Running Cool, Running Hot : Quincy Watts Stays Calm and Takes Success in Stride

Quincy Watts is certain that he is special but does not impose this conviction on others. He is quiet and courteous.

Rufus Watts, Quincy’s father, sometimes wonders where Quincy hides his emotions. Quincy’s mentors insist the his reserve is a hallmark of superiority.

“If that’s what they say,” Quincy allows, briefly, “I guess it’s true.”

At 17, Watts is still a schoolboy. Great feats are expected of him because he is an unusually fast-running schoolboy. A junior at Taft High in Woodland Hills, he is a three-time state champion. His performances in the 100- and 200-meter races rank him among the top 20 high school sprinters of all time.

And he is young. Someday Quincy Watts may be the fastest human in the world.

Watts knows this. But he does not talk about it much. Those who know him say there is a part of Watts that no one knows. A part he will not reveal. It is difficult to read this young man.

“He doesn’t show much,” his father says. “Only sometimes I can tell.”

But there are glimpses of character, facets of life that expose Quincy Watts. Perhaps it is best to begin with the facts.

THE SPRINTER

The clock speaks loud and clear: Watts’ time of 20.69 seconds in the 200 meters is the fastest by an American high schooler this year. His 10.36 in the 100 is tied for second fastest.

Only 10 high school sprinters have run the 200 faster. His 100 time is the 19th best.

And Watts wins the big races. He has run track for three years and already is a two-time state champion at 200 meters. He won the 100 this year after finishing second as a sophomore.

“Me, I don’t like to lose,” he states plainly. “No matter what, I’m going to get it. I’ve got heart.”

He also has a muscular 6-3, 197-pound body that college track coaches dream of. He has powerful legs and shoulders that suggest Olympic gold.

“He’s a big kid and strong, very impressive. He’s got all the physical talents,” says Tom Tellez, who coached Olympic sprint champion Carl Lewis at the University of Houston. “Watching him run mechanically, and his size and his times . . . I’d say he has a very good future ahead of him.”

But it is Watts’ mental and emotional side that sets him apart, says Nick Newton, Watts’ personal coach.

“He’s big and strong, but he’s also cool and calm,” Newton says. “He doesn’t get emotional. He doesn’t let the tension bother him. He’s an adult runner in a boy’s body.”

Keeping in character, Watts eschews the hot-dogging and psychological warfare common to his sport: no bragging or threatening, no finger-pointing before or after races, as sprinters are wont to do. The 100 meters is known for its arrogant, temperamental athletes. Watts will never so much as raise his arms in victory as he crosses the tape.

Well, he did that once, recalls Rufus Watts. That was when Quincy won the 200 state title as a sophomore. The sprinter ducks his head and offers a quiet, smiling protest.

“That was 15 meters after the finish line,” he says. Yes, and it will not qualify Watts as arrogant.

“Some people hot-dog, talking about how bad they are. They tell me they’re going to do this and that to me,” Watts says. “Then I just beat them and after the race they have nothing to say. I don’t ever want to be put in that position. So I don’t say anything.”

Yet, Watts remains silently, supremely confident. Confidence is the premium commodity of the sprinter.

“Some people get scared going into the race,” Watts says. “Not me.”

THE RACE

There is a perfect, imaginary sprint. It plays in Watts’ mind as he bows to the starting blocks.

“Technique,” he explains. “How you approach the race.”

First, in this dream race, he anticipates the starter’s gun precisely. He flys out of the blocks, “busting out the first 30, striding real hard.” As the race progresses, as he sees nothing but the finish line, Watts is keeping his knees high: “lifting real good, coming home.”

The 100 meters is as glamorous a race as it is explosive. There is a special ring to the title of “world’s fastest human.” It is track’s equivalent to the heavyweight boxing champion.

The men who run the sprints are born, not made, coaches say. It has something to do with fast-twitch muscles, if you don’t have them, you won’t be a world-class sprinter. Only certain people have them in abundance.

But there is also a mental component. The great sprinters appear to burst past competitors at the end of a race. In fact, after exploding through the first 80 meters, all sprinters inevitably begin to slow. The last 20 meters are an effort to maintain stride and form.

Thus, Watts’ quiet concentration and determination have as much to do with his winning as do his physical skills.

The demands on mental sharpness are relentless. Sprinters must be keen day after day. A 1,500-meter runner can begin a race distracted by girlfriend problems and still have time to collect his thoughts, according to Auburn Coach Mel Rosen. A sprinter has no such luxury.

