Minutes before his scheduled practice Tuesday, Oregon middle-distance runner Simon Kimata descends from the stands at Hayward Field.
With coach Steve Silvey temporarily distracted, Kimata glances both ways and makes his move, a nimble leap over the fence that betrays his left Achilles-tendon injury.
“Simon!” coach Silvey bellows. “Don’t do that on a bad Achilles. Don’t ever jump fences. That’s the worst thing you could be doing. Use your head.”
Caught.
The thing is, Kimata has been dodging injury and leaping past responsibility for most of his reign as the star 800-meter runner on the Oregon track and field squad. His times in times without injury, like his nation-leading 800 time of 1 minute, 46.65 seconds this season, paint the picture of a runner with wells of raw talent.
But chronicle his injuries, and the picture becomes complete.
As a star runner in junior college — Butler Community College in El Dorado, Kan. — he broke his shin and was forced to sit out nine months, right before he was scheduled to compete on a top-flight 4×400 relay team in Europe.
Last season he ran a 1:47.92 at the Texas Invitational to land himself on the NCAA provisional list, then pulled a hamstring in a relay in the same meet. He competed in the Pacific-10 Conference Championships, but a dismal performance there convinced him to sit out the NCAA Championships at Hayward Field. This season he’s suffering a minor Achilles injury but will likely compete in the Washington Dual meet at Hayward Field this weekend.
Through all the injuries, Kimata keeps one mantra.
“I don’t let frustration forecast my future,” Kimata said, and he then repeated it several times during the conversation.
Growing up in Nyeri, Kenya, Kimata’s future was never in doubt. He ran. It didn’t matter what events, if there were hurdles or if there were coaches. He just ran. In high school, he won a national title in the 110 hurdles with an approximate time of 14 seconds, a time that would qualify him for the Pac-10s if he ran it today. But more important was the culture of running that surrounded Kimata in his early years.
“The good thing in Kenya was that everybody was good, so there was never a lack of competition,” Kimata said. “Sometimes here it’s hard because the level of competition isn’t high. Back home, if you’re running 400s, say eight of them, there’s no way you can lead the first one and lead the second one.”
Still, Kimata came to America in search of better amenities and more guidance.
“Back home you might go a day or two without seeing a coach,” Kimata said. “I enjoy it here because they have nice facilities, good coaches, good trainers and a good education.”
Kimata spent two years in Kansas and at South Plains Community College in Levelland, Texas, before coming to Oregon despite the recruiting efforts of track powerhouses like UCLA, Louisiana State and Arkansas.
Kimata came to Eugene in summer 2001, and that’s when he met future roommate and self-proclaimed “brother,” graduated Oregon runner Michael Kasahun.
“We’re only roommates, but we’re like brothers as well,” Kasahun said. “We’re a family, even though we’re not related by blood.”
Kimata and Kasahun, a distance runner from Ethiopia who qualified for the NCAA Championships last season, are a perfect fit. They run together, study books together and study film together. Kasahun said that if a track meet comes on ESPN, Kimata will tape it and study it religiously.
“When he’s off the field, he doesn’t dream of going out partying; he doesn’t dream of the same things as typical college students,” Kasahun said. “He’s the type of guy that can spend 24/7 either studying his books or watching tapes of previous Olympians, most of them Kenyans and Ethiopians.”
Those tapes could help Kimata this season as he strives to compete in the NCAA Championships for the first time. He’s already qualified with the aforementioned time, and his coach thinks he can go as low as 1:44 this season.
“He’s as talented an 800 guy as I’ve ever coached,” Silvey said.
“It’s all how he uses it up here,” he said, pointing to his head.
Which means no more jumping fences, no matter how sly the attempt.