Welcome back to the Deep Dive. I'm your host.
And today, we're looking at a resume that, well,
on paper, it looks like a typo. It really does.
I'm your expert for today's dive. And yeah, usually
when we track the career of a high level government
minister, it follows a pretty standard script.
Right. Like law school, maybe some time in the
private sector. Exactly. Years of climbing the
committee ladder, lots of handshaking. It's very
linear. It's a path of negotiation and paperwork.
But today's subject, he spent the first half
of his life voluntarily subjecting himself to
arguably the most painful event in track and
field. In the second half, navigating the absolute
minefield of Iranian politics. We are talking
about Hamid Sajadi. A man who is essentially
a study in extremes. Right. You have the physical
extreme, the Olympics, national records, the
lactic acid. Right. And then the political extreme,
the cabinet, the bureaucracy. And as we will
see later on, genuine life or death danger. So
here is the mission for this deep dive. We want
to figure out if there's actually a thread connecting
these two completely different lives. Does running
3 ,000 meters over solid barriers and jumping
into water pits actually prepare you to be the
minister of sport and youths? Or are these just
two separate chapters in a very weird book? It
is a totally valid question and I think by the
end of this you'll see they are much closer than
they appear. To get to the bottom of this, we've
pulled together a really comprehensive stack
of sources here. We're looking at his world athletics
profile, the official Olympic archives from Barcelona
and Atlanta, and the political records regarding
the Iranian cabinet and his tenure under President
Raisi. So let's start with the track. And I want
to pause right here because when I saw Steeplechase
in our notes. I kind of chuckled. It sounds quaint,
doesn't it? It really does. It sounds like British
people riding horses over hedges in the countryside.
It does sound quaint, but in human track and
field, it is absolutely brutal. It is arguably
the most disruptive event in the entire sport.
Walk us through this, because Sajjati wasn't
just a runner who did this on the weekends for
fun. He was elite. Highly elite. So why is the
steeplechase different from, say, just going
out and running a 5k? So imagine running a 3
,000 meter race. That's seven and a half laps
around a standard track. Okay. If you've ever
run on a track, you know the distance running
is all about rhythm. You get into a zone, a hypnotic
state, where you just tick off the laps. Right.
You zone out. You just breathe and go. In this
steeplechase, you are not allowed to zone out.
Every single lap, you are interrupted by five
barriers. And these aren't the flimsy plastic
hurdles you see in the 100 meter sprint, right?
The ones that just fall over if you tap them?
Not at all. These are massive, solid beams. If
you hit them, you don't knock them down. You
break your knee. OK, so the penalty for failure
is incredibly high. Extremely high. And then
there is the water jump. Oh, man. The pit? The
water jump is just diabolical. It's a solid barrier
followed immediately by a sloped pit of water.
So you jump over the beam and just land in a
puddle. You land, usually on one foot, from a
significant height. Yeah. The water splashes.
Your shoes get completely soaked. They get heavy.
It completely breaks your biomechanical rhythm.
That's the part that gets me. Running with wet
shoes is miserable. It's the worst. Running at
Olympic speeds with wet shoes seems physically
impossible. It changes the physics of your legs.
Your feet are heavier. Your traction changes.
And you have to do this lap after lap. It is
an event designed to break your rhythm and your
spirit. And Sajadi, he was the master of this
in his region. He wasn't just participating.
If we look at the early 90s, the guy was untouchable.
The 1991 Asian Championships in Kuala Lumpur
is really the headline here. He took the gold
medal. That was his breakout moment. Exactly.
He proved he wasn't just fast. He was tough.
But what stands out to me in the records isn't
just that one win, is that he kept showing up.
Seven years later, at the 1998 Asian Games in
Bangkok. He's back on the podium. Taking silver.
And that is a crucial point for you to understand
as a listener. In the world of track and field,
especially in an event as damaging as the steeplechase,
a seven -year prime is massive. Because the body
just breaks down. Yes. It means his body held
up against that pounding for nearly a decade.
That speaks to a level of durability that is
incredibly rare. Now I want to pivot and talk
about speed for a second because sometimes when
people hear endurance or steeplechase they think
these guys are just joggers who happen to be
good at jumping. Which couldn't be further from
the truth. Right. I was looking at his personal
bests in our sources and honestly the math didn't
make sense to me at first. Which number grabbed
you? The 5 ,000 meters. He has a personal best
of 13 minutes and 53 .40 seconds. Sub 14. Now,
for you listening right now, maybe you're driving
your car or jogging on a treadmill at the gym,
let's contextualize that. What does a 13 .535K
actually look like? Okay, let's break it down.
Most people, if they're reasonably fit, might
run a mile in maybe eight, nine, or 10 minutes.