“If you have an off day,” Rosen says, “you are going to get beat.”

This pressure confronts Watts daily. Everyone’s gunning for him, he says. He must prove himself in each race. Newton has tried to help.

“We’re never going to be winners all the time,” Newton says. “I tell him, ‘If you lose, nobody’s going to shoot you. We’ll just go back and pick up the pieces.’ ”

Watts deals with the situation by winning. He lost once this season, when he uncharacteristically misjudged the finish line and pulled up too soon. He has lost four times in high school competition during the past two years.

“I’m looking forward to next year,” Watts says, one week after this season has ended.

THE COACHES

“This is a once-in-a-lifetime shot as a coach,” Taft Coach Tom Stevenson says. “It’s like coaching O.J. Simpson in football.”

Watts, Stevenson says, likes the taste of winning. Stevenson worked extensively with Watts during the sprinter’s sophomore year but this season has relinquished coaching duties to Newton.

Newton, 53, had never coached before. He took up track at age 41, when his son and daughter joined a Los Angeles club. Over the past decade, the tool-and-die maker has immersed himself in the sport, becoming an obsessive student of sprinting. He has traveled the world competing in Masters meets for middle-aged men. He manufactures his own brand of starting blocks. And now he coaches Quincy Watts.

“What do they call it? The thrill of victory? This has been the highlight of my career,” Newton says. “But don’t write me as nobody’s great coach. I’ve just been taught and now I’m passing it along.”

The two met at a track meet, after Watts won a City championship in the 100 meters.

“He didn’t know who I was,” Newton recalled. “I said, ‘Why are you loafing out there?’ He just smiled at me. That started our relationship.”

After that, Watts asked Newton to coach him. The pairing has been successful, on and off the track. But, with all the talk of Watts’ future, Stevenson hopes the teen-ager savors his present victories. A sprinter’s career can be as short-lived as the explosive race itself.

“He’s got to be happy with what he’s done so far because one pulled hamstring and his career could be over,” Stevenson said. “Some of these sprinters come and go. Track could be over in a day and he still has to go on with the rest of his life.”

Such dark thoughts have crossed the sprinter’s mind.

“I think about it. I don’t know what happened to them,” Watts says of past, famous sprinters who fell by the wayside. “I guess when you get to a certain level and everyone is as fast as you, it does something to your confidence. There have been times I’ve been nervous before races, but I’ve never lost my confidence.”

THE 17-YEAR-OLD

“Everybody’s telling him how great he is all the time,” says Rufus Watts. “It’s changed my life somewhat, trying to make sure he keeps his head on right. After a big meet, he’s sky-high on cloud nine and I have to bring him back down to reality.”

Here, only for a moment, Watts’ face flickers with the disdain every 17-year-old shows for such parental comments.

“He might think that,” Quincy retorts. “After the race he’s excited. He gets to hollering ‘State champ! State champ!’ I have to bring him down.”

Rufus, a postal worker, smiles.

“He thinks I’m a little too critical of him sometimes,” Rufus says. “I tell him that when he gets older, he’ll see.”

The Watts family lives in a middle-class, Woodland Hills home. Quincy’s mother lives in Detroit. Rufus has remarried and, except for a four-year period during elementary school, Quincy has lived with his father since birth.

Like many middle-class teen-agers, Watts must wash the car each week and keep his room clean. Unlike his peers, Watts will spend the summer touring the United States to display his talents in various track meets. Tucson this past Saturday, then stops in Philadelphia, Fresno, Utah and Oregon.

“I’m waiting until after July, when I can rest,” he says. “I’ll just go home, kick down and not think about track. I can’t think about track all year long.”

Even during the rigorous track season, Watts says, he still has time on weekends for friends. And while he denies a fear of losing on the track, Watts says he is scared of final exams in school. And he worries that next year he must leave his family and friends to attend college.

“I don’t like being away from home,” he said. “I feel lonely.”

HIS SIGNATURE

In the end, Quincy Watts wants one thing known about him. The veneer of reserve cracks, if only briefly. Tell them this one thing, he says.

“He’s a competitor,” Watts says of himself with a suddenly cocky smile. “He likes to win.”

This, Watts says, will be enough to set him apart from the others. This will make him, and not them, the fastest man in the world.

Time, as always, will tell. Loud and clear.