Gold Rush. Michael Johnson

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СКАЧАТЬ No male athlete had ever attempted to run both.

      After six years of intensive training and competitive dominance, I was ready. More than ready. Before the Olympics as usual I’d done my training in Waco, Texas, where my coach Clyde Hart was still the head track coach for Baylor University. I trained there just about every day. During the final week, instead of pushing hard, we focused on the technical elements of the race. We wanted to let my body rest so that it would be fresh for competition. Just days before a competition all of the work has been done, and if it hasn’t it’s too late to make up the deficiency.

      That week I worked on my start out of the blocks, which was never as good as it should have been or as I wanted it to be. The workout, which I had done many times before, was also designed to keep my speed up and to keep me technically sharp. After my warm-up for this particular workout, Coach asked me if I wanted to put on my spikes for the 200-metre portion of the workout. Normally I would definitely wear lightweight spikes for a session requiring me to hit those kinds of times, but this time I decided to wait until we did the starts, even though wearing flats (regular running shoes) would be a disadvantage.

      We had a timing system called ‘the beeper’, which would sound every few seconds during our training sessions to help me ascertain whether I was on the pace the session required, and also whether each interval run was accurate. Just like a metronome that helps musicians develop a rhythm with the music, the beeper helped me accurately measure my speed, so I could pace myself correctly and not go too fast or too slowly. This was critical, since a workout session that calls for three 200-metre sprints to be run in 23 seconds is more effective if each run is actually 23 seconds as opposed to one being 21 seconds, one being 25 and one being 23.

      For 15 years I’d heard the beeper, which was wired into the Baylor University track’s loudspeakers. I had come to rely on it so much as an essential part of my training that I had my own portable beeper made so that I could take it on the road when I trained away from Waco.

      On this particular day I started my first 200-metre run with the beeper set for a 23-second run. I took off. At the 50-metre cone I noticed that I was a little ahead of the beeper. Even so, I maintained my pace. I expected that I would be about the same amount ahead at the second cone, but I was a bit more ahead. I relaxed a little to meet the 23-second goal, but came through the third cone even further ahead. At this point, even though I usually did exactly what Coach’s workout called for when it came to times, I decided not to slow down.

      I crossed the finish line figuring that I would be about one second ahead and started to count. ‘One thousand one.’ No beep. ‘One thousand –’ The beep finally sounded. I was 1.5 seconds fast. 21.5. Not an amazing time, given that I had set the world record a month earlier at 19.66 seconds, but to have done it in a training run, during which I’d tried to relax to get back to 23 pace for the last two thirds of the interval, confirmed that I was in the best competitive shape of my life.

      After I finished the run, I saw Coach in the middle of the infield with his stopwatch. He didn’t say anything. Normally he would tell me to get back on pace, but this time he remained silent. I walked and kept moving as I always did during the 90 seconds between intervals.

      ‘Thirty seconds,’ Coach announced, indicating that one minute had passed and I had just 30 more seconds of rest so I should start moving back towards the starting line. Ninety seconds rest means 90 seconds of rest. Not 100 seconds, not two minutes, but 90 seconds of rest. So you don’t start walking to the starting line at 90 seconds. You start running at 90 seconds.

      I walked to the starting line and got into start position. The beeper went off and I took off running. I know from experience that the first 50 metres starting from a standing start takes more effort than the other three splits between the other cones, since those segments are from a running start. So normally you start with a little more effort, then settle into a pace and try to relax and maintain it. Since I had run ahead of pace on the first segment of the first interval, I adjusted down and didn’t start as aggressively. I passed the first cone at 50 metres. The beeper didn’t sound until half a second later. Exactly the same as last time.

      ‘Adjust down,’ I thought. However, it’s mentally tiring to keep making adjustments during the training session intervals, so I decided to maintain my pace. Besides, I was excited about the challenge of maintaining that pace and that distance ahead of the pace not only for the remainder of that interval but for the third one as well. I finished with about the same time as my previous training intervals – 1.5 seconds ahead by my count.

      I looked over at Coach and he said nothing again. I felt really good. I realised I was fitter than I had ever been, because although the final interval was coming up in less than 90 seconds, I knew I could run it in 20 seconds if I wanted to. I wouldn’t, since that would be full speed and we never run full speed in training. But the capacity was there.

      I started the final 200 and ran just under full effort after having already completed two intervals in the last five minutes. I was well ahead of the first cone when the beeper went off, and it felt effortless. The gap grew at 100 and 150. When I reached the cone at 200 metres, I was 2.5 seconds ahead by my count. That would be 21.5 on the first interval, just under 21.5 on the second and 20.5 on the third.

      I started to walk around the track. Coach would normally walk over to join me for the 200 metres back to the starting line side of the track, during which we would talk about how I felt and he would tell me my exact times. This time he didn’t. Instead, he walked into the office at the track under the stands. By the time I reached the other side of the track, Coach was walking out of the office, his training log in hand. ‘Start your cool down,’ he said. Then he showed me the stopwatch. The actual times were 21.4, 21.2 and 20.1. ‘And you weren’t wearing spikes,’ he said.

      Coach and I are a lot alike. We expect the best effort, and if that effort is your best, then even if it is as impressive as what I’d just done there’s no reason to get all giddy and celebrate. Our attitude was that I had done what I was capable of, so that’s what we should have expected. I work with one athlete now who always tells me, when I ask him how training is going, that he and his coach feel they are ahead of schedule. To me that means your schedule is wrong and you need to adjust it! Still, my coach and I both agreed that my accomplishment that day confirmed that I was ready to do something really special in Atlanta the following week. ‘The hay is in the barn,’ he said. ‘We’re ready.’

      Even so, I sure wasn’t going to assume that I would medal. As I’d learned in 1992, I could do everything right and still not win Olympic gold or any other colour. Something out of my control could happen again. Or I could screw it up myself this time.

      TIME TO MAKE IT HAPPEN

      On the morning of the 400 metres final, having successfully gotten through and winning the first three rounds over the prior three days, I woke up ready to win my first individual Olympic gold medal. I was the overwhelming favourite. Even though I’d be racing against top competitors, including my US team-mate Alvin Harrison, two Jamaicans – Roxbert Martin and Davian Clarke – and Great Britain’s Roger Black, who had also been running well, everyone expected me to win.

      I hadn’t lost a 400-metre race since I was in college over six years ago. Still, I never took my competition for granted. I didn’t believe that any of the athletes in the final could beat me, but I was always aware that there’s more to winning a race than being better than the competition. To win races you have to execute, and one little mistake can cost you a race. If something went wrong in this one, would I even be able to race in another four years when the Olympics rolled around again?

      On race day I ordered breakfast through room service and began to lay out my uniform, competition number, socks, spikes, music player, headphones, and everything else I would need at the track. Then I sat in my room for the rest of the day visualising СКАЧАТЬ