Sure, a 10 -minute mile is a very standard recreational
jog. To run a 13 .535k, you are basically running
three back -to -back miles. And you have to run
every single one of them at a pace of roughly
four minutes and 28 seconds. Wait, 4 .28 per
mile? Yes, for three miles straight. That is
sprinting. That isn't running. That is a dead
sprint. It is controlled suffocation. You are
operating at the absolute limit of your aerobic
capacity. If you or I tried to run at that pace,
we might make it 200 meters before completely
collapsing. And he held it for over three miles.
He did. And he did this across the board. The
1 ,500 meters, the steeplechase, the 5 ,000,
the 10 ,000 meters. He held national records
in Iran for all of them. So his speed translated
to every distance. The 10 ,000 meters is actually
my favorite stat of his. 29 minutes and 22 .65
seconds. Zub 30. Breaking 30 minutes in the 10K
is the holy grail for serious runners. Yeah.
But Sawjati was doing it well underneath that
mark. It shows he had this incredible aerobic
engine. He could go fast, like his 3 .41 .66
in the 1 ,500 meter. And he could go long, like
in the 10K. And he took that engine to the Olympics
twice. Barcelona in 1992 and Atlanta in 1996.
Now, looking at the results from the archives.
He didn't medal at the Olympics. No. And to be
fair, we have to contextualize that too. The
jump from Asian champion to Olympic medalist
in distance running is a massive leap. Right.
The global stage is just a different beast entirely.
That era was heavily dominated by East African
athletes, Kenyans, Ethiopians. In Barcelona,
he ran the 5 ,000 meters and clocked a 14 .04
.54. He got eliminated in the preliminary heats.
But just the act of simply qualifying. Exactly.
Being one of the top distance runners in the
entire world, standing on that starting line
in Barcelona, that sets you apart mentally. You
know exactly what it takes to get there. You
know the isolation of the training. You know
the sacrifice. It's that mindset I really want
to dig into next. Because usually when athletes
retire, especially in the 90s, the path is pretty
predictable. You open a gym. Right. You open
a gym. Maybe you become a coach. Maybe you sell
cars. Sajadi went to the library. He did. And
this is the bridge to a second life. He didn't
just retire from running. He pivoted straight
into academia. He went out and earned a PhD in
physiology. See, this is fascinating to me. He
spent 20 years feeling intense pain in his legs
and his lungs. And then he decided I want to
study the chemical reaction that causes that
pain. It's actually a brilliant move on his part.
It legitimizes him. He isn't just an ex -jock
telling you to run faster because no pain, no
gain. He is Dr. Sojati. Right. He's explaining
VO2 max. He's explaining lactate threshold. He's
explaining the biomechanics of the stride. He
understands the machine from the inside out.
Precisely. He became a lecturer at Azad University,
specifically the central Tehran branch. So picture
this. You're a student, you walk into your 8
.0 a .m. physiology class, and your professor
is a guy who has been at the Olympics twice and
holds multiple national records. You are definitely
going to listen to that guy. Absolutely. It gives
him an intellectual authority that most former
athletes just don't have. And I think that authority
is what eventually put him on the radar for the
government. Because he wasn't just a pair of
legs. He was a brain. Right. He could talk to
the scientists and he could talk to the athletes
on their level. Which perfectly brings us to
the suit and tie chapter of his life, the ministry.
The ministry of sport and youths. Now, for you
listening who might not be familiar with the
Iranian cabinet structure, this isn't a small
ceremonial role, is it? Not at all. Sport and
youths. In a country with a demographic as young
as Iran's, that's a massive portfolio. It is
huge. You aren't just deciding which soccer stadiums
to renovate. You are dealing with national infrastructure.
You are dealing with national pride. Which is
huge in sports. And you are dealing with these
socioeconomic issues facing the entire youth
population. It's an absolute pressure cooker
of a job. He officially took the job on August
25th, 2021, serving under President Ibrahim Raisi.
Yes. But looking at the timeline in our sources,
this wasn't his first time being asked to the
dance. No, and this speaks volumes about his
political survival skills. This is where the
steeplechase strategy comes into play. How so?
Well, years earlier, under former President Mahmoud
Ahmadinejad, Saji was actually nominated for
this exact same position. But he didn't get it
back then. He didn't end up taking the job. There
were complications, parliamentary approvals.
It just didn't happen. But think about what that
actually means. To be nominated by Ahmadinejad...
and then eventually appointed by Raisi years
later. It implies a very rare ability to stay
relevant in a shifting political landscape. You
played the long game. He didn't burn out. He
didn't just disappear when the first nomination
fell through. He actually served as the number
two in the Iranian sports organization for a
long time. That's a great point. He didn't just
parachute in from the track straight to the minister's
desk. He spent time in the B team learning how
the bureaucracy works. He learned the machinery.
