As Usain walked onto the track field in London, he had one thing in mind: winning. Again. Just like he had four years before in China, where he had competed against the best runners in the world and still came out on top. He remembered the feelings he had after winning the 100m and 200m dashes: glorious, victorious, and invincible.

He looked down at the rubber turf upon which he was standing, and took a good look around, for he knew that this was the track upon which the opening ceremony for the 2012 Summer Olympics would be held, and where he would be racing in a couple of days. The reward for his victory would be no dollar amount, but instead, sponsorships, bragging rights, and to have his name put down in the books until the end of the human race, and possibly beyond.

As he slowly started to scan the field for the starting line, he couldn’t help but to think about the fact that the race he was entered for could make him or break him. But immediately, he reassured himself that it wouldn’t happen. It couldn’t, for he was the best runner that humans had ever seen. And that didn’t come from sitting around and just hoping that he would go to the Olympics and become the best that the world had to offer- it came from the hundreds and hundreds of hours that he had spent preparing for all of his races; it came from the thousands of practice runs that he done to prepare; it came from the millions of breaths that he had taken after running them; but most of all, it came from a dream that he had strived for for his entire life in order to make it into a reality.

The day of the opening ceremony had arrived, and Usain found himself staring out into the field from inside of one of the cold tunnels that went under the stadium, which was filled with thousands of people. One of his teammates from Jamaica placed his hand on Usain’s shoulder. “Congratulations, brother,” he said. “We have made it!” He continued to speak, but his words were drowned out by the pre-recorded words that were coming from speakers from above. “Jamaica!” the speakers roared. He proceeded to walk out of the tunnel onto the track from behind other teammates from Jamaica, where he was greeted with almost deafening applause and cheers. He heard his name being called from all directions: “Lighting,” “Bolt,” “Lighting Bolt,” “Usain!”- The shouting sounded all too familiar. His chest filled with pride and excitement as he watched the crowd while he took his lap around the AstroTurf field. He spotted previous Olympic stars, such as Kobe Bryant, Shawn Johnson, and Michael Phelps, as well as some knew ones, and knew that he was having the time of his life. He tried to remember it all the best that he could, for he knew that it might be his last trip to an event like this.

It was race time. He heard the speaker call his name, “Usain Bolt in lane 5,” and once again, he heard the crowd grow loud and restless as his lane assignment was called out. He started to walk towards the starting block, kicking the air as if he was trying to shake water from himself. As he reached the starting block, he was completely zoned in. For Usain, the only things that existed were himself, the block, his track lane, and nothing else. He got onto his hands and knees, and positioned his fingers just a hair’s length behind the starting line. He gave one final kick on each leg, and then all he could do was wait, and try his best so that he might carry on his legacy.

“On your mark,” the official called through a megaphone. BANG! Usain bolted off of the starting line, clearly living up to his name. “One, two, one, two;” he subconsciously counted his steps in his mind. He focused on his stride; it was so perfect that had it been any better, he would have been able to fly. Inside his mind, only echoes of his steps could be heard. He had done this all too many times before, looking like a programmed machine. When he reached the half-way mark, he widened his mouth so that he might have better control of his breathing, and turned up the heat on his pace. He looked like lightning.

Usain took his last couple of strides, and knew that he had done it again. He had once again come out on top. As he slowed his breathing, Usain looked up to the results board, curious as to what time he had clocked in. And as he did, he heard, “and Usain Bolt has done it again! He’s just clocked in at 9.43 seconds, beating his best time by just over a fifth of a second; ladies and gentlemen, we have a new world record!”

Usain couldn’t help but to cry, knowing that all of his hard work had paid off again. No one in the world could have been happier than himself, he thought. “And once again,” the announcer shouted, “Lightning has lived up to his name!”