July 13, the night before the Golden League in Rome.

In a suite in a five-star hotel in Rome, a black man tossed and turned on a soft and wide bed, sat up suddenly, snorted and did push-ups on the smooth floor under the bed for a while, and then lay down straight on the bed until his body seemed to be a little tired.

Then, a few minutes or dozens of minutes later, the lying figure flipped its body again, pounded the soft mattress with his hands and feet, and finally half-propped up his body and looked at the lamp at the head of the bed in a daze.

At this moment, a rustling sound came from outside the room, and it was a middle-aged black man over forty years old who pushed the door in, looking at the black man who seemed to be bored on the bed and had been tugging at the bedside lamp, frowned slightly, and said:

"Asafah, it's past 1 a.m., you should have a good rest!"

"Terry, do you think I can reclaim my world record?"

The lamp on the bedside table flickered from time to time, and Asafa Powell asked like a dreaming child as he lay on the bed, looking at the agent who walked in through the door.

"I think if I can run to 9.71 seconds, I'll challenge Sue."

"It's time to rest, don't think about it anymore." Terry lowered his voice, as the hottest agent of the current Sprinter Trapeze, he knew his clients well.

It is only in the dead of night like this, only when people are unknown, that one can see the vulnerable side of one of the world's top sprinters.

"I can't sleep, Terry!"

Powell was lying in the soft white futon, the air conditioning in the hotel was turned on very loudly, and the temperature was pleasant, but Asafa Powell, who was lying on the bed, only felt a burst of irritability, and his eyes were faintly red.

"All I had in my head was tomorrow's fight, I wanted to beat Sue and Tyson Gay and it was said that there were new challengers coming up to break the world record, but it wasn't easy."

Asafa no longer continued to swing the bedside lamp, his head resting on his right arm, his voice was low, with a thick nasal voice, his eyelids drooped, and he seemed tired, but when he talked about the world record and the competition, his eyes suddenly opened and became excited.

"Asafa, you're the best sprinter, you know that, I know, the whole world knows that. If you think about it, this year, you won against Sue, and he is not invincible. ”

Agent Terry leaned over to look at the black youth in front of him, the 25-year-old was at the peak of his career, but his mental quality had become unstable since he missed the '04 Olympics and the '05 World Championships.

Especially after six Golden League defeats to Suzu in 2006, he is now in the shadows.

"Don't laugh Terry, we all know what the reason I was able to win against Su before." Lying in bed, Asafa Powell seemed to want to close his eyes, but in fact he was awake all the time. Like many people with insomnia, groggy but knowing that they are awake.

"Sue was adjusting his technique, his stride was too small, and now I feel like he's catching up with me, and we're very close in terms of running skills. I watched the Golden League video in Paris and I felt like I had found my rhythm. ”

"But......" Terry straightened up, a little annoyed and a little sympathetic, "so what?!" Asafa, you can beat him once, you can beat him a second and third time, you don't have much of a gap with him, you just need to have a better mentality, and you are the one who wins the championship medal in the end. ”

The black young man lying on the bed was silent for a while, and then slowly spit out, "I don't know. ”

"Alas......" agent Terry sighed softly as he looked at Powell on the bed.

According to his plan, after learning about Suzu's participation in the Paris station, he gave up the next Grand Prix and the Golden League to prepare for the World Championships, but after the Paris World Championships, Asafa Powell was not reconciled, and when the outside world questioned that he did not dare to face Suzu, he asked to return to the Golden League in Rome and face Suzu head-on.

And as a result, I was emaciated and couldn't sleep all night.

Asafa Powell, a sprinter brought out of Jamaica by his agent Terry, has been up and down in the field of sprinting for many years, and he knows nothing more than the outstanding physical talent of the black young man lying in bed in front of him.

In the eighties and nineties, when Carl Lewis dominated the men's 100-meter sprint, Carl Lewis, who is 1.88 meters tall, was known for his large stride, and his strong and powerful stride was the key to Lewis's ability to stand out and dominate that era.

In the mid-to-late nineties, Morris Green, who is 1.76 meters tall, was crowned king, and Morris Green's weapon to win was his fast cadence, agile pace, and super fast cadence, allowing Green to defeat his opponents again and again, setting a world record.

Asafa Powell, who is 1.90 meters tall, has both the strengths of Carl Lewis and Morris Green, with a stride length that exceeds the average player, and strong enough muscles to support a super high cadence.