He knew where the hurdles were. To use the track
metaphor again, he knew where the water jumps
were in the administration long before he took
the top job. So he finally gets the job in 2021.
He replaces Massoud Sultanafar. He's the minister.
He is the guy in charge. And for about a year
and a half, it's the standard work of a minister.
Meetings, policies, public appearances. But then
we have to talk about February 2023, because
this is where the story stops being about sports
policy and starts being about survival. Literal
survival. Yes. This is the moment that completely
defines the end of his tenure. February 23rd,
2023. He is visiting Baft County. It was supposed
to be a standard ministerial visit. He was traveling
by helicopter to inspect sports facilities in
the Kerman province. And the helicopter crashed.
It didn't just have a hard landing. It crashed.
The official reports state it suffered a loss
of control during landing and slammed into the
ground. This wasn't a minor bump. No. It was
catastrophic. And tragically, not everyone made
it out. No. His deputy minister, Esmail Ahmadi,
was killed in the crash. Several others were
seriously injured. And Sajjadi himself. Sajjadi
suffered a brain hemorrhage and sustained very
serious injuries. It's horrifying, but it really
forces you to stop and think about the reality
of these government jobs. We often think of Minister
as a cushy desk job in a nice air -conditioned
office in Tehran. But the reality on the ground
involves flying into remote areas, often in older
equipment, in highly questionable weather. It
is incredibly high -risk. And here is where I
want to circle back to your earlier point about
the steeplechase. Sajjati survived. He was critically
injured. He was in the ICU with a brain hemorrhage.
But he pulled through. He did. Now, obviously
a massive amount of luck is involved in any aviation
crash survival. But you have to wonder. did having
the heart and lungs and the physical resilience
of an elite endurance athlete play a role? We
know from physiological studies that elite conditioning
improves your body's ability to handle extreme
stress, to oxygenate blood efficiently, and to
recover from severe trauma. He spent decades
building a physiological tank that was just deeper
than the average person. When he was lying in
that wreckage suffering from internal bleeding,
that elite aerobic engine Might very well have
been what kept him alive. It's the ultimate endurance
test. It really is. And amazingly, he didn't
even resign immediately. He didn't. No, he recovered
enough to actually return to his duties for a
short period. That is just pure tenacity. It's
stubbornness. It's the refusal to take a DNF.
That did not finish. He eventually did step down
on August 1st, 2023, citing his ongoing health
conditions from the crash. And he was succeeded
by Kiyomars Hashemi. Yes. But the fact that he
tried to go back to work, that is pure athlete
mentality. You hit the barrier, you land in the
water, you get back up, and you keep running
until your legs physically give out. Exactly.
It's a very heavy story. We started this dive
joking about gold medals and funny water jumps,
and we finished with a tragic life or death survival
story. But they are deeply connected. It is all
about capacity, capacity to suffer, capacity
to learn, capacity to lead, and ultimately the
capacity to survive. So when we look at this
entire arc from setting national records in the
90s to managing the nation's youth and sports
portfolio in the 2020s, what are we really seeing?
We are seeing a life completely defined by high
performance and high stakes. Whether it was the
clock on the track or the demands of the cabinet,
he never chose the easy path. It really makes
you think about the skill set required for both
of those worlds. In track, especially long distance
running, you are completely alone. There is no
team to pass the ball to. It's just you and the
clock. You can't hide. And in a way, high level
political office is very similar. You are surrounded
by aides and advisors, sure, but the actual responsibility,
the final decision, that is incredibly isolating.
The pressure is just constant. And the obstacles
never stop coming. whether it's a massive water
jump in Bangkok or a turbulent helicopter ride
in Bath County. Exactly. It requires a certain
type of person to endure that. So here's the
question I want to leave you with today. We often
talk about transferable skills in the workplace.
You know, you hear people say, I learned teamwork
from playing high school soccer. Sure, standard
resume filler stuff. But Sujati sport was the
3000 meter steeplechase. It's lonely, it's painful,
and it's full of solid obstacles that are literally
designed to break your flow. Is it possible that
that specific type of misery is actually the
perfect training for high -level politics? Is
the best preparation for government not a law
degree, but running alone until you think your
lungs are going to explode? It's a really compelling
argument. If you can handle the water pit in
Bangkok, maybe you can handle the budget meetings
in Tehran. And the crashes. And the crashes.
If you have never seen a steeplechase, seriously,
do yourself a favor today. Go online. Search
for 3 ,000 meters steeplechase. Just watch one
single lap. Watch them hit that water. And then
imagine that guy running a massive government
ministry. It completely changes how you look
at it. It really does. It's a powerful image.
Well, thanks for taking this deep dive with us.
We'll see you on the next one.