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Outside Magazine July 2003

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Run For It (Cont.)


	Gill's worn-out shoes (Jake Chessum)

IN GILL'S MIND, the dream seldom turns ugly. He doesn't think about finishing last or falling off the wagon, though he should. Ask him to contemplate life without making the Olympic team and Gill offers half-baked contingency plans. He could become a motivational speaker or a sports agent. Perhaps a coach. Brown is trying to create a foundation that funds promising runners willing to focus their lives on Olympic and world championship medals—maybe there could be a staff position for Gill. But so far Brown has signed up only one athlete and raised less than $150,000 of his nearly $3 million goal.

"Dick just needs a real mouth to sell the foundation," Gill says. "I could be that mouth. What's a salesman if not a little bit of a con man?"

That sounds smooth, but, unfortunately, clever talk and self-confidence don't get you far on the outside.

"Ex-offenders think they've weathered the worst and that they're ready to face any challenge," says Richard Stratton, who once served eight years for dope smuggling and is the creator of Street Time, a Showtime drama about ex-cons. "But freedom is disconcerting. Life is black-and-white in jail. The outside world is gray. You can feel overwhelmed and depressed."

Gill has lined up shelter and food—he'll stay with Brown before moving into an apartment, living off a stipend that Brown thinks he can round up from Eugene's wealthy, running-crazed businessmen—but he will still have to deal with daily life and its thousands of small challenges. Even if he makes it to the track, his enormous goal could weigh him down.

If he has enough rough days, Gill's old ally, the bottle, awaits him at every turn. His brazen attitude toward his disease is unsettling; he's announced on several occasions that AA is out of the question. "Why do I need someone telling me, 'Don't drink, because it's bad'?" he says. "I know that. I control my mind and just tell myself drinking's bad."

That confidence could hurt him. "We find that 'master of my own destiny' attitude in a lot of doctors, lawyers, and professional athletes who've mastered something and think they can stay away from alcohol," says Dr. Anne Linton, the chief medical officer for the Betty Ford Center, in Rancho Mirage, California. "At some point, they won't be getting the career accolades, yet they still want to feel good. Alcohol is an easy way to do that."

Amid such pitfalls, the only person who seems to be wisely bracing for Gill's release is his sister, Robin. "There are too many 'ifs' with Jon," she says. "If the training goes well. If Dick gets Jon a place to live. I'm wondering, What's going to happen for sure?"

Emerging from a childhood as troubled as her brother's, Robin moved west, abandoning her past. In 1996, she graduated from the University of New Mexico with a bachelor's degree in anthropology, and ultimately landed in Palo Alto, California, where she worked in a public library. Only in 2001, 15 years after last speaking to Gill, did she seek him out.

"I love my brother. I know that sounds weird—like 'Why did you disappear?' " she says. "But I wasn't strong enough to handle my own problems. His story is extremely painful, and I couldn't deal with it."

After the two first talked, Gill was so excited that he wrote robin on both sides of his hand. "There's all this feeling in my heart that I haven't had," Gill says. "I also have someone around to confirm the hell that I went through."

In February 2002, Robin moved to Portland to be closer to Gill. She holds a couple of social-work jobs, takes classes, and visits Gill every Saturday, buying him cinnamon rolls out of a vending machine. They blab about family and nasty prison guards, and sometimes the conversation turns to how Gill will furnish his apartment. The talk makes Robin uncomfortable. She barely makes ends meet herself.

"Where will Jon get money for underwear or a toothbrush?" she says.

Gill sees no need for worry. "With my pending success, endorsements for shoes and sunglasses should come relatively quickly," he says. "Maybe I could use some of the money to help pay for Robin's education. Or someday get her a Lexus. I think that would suit her tastes."

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