Jeff woke with a jolt. He turned his head to check the time only to find a wooden

chair leg inches from his face. The ringing of the alarm clock on the bed stand above

him grew louder as he came to. Jeff sat up and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. He

crawled off the floor and flopped onto the plush hotel bed that he had apparently rolled

off of in the night. Jeff extended his arm and slammed his hand down onto the top of the

alarm clock with more force than he intended. Rolling over he looked at the time, 6:30 in

the morning. The perfect time to wake up the day of his Olympic event. The 200 meter

was scheduled for today, he would run his first at 11:00 in the morning, and the final at

four later in the afternoon. That was if he qualified of course, which he doubted. But

then again, why would he be picked as a part of team U.S.A. if he didn't have a shot?

Jeff was from Oregon, the running state. He graduated from high school a year ahead

of his class, and was in his sophomore year in college at Oregon State when he got a

call from the U.S.A. Olympic Committee early into the first semester about training for

the next summer olympics. Of course training was time consuming and exhausting but

he knew that it would all be worth it.

Plus, he got to do it all with is best friend, Rodney Myers, who had practically

been his brother since grade school. Rodney would also be competing in the 200 meter

dash, and in the same heat. Rodney was fast, but not as fast as Jeff. Rodney was a

long distance runner anyway, and a shoe-in for the six teen hundred. Never-the-less,

the two had competed in tons of races and events together, and against each other. The

great thing was that neither really cared who won and who lost, the competition was

good for their stamina. There was no one else in the world who he would want to

experience the Olympics with other than Rodney.

Jeff's thoughts were interrupted by three blunt knocks at the door, followed by an

unmistakeable voice that said, "I hope you're not still in bed princess!'' Jeff sprang out of

bed and leaped across the room to the door and swung it open. "No, sir!" exclaimed Jeff

with a sarcastic smirk on his face. He was glad that he had reached the door when he

did. He stopped Coach just as he was pulling his custom bullhorn out of his custom

made bullhorn holder belt to holler his signature, "I don't know what I've been told, your

slacking off is getting old!" and wake up the whole hotel. "What are you smirking at? Get

dressed and eat something. We leave in twenty." Jeff's gaze was caught by Rodney

walking behind Coach in the hallway. Rodney stopped in his tracks, backed up and

stood at a respectable distance behind Coach and put on his best way-too-serious-face.

"What are you smirking at?" demanded Coach Lane. Rodney moved his mouth as

coach spoke as if he were speaking. Jeff let out a laugh and pointed behind Coach.

Rodney quickly turned around and booked it down the hallway. Coach let out a tired

sigh and turned his attention back to Jeff. "Just hurry up and get ready cupcake, you

have a big day ahead of you." Jeff shut the door and proceeded to prepare for the day

ahead of him.

Stepping out of the tunnel leading to the track was surreal. Of course it had been

a moment that he had been waiting for his entire life, but the reality of it didn't strike him

until it actually happened. Not just his dreams, but Rodney's dreams were coming true

simultaneously. As he approached the end of the tunnel, he could see the sunlight

peeking down at them, and then came roaring of the crowd and the triumphant music

booming all around the stadium. He stepped into the sunlight and heard as the crowd

grew louder at the sight of the U.S. team. All around the seats in the stadium American

flags waved as they walked across the rubber track and onto the field. They could smell

the slight scent of rubber lingering in the air along with the refreshing essence of freshly

clipped grass on the field. As they walked across the rubber track, Jeff took a mental

picture of the whole scene. The rest of the team and Coach were on the field starting up

calisthenics and dynamic stretches. Jeff joined them as if they were in a practice,

trotting up and down the horizontal length of the field until coach declared that they were

done and directed them to the center of the field to stretch.

Jeff's mind was cleared and focused until he saw the unmistakeable Kenyan

yellow and green jerseys. It wasn't the jersey that intimidated him, it was the man

wearing the jersey. He too was doing stretches on the edge of the field with the rest of

the yellow and green jerseys. Usane Bolt was the 200 meter dash world record holder

and the fastest man alive. And here he was, right in front of him. Three years ago Jeff

had looked at Bolt as an idol, but today he was his competition. In just a few hours he

would be facing the fastest man alive, going for the gold.

His thoughts were interrupted by the screech of the loud speaker as the

announcer called in English, then in Spanish, "Runners to the start for he 1600, runners

to the start for the 1600 meter. Thank you." Jeff looked over at Rodney. He could tell

that he was trying to hide his nervousness under a very effective pokerface but Jeff

knew Rodney better than that. Rodney had the pre-run jitters. Jeff got them before a

race, coach used to get them before a race, and Rodney had them. Jeff wondered if he

greatest runners such as Usane Bolt got the pre-run jitters. Suddenly he felt as if he was

a ninth grader again, looking up at his poster of Prefontaine, telling himself to work

harder.

As they arrived at the starting line, they all hugged Rodney and wished him good

luck before they were asked to leave for the sidelines. Jeff watched as Rodney did his

usual routine of shaking out his legs and turning his arms in a circle, adjusting his

starting blocks and checking his shoe laces. The announcer called the final call. A few

short minutes later he heard the final calls. "Runners to your mark." Then a pause. "Get

set." The gun went off and the runners burst out of their blocks including Rodney.

For Rodney, the first lap was a breeze. He picked up the pace to about 60% of

his full speed at the third lap and kept a steady pace until the rounded the corner onto

his fourth lap. He kicked his legs into gear and turned to his toes. He hiked up his speed

to 80%, passing the second place runner, taking his position in second place. He sped

up to 90%. Rodney looked ahead of him to the Rigor Mortis Bend. The Rigger Mortis

Bend was he last bend in the track for 200, 400, 800, and 1600 meter runners. The

bend was named after a sharp, blind turn in the road, where once upon a time where

911 was called weekly for crashes going off the corner. On the track it's known for being

the hardest turn of a runner's life. When all of the muscles dare to give up and to walk

and to stop, and when lungs beg for air; the Rigor Mortis Bend is there to make sure

that all the head wind it can spare is thrown in the face at full force.