With perfect starting reflexes, powerful acceleration and impeccable running skills, Asafa Powell has everything it takes to be a top sprinter.

However, he lacked the matching desire for victory, for the championship that was so strong that it bordered on madness.

After losing many battles with Su Zu, even if he won Su Zu once, even if he wanted to compete with Su Zu in his heart, but when it really came to the end, when he needed to stand on the same starting line with Su Zu again, he would still be nervous and anxious.

The next day, when agent Terry saw Powell coming out of the room with a tired face, he was no longer optimistic about today's game.

And the result was not what he expected.

When Suzu crossed the finish line in 9.88 seconds, Powell was just 0.02 seconds behind him.

And in this game, Terry can obviously see that Suzu is finding his rhythm and form and is not at the peak, but Powell lost.

In the first 60 meters, in the last 40 meters, when Su Zu came back and rushed to Powell's side, Powell's movements were all deformed, his body muscles were stiff, and his arms were always swinging with his five fingers open and clenched into a fist at that moment, and his large and powerful stride was greatly reduced.

Before the finish line, Su Zu ran around the field again. Terry knew that the outside world was questioning Suzu these days, and he was celebrating his new life, and he started a new running technique, a new rhythm, in the fierce races.

And Asafa Powell, with his head down, once again looked like ashes.

"Asafa, I think you need to take a break."

After the Golden League in Rome, outside the players' locker room, Terry approached Asafa Powell for a sports agent.

"What?! What do you mean, Terry? ”

Asafa Powell's eyes widened, "Are you going to terminate my contract?" I can win, the next Sheffield Grand Prix, the Madrid Grand Prix, I'll win! ”

Powell saw the displeasure of the agent who had brought him on the international stage these days, and when Terry suggested that he take a break, he instinctively assumed that the other party seemed to want to terminate his contract.

Terry shook his head, "No, Asafah, you're the best sprinter, I'm not going to break your contract, and I hope you can win more championships and break world records." But ......"

Terry pointed to Powell's chest, "You need to have a strong heart, and I think before the World Championships in Osaka, you should take some rest, go back to Jamaica, go home, and get some adjustments." ”

"I ......," Powell seemed to want to explain, but the agent next to him shook his head again, "Listen to me, it's time for you to go back and see how you felt when you first stepped onto the runway." ”

……

Jamaica.

A Toyota SUV landed at Kingston Airport and drove straight away from Jamaica's busiest city.

After an hour and a half of driving along a modest two-way two-lane road through large banana plantations, the buggy stopped in a rather secluded mountain village.

"Asafa, why are you back, shouldn't you be playing now?"

A two-story building with a small courtyard, Asafa Powell just got out of the car when a somewhat round black teenager walked up.

"Jason, you're fat again." Powell smiled for the first time in a long time, reached over and rubbed the black boy's head, "Did you go out with my toys when I wasn't there?" ”

"No, no, no, I don't dare, your toys are all modified, they're too exciting, I can't control them." The black boy named Jason waved his hand repeatedly.

"I don't believe you." Powell looked at the other party's expression, and knew that during the time he left home to participate in the competition, the black teenager in front of him had tossed his few Toyota modified cars.

But it's all his own family, and the black boy is the son of his eldest brother, and if he really drives his car out, he won't say anything.

Reaching out and suddenly rubbing the belly of the black teenager, he immediately shook his head, "Jason, you should be exercising, you are the only one in our family who is the fattest." ”

The black boy pointed at a black woman who came out of the back of the room and grinned, "No, I'm not." ”

Asafa Powell reached out and grabbed the opponent's back erection, "Jason, it looks like I'm going to have to take you to training tomorrow." ”

"No, no, no, spare me." The black boy wriggled his fat body and screamed.

At this moment, the black woman at the door also walked over, Powell let go of him, walked up and hugged the black woman gently, "Mom! ”

"It's good to be back." The black woman smiled and didn't ask why his son, who was playing outside, suddenly returned, but gently straightened his collar for the other man, and his eyes were full of love.

After a while, other people gradually gathered in the small courtyard, and Williams Powell, dressed in a neat suit and shirt, hurried back from the church when he heard the news of his son's homecoming.

Williams-Powell, who is over 50 years old, is the only pastor in the village, wears a pair of glasses, and is also about 1.9 meters tall, but his belly has bulged because of his age. And several of his brothers, all of whom returned home from various other places.

