Olympic Final 1924

The noise of the 1924 summer Olympic crowd blasted in his ears. Eric Liddell stood on the grass 400-meter track ready for the 400-meter final. This was not the race he had come for. The 100 metres had been his, until he chose not to run. Now, the 400 stretched before him longer and unfamiliar. He settled into his lane. The other runners crouched low, focused, and precise. Eric Liddell stood more upright, rolling his shoulders, eyes fixed ahead. He had no strategy on how to pace the race. The gun cracked. He sprinted forward fiercely. His arms pumping, head tilted back in a strange style. The others held back, running their planed race. Liddell did not. He ran as if the finish line was already in sight. Around the bend he was too far ahead. Surely, he would fade, but he drove on. His legs tightened down the back straight, gasping for breath, but he did not slow. This was his race now. Into the final straight, the other runners chased him. Footsteps closed in. The roar of the crowd erupted like a volcano. Still, he ran. Stride by stride, he held them off. The tape rushed towards him and then it broke against his chest. He had won the Olympic 400-meter final. A race he should not have won. For a moment, he stood still, chest heaving, hardly believing it. Then the crowd rose to its feet, cheering louder than ever before. Eric lifted his head, the race was over, but it would be remembered forever.