Rodney was approaching the Rigor Mortis Bend when he began to feel his legs

give out. He could see the shadow of the second place runner behind him, and decided

that he wasn't going to settle for second. He picked up his pace and broke into a full on

sprint for the last 100 meters, finishing in first place and taking the gold.

Jeff, Coach, and he rest of his team ran over to Rodney and gave him a big

group hug. It was the first gold medal that any of the U.S. teams had won this Olympics,

and it wouldn't be the last. After an abundance of applause and waving and smiling, the

track was cleared and the starting blocks were placed. A new finish line was marked

and the umpire called for the 200 meter. Jeff stopped in his tracks and threw a nervous

look in Rodney's direction. Rodney picked up on it, and tried to ease his nerves by

giving him one of his famous pep-talks. "Hey, it's fine. You'll do great!"

"Do you even know who's in my heat?"

Jeff crooked his head o the side, motioning towards the famous Bolt shaking out his

legs on the field.

"Look, what's the absolute worst that could happen?" asked Rodney.

"Um. I don't know? I get last!" said Jeff matter-of-factly.

"Well then your definitely not going to win," said Rodney turning away. Jeff

paused, taking in what his best friend had just said to him.

"Wait, how could you say that?" he asked, half shouting. Rodney turned to him

and put a hand on his shoulder,

"Because I can't believe that you'll do well if you don't first." Of all the great

advice that Rodney had given him over the years, this was probably the best. Jeff

smiled at his friend.

"Thanks." Muttered Jeff.

"Hey, what am I here for?"

Rodney shrugged his shoulders and proceeded to walk towards the 200 meter

starting line. Jeff adjusted his starting blocks, shook out his legs and waved his team on

to the sidelines. Rodney was in the 7th lane and Jeff in the 6th, so there was quite a bit

of space between them. Coach stayed by Jeff and helped him stretch and limber up.

The empire called with a boom, "Final call for the 200 meter dash, all athletes make

your way down to the far side of the field for the championship heat for the 200 meter

dash. Exiting stuff everybody!"

After the click of the speaker shutting off, Coach looked Jeff in the eyes and said

the first almost sentimental thing Jeff had heard coach ever say. "Well, I'm proud of you,

even if you fall of your face. I'll laugh, but I'll be proud."

"Thanks, coach." Jeff replied with a warm smile. Coach cleared his throat,

"Well, kick some butt cupcake," and strode off the track and to the sidelines.

Jeff's moment was cut short by, "Runners to your mark." Jeff's heart beat and his

palms began to sweat. His stomach overflowed with butterflies. No, worse, pigeons.

"Get set," Jeff had dead focus in his eyes. He tuned out the crowd, the pigeons, and

competition. The gun went off with a bang followed by an echo. Jeff lunged out of his

blocks almost horizontal to the ground like a human bullet. His arms moved with a sharp

quick motion. Jeff moved his legs in unison with his arms, pumping them back and forth

along his lane of the track. The lanes began to even out as they approached the curve

of the track and the Rigor Mortis Bend. Jeff looked straight ahead of him, he picked up

his speed and swing his arms faster. Then in an all too sudden motion, Jeff felt his foot

lose its tight grip to the rubber on the track and a long moment of himself flying forwards

until he hit the track with a loud thud then screech of skin against the track. A collective

gasp gathered in the stands and Jeff was momentarily stunned. Time seemed to slow

as Jeff pushed his head off the track and looked ahead. He flinched when the eighth

place runner hurdled him as he stood up. He shot to his feet and took to the wind. He

knew that it would take a miracle for him to catch up. None-the-less he knew that there

was only one real competitor the track and it was himself. He widened his stride and

narrowed his eyes as he passed he seventh place runner. He approached he Rigor

Mortis Bend and picked up his speed. In almost no time at all he was in third, just two

more people to pass.

Jeff imagined what it would be like to win. To be on the top tier of the awards

stand and have roses thrown at his feet. He imagined his mother telling him how proud

she was of him and Rodney tackling him, with a congratulatory hug at he finish line.

Lost in his thoughts, Jeff hadn't even noticed that he was neck-in-neck with the fastest

man alive. What he did notice was that he could barely feel his arms, and his legs were

about to fall off. He had reached the solid brick wall of the Blurge. The Blurge is an

imaginary wall that everybody hits when they reach their limit. Your legs beg you to give

up and your stomach dares to give you your lunch back. Jeff had reached his Blurge,

but he decided that the Blurge could hit him tomorrow, because right now, he had a date

with Bolt.

The finish line was only about fifty meters away, half a straight away. Jeff kicked it

into overdrive, but the problem was, so did Usane Bolt. He had taken into account this

American runner in the red white, and blue who wanted the gold just as much as he did.

And evidently it wasn't okay with him. Jeff was approaching the finish line fast. Four

more steps, three more steps, two... Jeff threw himself the finial lunge across the finish

line as both Jeff and Bolt tumbled across.

Jeff stood atop the tier at the awards. He held his hands in the air with Usane

and the third place runner. He looked over at his team as and waved and they waved

back. He smiled as a rose fell at his feet and he looked over at Rodney who was holding

a bouquet of them and a gold medal around his neck. He was proud of his friend, he

was ecstatic for him. He bowed his head as the silver metal was placed over his head.

The applause died down and he stepped off the second place tier. He walked over to

Coach who was waiting for him in the stands. "I knew that you would fall on your face,"

Coach said with a chuckle.