Eight years after Robin Williams’ death, we celebrate him not only as a beloved actor and comedian, but also as an accomplished athlete.
There’s a lively montage of clips in the middle of Mrs. Doubtfire. Robin Williams kicks a soccer ball with his on-screen son; rides bikes with all three of his on-screen children; and pauses mid-housecleaning for a Pete Townshend-style leap with his makeshift broom-guitar. It’s one of the most important, albeit underrated, scenes in the movie. Here, Williams strikes a balance between comedic and heart-wrenching. That knack for both comedy and poignancy landed him roles in a diversity of shows – from Goodwill Hunting to Dead Poets Society to Mork and Mindy. Although the Broadway revival of Mrs. Doubtfire received some opposition (critics rightfully argue that nowadays the man-in-a-dress comedic trope is, at best, tone-deaf), the 1993 movie remains one of the strongest examples of Williams’ dual talent. When we reach the montage, we are no longer just entertained by Williams’ comedy. Now, we are fully invested in this character and his goal of spending time with his children.
The montage is also one of few on-screen hints at Williams’ other passion: he was an accomplished athlete. And a runner, no less.
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As a teenager in Marin County, California, Robin Williams was an important member of the Redwood Highschool track team. At the 1969 NCS Division III championship meet, he placed second in the 880-yards with a time of 1:59:4. At the same meet, he ran a leg of the second-place 4X400 relay team, which still held the school record in 2000. His best 800-meter time was 1:58.
Williams left Claremont McKenna College to pursue his acting career, but later received a full scholarship to Julliard. So, at age 23, he found himself in New York City, far from the tree-flocked California tracks of his youth. There, he continued to run. In a 2014 Runner’s World article, Bob Glover reflects on training with the late actor – the two were teammates at the West Side YMCA running club. In fact, it was Glover who recruited Williams to the club, after watching the “young man circling the track who…looked very fit.” He remembers Williams as a hardworking and serious athlete, with a simultaneous knack for wise cracking.
At a hilly 10K race in Central Park, Williams ran a fast 34:21 and finished as the West Side YMCA’s second scorer. He helped the team earn their first ever trophy that day. On Wednesday evenings, he would join teammates for a 16-mile “Bridge Run” – athletes separating throughout the miles, but always regrouping for dinner and beers afterwards. All the while, Williams preferred the road and trails to the track – “I love running cross country,” he famously quipped. “On a track I feel like a hamster.”
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Williams switched to cycling after his daughter, Zelda, was born – dissuaded from running by the normal aches and pains of aging. Now equipped with two wheels, he began supporting the Challenged Athletes Foundation (CAF), which empowers athletes with physical disabilities. Over the next twenty years, Williams teamed-up with various athletes, mostly young adults with physical challenges, to participate in triathlons. Following his 2014 death, CAF released a YouTube tribute to the beloved actor.
Not surprisingly, Williams’ love for athletics trickled into his comedy. In a clip from his 1986 Grammy Award Winning show, A Night at the Met, he stands onstage in a brightly patterned shirt. “You don’t need cocaine to get really high,” he says, his face scrunching and his signature comedic voice arousing immediate laughter from the audience. “There’s another way to get high and it’s really cheap: just run 26 miles.”
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Perhaps fans were unable to perceive Williams’ underlying struggles. Perhaps we didn’t want to. F. Scott Fitzgerald once said, “the test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in mind at the same time and still retain the ability to function.” In our society, first-rate intelligence is coveted. Day-to-day, most of us hardly function. For underneath the brightly colored shirts, the impeccable stage presence, laughing audiences, and triathlon finish lines, lay another truth – Williams struggled with addiction and depression. The latter would contribute to him taking his own life.
Now eight years have passed since the actor’s death. The news shook America in a particular way – the way we don’t realize the extent of a person’s cultural prowess until they’re gone. Somewhere in the air – in Hollywood, on the hills of Central Park, on a track in Marin County – lingers a particular hole, a loss of oxygen. For me, the breathlessness comes when I rewatch Goodwill Hunting or a clip from A Night at the Met. When asked to write a tribute to Robin Williams’ running career, I texted my parents. They were the first ones to introduce me to the actor, in the form of Mrs. Doubtfire. It was a summer vacation somewhere on the West Coast, the late 90s, a crackling hotel TV. At four or five years old, Rugrats and Dragon Tails were more my milieu. But my parents had run out of kid entertainment techniques, or the energy to use them. Luckily, Robin Williams did the trick. And so, he often would – for adults and kids of all ages.
“I will now head out for a solitary run in the woods, feeling Robin beside me,” writes Bob Glover at the end of his Runner’s World tribute. I never knew Robin Williams personally; I can’t say exactly how he’d like to be honored. But if I had to guess, I think he’d want us to laugh a little extra today. To tell some jokes. To go for a run.
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*Note: if you or a loved one is struggling with depression or other mental health challenges, please consult the National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI) website. You can call or text the NAMI helpline at 800-950-6264. When in a crisis, please call or text 988.
