Faith Kipyegon runs the mile with pacers in Paris on Thursday. Emma da Silva/AFP via Getty Images

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On Thursday in Paris, Faith Kipyegon attempted to do what no woman in history has done: run a mile in under four minutes.

It was supposed to be a breakthrough moment for women’s sports—but she didn’t succeed. That doesn’t mean she failed, though.

Instead, the experiment became a revealing case study in how marketing hype, media spin, and misunderstood science can distort reality.

Back in February, a scientific study suggested Kipyegon could run a 3:59.37 minute mile, as long as she had perfect drafting from pacers.

It assumed flawless running conditions and the absolute best-case interpretations of ambitious mathematical models.

It also required her to be as fit as she was when she set the women’s mile world record in 2023—an astounding 4:07.64.

The study’s authors were candid about these limits.

If everything went perfectly, and she’s at her absolute best, maybe she could break the four-minute barrier.

Soon, a Nike-sponsored PR event was set up for her to make an attempt.

The problem was media coverage of the study created the impression that Kipyegon was already running the equivalent of a sub-four mile, or was just a whisker away from doing so with proper aerodynamic assistance.

Nike’s multimillion-dollar push, tied to proprietary gear, framed it as history in the making.

The general public got the message that thanks to scientific innovation, Kipyegon was about to shatter the barrier for all women everywhere.

Whether the hype stemmed from misunderstanding or misrepresentation of the science, the result was the same: a wildly inflated sense of what was likely.

And curiously absent from the narrative was a second, more conservative analysis published in April (co-authored by a Nike scientist even), which concluded that current data were “insufficient to suggest that a sub-4 minute mile is imminent.”

That study didn’t make it into the company’s marketing. In other words, at least one person at Nike knew this was a long shot.

But the myth of inevitable breakthrough sells better than statistical uncertainty.

As we saw this week, Kipyegon didn’t break the barrier—and to be blunt, she wasn’t close.

She trimmed 1.2 seconds off her personal best but needed more than six extra seconds to cross the line she was chasing.

In elite running, where medals are often determined by fractions of a second, that’s not brushing history—it’s chasing a distant shadow.

Despite the hype and hope, the outcome shouldn’t be surprising. This was always going to be a moonshot.

Going from 4:07.64 to sub-four represents more than a 3 percent improvement.

In elite distance running, that’s not a marginal gain, it’s a quantum leap.

Kipyegon was already performing at the limits of human potential, which she achieved through rigorous training beginning as a teenager.

She’s had access to the best coaching, training, and footwear that modern sport can offer.

The idea that aerodynamic tweaks, pacers, and a new Nike sports bra could close that gap was, frankly, unrealistically optimistic.

Eliud Kipchoge’s sub-two-hour marathon, under similarly ideal conditions, only required him to improve by 1.6 percent.

Why would Kipyegon experience double the benefit?

In the lead-up to the event, a consistent message was that science would make the “impossible” possible.

Now that the attempt fell short, the public may unfairly wonder, why did the scientists get this so wrong? We’ve seen this pattern before: inflate the promise of a scientific study, spin it into a marketing campaign, and quietly retreat when reality doesn’t deliver.

Over time, this pattern has consequences for public trust in science, which is made more frustrating because the actual science was clear, but the nuance was quickly lost in media coverage and Nike promotions.

There’s also the issue that the method suggested for Kipchoge’s historic attempt was dispiriting in the first place. For this event, Nike included a team of pacers, mostly men.

Male pacers were chosen because they’re physiologically more capable of running fast and steady splits at a pace very few women in the world can hold.

That’s biology, not bias. But the message it sends is hard to ignore—to reach greatness, a woman needs men to get her there.

This dynamic was evident throughout the broadcast, during which nine-time Olympic gold medalist Carl Lewis remarked, “Sometimes you have to change the rules for people that are special. …

We have to find a way to let the world see her excellence.

And if you have to change the rules a little bit, let’s do it.”

He meant to praise, but instead it reinforced the idea that a woman’s excellence requires exceptions—as if her three Olympic gold medals and current world records were insufficient.

Now that Kipyegon didn’t break the barrier, the message echoes louder: Even with a team of men and the best possible conditions, women still fall short.

It’s a paradox that sports can’t seem to escape: We celebrate women’s achievements, yet still contextualize them against male standards.

When we anchor greatness to male physiology—and then come up with contrived ways to help women break through these barriers, we don’t elevate women’s sports—we undermine them.

The time trial wasn’t framed as an elite athlete chasing a personal best or improving upon her world record.

Rather, it was explicitly a campaign to break the four-minute barrier, on behalf of all women.

What now, that she didn’t achieve that? Nike marketed Kipyegon as “brave” to chase a target that she likely couldn’t reach.

But being celebrated for trying to do what one physiologically can’t is not progress in women’s sports equality.

A system that sells a triumph of courage regardless of outcome risks patronizing women athletes, rather than respecting their actual achievements.

This wasn’t about Faith Kipyegon’s dreams or talent.

She didn’t overpromise, and neither did the actual science that inspired this.

Instead, this was about a corporation selling sports bras and speed suits by turning long odds into marketing gold via an unrealistic hype machine.

Ask yourself what is a more inspiring moment: Kipyegon charging through the final lap alone, widening the gap from the world’s fastest women as she sprints to a 4:07 finish in 2023? Or watching her flanked by men, straining to stay with their effortless pace, crossing the line in 4:06? I’ll take the former, every single time.