“Marks.”

When the tannoy had announced my name, the sound of the crowd had nearly deafened me, but now it was almost silent. Thousands of pairs of eyes bored into my back. I waited.

“Set.”

Here we go. All I see is an ocean of orange; two white lines converging in the distance. Pulling me onwards. My heart thumps in my ears and the moment lingers…

CRACK

I slam my hands down once, twice, three times. Get this bloody thing moving. Breathe. Push push push push. Dimly, as through a thick curtain, I hear the crowd once more. Focus. Push push push push. Stay between the lines.

Half way now. God, this is fast. Push faster. Push faster. I can feel the others breathing down my neck. Push push push push. Risk a glance forwards: I can see the line. Push push push.

My arms catch fire. All I can see is red. Keep pushing. Keep pushing. The line!

I roll into a roar as 80,000 screams, suddenly audible, tell me I’ve done it. I raise my arms: five years of pain and slog, for 18.06 seconds. YES!