMG - which seriously impresses the photographer
who identifies it for me - and a Ferrari. "I wanted to be able to
live wherever I wanted, to travel the world and to be able to take
care of my family back in Texas." Indeed, his large, secluded house
looks like a high-end show home, with a general impression of tasteful
opulence but hardly a hint of anything personal. A bar with a wine
refrigerator dominates the living room (Johnson is something of a
wine buff) but there is none of the usual paraphernalia of family life.
From: A. Papazian