SEATTLE — Here's something everyone should know about winning the gold medal in the decathlon — and that fancy "World's Greatest Athlete" tag that comes along with it:

"It doesn't get me out of anything," says Bryan Clay, relaxing on the porch of his in-laws' Phinney Ridge, Wash., home this week.

He means the mundane stuff that even Olympic champions have to do when they are the father to Jacob, 4, and Kate, 2, and husband to Sarah.

That title, and those two Olympic medals (gold, Beijing; silver, Athens) to back it up, are nice bits of bling. But would you mind taking out the trash, Superman?

Clay, a 29-year-old Castle High alum from Kane'ohe, laughs about this. He similarly shrugs off inevitable questions about whether it rankles him to be the best athlete in the world, by one measure, and make a salary, largely provided by sponsor Nike, that's likely a sm all fraction of the take-home pay for, say, a marginal baseball relief pitcher or a backup NHL goalie.

"I can't be mad about it," says Clay, who has been training at the University of Washington recently, prepping for the U.S. Track and Field championships in Eugene this week.

"I've got what I need. This is what God has given me. I'm not hurting for anything. If I consistently sat here and looked at what everyone else was making, I would never, ever be happy. That stuff starts to consume you."

So he has learned to live with being one of the greatest, least-known athletes to hail from America.

Clay, who has endured the pain and fatigue that go along with training for 10 track-and-field events for a decade, finally got his moment in the spotlight last August, when he wrapped up the Olympic decathlon title in Beijing's sweltering Bird's Nest Stadium.

But his 15 minutes of fame lasted even less than that. Right after Clay finished, the Jamaican 400-meter relay, led by Usain Bolt, set a world record. And the world's television cameras, naturally, went along with Bolt.

Later, they refocused on every move of Michael Phelps, who in Olympic terms is the functional opposite of Clay — many events, a medal for each.

Thanks for playing our game, Bryan. See you next time, in London, 2012. If you stick around that long.

It'd be easy not to. Few decathletes have achieved Clay's feat of winning medals in successive Olympics. None has medaled in three straight. Clay, who says he was mentally and physically "burned out" after Beijing, can see why.

"I needed to find a reason to do track and field again," he says.

He found it by looking at his own achievements - and how, with a third Olympic medal, he might fit into the Olympic record books as not just one of the greats, but the all-time great in his sport. He recommitted to the decathlon this spring, setting two goals: A world record in the event by next year. And a third medal in 2012.

The decathlon is not for wimps, even among the world's elite athletes. The competitions are grueling. And they're the fun part. The training can be brutal.

"I feel like an old man when I get up in the morning," Clay said. "Everything pops at some point between the bed and the shower."

He pops ibuprofen like kids eat M&Ms, just to get through the day.

Clay emphasizes that he's thankful that his family and friends and "support team" are there with him, making their own sacrifices.

"I don't think anyone could do this on their own."

Clay says his family would love to move to Seattle. But relocating his entire stable of individual-sport coaches from California's Azusa Pacific University, where he normally trains, probably will preclude that from happening, at least before the 2012 Olympics.

If he makes history in London by winning that third medal, he'll retire from the sport a satisf ied man, he says. But he'd still like to be remembered more as a caring father and husband than the world's greatest athlete.

"It's not who I am," he says. "It's just what I do."
(c) 2009, The Seattle Times
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