I’m winning the Olympics.
I was over the sixth hurdle and my mind was already focused ahead to number eight because in both the heat and the semifinal I’d hit it.
That was a mistake. Instead of attacking it hard, I reached for it and went too high, clearing it by too much and slowing my momentum. I was playing safe.
Don’t worry. Keep going; you’re still winning.
I cleared the final hurdle, feeling that customary wave of relief: I was safe and all that was left was running over the finish. That’s the fun part. I was particularly enjoying the moment because I still couldn’t sense anyone around me.
Yeeeessss … Oh no, hang on.
As soon as I crossed the line I looked over at the clock and saw the time – 12.35 seconds. Then I turned and she was there. Dawn Harper was right there.
Oh God no. Surely not. I can’t have just lost my Olympic gold medal.
I hadn’t seen her until we were probably 2 metres past the finish line. She was close – too close. But I was sure I was ahead of her when it mattered, although there were still no names up on the big screen.
Why is it taking so long? I know I’ve won. I know I’ve won. I know I’ve won. I know I’ve won.
After all I’d been through, over the previous two weeks in particular, all I could do was believe. I had to believe.
Then the names appeared.
Oh my God, I’m the Olympic champion.