His brother, Patrick, would have loved it.

Johnny Gregorek, the country’s fastest miler last year, will don a pair of blue jeans—Levi’s 501s, 100 percent cotton, to be exact—step on a track, and try to run a mile as fast as he can.

A mile in jeans? It’s a gimmick, sure, set for Saturday at 6 p.m. Eastern, but Gregorek, 28, has been taking it seriously. After all, there’s not any other racing to do at this time. And it’s a way to honor his brother, who died last March at age 21.

On May 1, Gregorek, who lives in Ardsley, New York, announced his plans to go after the Blue Jeans Mile record (4:11.80). And more important, he’s fundraising for NAMI-NYC, the New York City chapter of the National Alliance on Mental Illness. He set an initial goal of raising $2,500, and with three days left until the race, he’s blown past that, raising more than $14,000.

Patrick would have appreciated that his brother found a light-hearted way to raise money for a cause. And it’s been a happy project for Gregorek, after a year that mingled lifetime highlights with profound loss.

In January 2019, Gregorek and his high school sweetheart, Amy, got married in Providence, Rhode Island, near their hometown of Seekonk, Massachusetts. Patrick, whom Gregorek calls Paddy, was the best man.

On March 3 of that year, Gregorek went to Boston to race the Bruce Lehane Invitational Mile at Boston University. The race was set up as a world record attempt for Yomif Kejelcha of Ethiopia. Kejelcha nabbed the record, running 3:47.02. Behind him, Gregorek launched an epic kick and finished second in 3:49.98. The performance took more than four seconds off his PR—and made him the seventh-fastest American miler of all time.

Amy was there at the finish line that day. So was Paddy, who was finishing up his senior year at Boston College, and Rachel, their older sister. Their dad, also John Gregorek, who made Olympic teams in the steeplechase in 1980 and ’84, was in attendance. Only his mom, Christine, herself a standout 800-meter runner at Georgetown in the early 1980s, was missing, home in Seekonk with a commitment at church. (She never really watches her son race anyway, her husband says, because she’s usually under the bleachers praying the Rosary.)

After the race ended, they all jumped on him, including two of his coaches with the New Jersey-New York Track Club, Tom Nohilly and John Trautmann. “We just went wild,” Nohilly said. “We went berserk.”

They had all known Gregorek had the ability to run fast—he just needed the right race at the right time. He finally got it. And the performance seemed a great way to kick off a crucial two-year stretch of racing that would include (or so it seemed at the time) the world championships, in Doha, Qatar, and the Olympic Games in 2020.

Three weeks later, it all turned upside down. Paddy died on March 25.


Gregorek didn’t talk much about it at first, and he continued training as best he could. For some workouts, his teammates helped him along. For others, he was alone in the woods, “running really slow and crying,” he said.

The Gregoreks are both a public family, famous in the running community for their two generations of elite running, and a private one, relying on their faith, their large extended family in Seekonk, and the tight-knit community there.

They know that being open about Patrick’s struggles can help others, but they don’t want to focus on his death. They say simply that he lost his battle with mental illness.

“Patrick throughout his life had anxiety, and he had some issues with some depression and ups and downs,” John Gregorek Sr. said of his son. “He hid it really well, though. He carried an invisible cross.”

Instead, they talk about Patrick’s life. He was a talented musician; when the middle school orchestra teacher needed a tuba player, Patrick volunteered—and mastered the instrument in high school, becoming the top tuba player in the district. At BC, he joined a choral group that sang at Masses, forming a tight-knit group of friends. His parents learned only after his death the effect he had on them.

“The primary description among his friends was that he was a light in their life—a light in their darkness,” his father said. “If you were talking to Patrick in a room full of people, you were the only person in the room. He always had time, and it’s funny, some of his friends said he was the best person to go to study with and the worst person. You would have great conversations, but you would never get much schoolwork done.”

Patrick ran in high school, mostly enjoying the friendships he made on the team. He loved the people he met in running through Johnny. He didn’t hesitate to introduce himself to elite athletes, like Edward Cheserek and Eric Jenkins. Paddy just went up and started a conversation.

And he loved the joy running brought to his brother. That’s what they try to focus on when the heartbreak is overwhelming.

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Gregorek has gradually opened up over the past year. “I’m a relatively private person when it comes to these things,” he said. “I wasn’t really ready to go around talking it out with everybody. I’m not going to be jumping right on social media to tell the whole world about things I’m struggling with immediately.”

In the days soon after Patrick’s death, what Gregorek calls “that immense period of grief,” he talked only with his wife and his immediate family. Slowly he expanded the circle to include close friends, extended family members, and runners. “It kind of works its way out,” he said. “I’m still in the process of slowly bringing more and more people into the fold and letting them know my story a little bit—and hopefully it can help theirs.”

After Patrick’s death, Gregorek’s racing year was uneven. He had a few highlights, including fourth in a mile at the Oslo Diamond League in 3:52, and a silver medal at the Pan Am Games in the 1500.

But at the biggest race of his year, the U.S. championships in July in Des Moines, Iowa, he needed to finish in the top three in the 1500 meters to earn a spot on the team for the world championships in September. Gregorek finished 10th. The sadness and the concern for his family were taking a toll.

“I think I put a lot of pressure on myself to keep my brother’s spirit alive and run well in his memory,” he said. “It’s real emotional energy. I was able to run and train and get into good shape and have some good races, but on the whole, at times, it would get to a point where it was unbearable.”

In November, Gregorek developed a stubborn tendinitis in one knee and had to shut down for several months. Through the winter, he cross-trained in the pool, and on the elliptical and Alter-G. He mourned his brother, worked with a sports psychologist, and talked it out with Amy, who told him to be as compassionate with himself as he is with others. It’s a habit that doesn’t come easily to perfectionist runners, Gregorek included.

“When I get down on myself, we remind each other: Just be kind to yourself,” he said. “It’s simple, but that’s a good starting point for me right now.”


The knee healed. Over the past three months, Gregorek has put in a solid block of training. He runs between 80 and 85 miles per week, doubling four times each week. Last Friday, he ran a track workout that’s a staple: 10 by 400 meters, averaging 59 seconds, with one minute of rest in between. From outside the track, keeping a proper distance, Nohilly yelled splits and encouragement.

While Gregorek ran that workout in shorts, he has tested out the jeans on the treadmill and for strides on the track. He bought jeans larger than usual, with a 32-inch waist, to make sure he’d have enough room to open up his stride, but he’ll wear a thin belt as a precaution against any wardrobe malfunctions. And chafing hasn’t been an issue. “If this was a marathon, that would be more of a concern,” he said. “Four laps, I think I can get in and out without too much damage to the inner thighs.”

Track fans starved for action can tune in to watch Gregorek on Instagram live—Amy will be filming. But they’re keeping the track location secret to ensure that well-wishers don’t show up and violate social distancing rules. Nohilly will be there, and maybe a pacesetter from his team, if they can figure out a way to do it safely.

The whole caper would have tickled Paddy. Gregorek says his brother was very silly and fun-loving, with a knack for comedy and delivering the right one-liner at the right time. The absurdity of one of the country’s best runners going at top speed in denim?

“I think that, mixed with his loving how much I loved running,” he said, “would have really sparked of a lot of joy with him.”

Lettermark
Sarah Lorge Butler

Sarah Lorge Butler is a writer and editor living in Eugene, Oregon, and her stories about the sport, its trends, and fascinating individuals have appeared in Runner’s World since 2005. She is the author of two popular fitness books, Run Your Butt Off! and Walk Your Butt Off!