No one asked why Powell, who was supposed to be competing in Europe at the moment, suddenly came home, and everyone naturally greeted each other and chatted about how powerful Powell's turbocharged engine was in the yard with several modified cars parked in the yard.

It was only at this moment that Powell suddenly understood why Terry had asked him to stop the rest of the game and go back to his home in Jamaica.

For him, this moment with his family, he is no longer a sprinter, he doesn't have to think about who tomorrow's opponent is, he doesn't have to think about the world record, he just chats with everyone in a relaxed tone.

5 a.m.

Asafa Powell was suddenly awakened by the sound of rattling footsteps on the street outside.

He glanced at the decoration in the room in a daze, this was his home, his room, not a hotel, and when he heard the sound of footsteps outside, he suddenly heard what it was.

Getting up, getting dressed and shoeed, he quietly left the house.

At 5 o'clock in the morning, the sky in the small mountain village is still a little dark, but the neon street lamps make it clear that the road on the street is clear.

On the corner of some dirty old cement streets, clothes and water bottles are scattered around, as well as some bottles of mineral water that have been drunk normally.

Following the direction of the sound of rattling footsteps, Powell gradually followed.

In front of him, dozens of teenagers and girls were running in the residential streets of the village at the moment, and occasionally the lights of some houses on the street were turned on, and the sound of dogs barking was mixed with the sound of footsteps.

Asafa Powell followed the team for his morning run, and he felt incredibly at peace amid the constant sound of footsteps ringing in his ears.

This is the mountain village where he grew up, and this is the Jamaica where track and field sprinters have risen rapidly.

Like many teenagers in South America who play football in the streets and mud, they started their careers in such humble venues.

The morning jogging team ran around the village and finally stopped in front of a slope in a residential street.

It was said to stop, but in fact, the team was not advancing, but the boys and girls in different clothes were still running in place.

A middle-aged black man in a white T-shirt stood on the side of the street at the front of the line and shouted the password: "Keep your mouth closed when you run, watch your breathing, do you hear me?" ”

Some teenagers and girls in the crowd who had just finished warming up for their morning run suddenly closed their panting mouths when they heard this, their chests and abdomen rose and fell, and they kept adjusting their breathing.

"Raise your legs, get ready, go!"

With the order of the middle-aged black man, dozens of black teenagers and teenagers quickly began to run in place, and the sound of footsteps was like a rainstorm hitting the roof tile glass.

"Speed up, leg lift!"

Asafa Powell, who was at the back of the crowd, followed the command of the middle-aged black man in front of him and also began to train with his legs raised, just as he had trained with other teenagers.

From the moment he entered the team and started his morning run, many of the teenagers and girls who trained with him recognized him as the pride of the village and the greatest sprinter who ran out. But at the moment, no one accosted him, some were just serious and focused training.

"Okay, let's run!"

After many teenagers and girls entered the rhythm of running with high legs, the middle-aged black man then issued the next training command.

And the black boys and girls on the field were also completely familiar with every command of the middle-aged black man, and with his voice, the first and second rows began to run forward with their legs raised.

The slope of the residential street is about 10 to 20 degrees, and this is the track and field where these teenagers train.

Group after group began to run towards the slope, and the middle-aged black man saw Asafa Powell standing out in the middle of the group, and he did not say anything, continuing his training plan as if he were facing everyone else.

Running up the slope with high legs, followed by a short rest period for everyone, followed by a sprint acceleration run from the low slope, stride jumping, three or five teenagers and girls, group after group, rushed to the top of the slope and returned to continue.

This training lasted for an hour or two, and it was not over until it was completely bright and the sun poked its head out in the eastern sky.

Asafa Powell gasped, and only then did he have time to walk in front of the middle-aged black man who had been training many teenagers and girls.

"Coach ......"

Asafa Powell's eyes flickered a little, and he didn't dare to look up at the middle-aged black man directly, and wanted to say something more, but the middle-aged black man interrupted him expressionlessly: "You should be in Europe at this time." ”

"I ......"

Asafa Powell was a little speechless, facing the middle-aged black man in front of him, even though he was once the holder of the men's 100m world record, he never had much courage.

Because standing in front of him is Stephen Francis, it only took him 4 years to train him, a track and field layman, to become the track and field coach of the fastest man in the world.

"Asafa, I've been following your game. Now, I don't have much to teach you, and you'll need to take control of your career for the rest of your life. The 100m race is the battleground and you're fighting against the 'fastest in the world', you have to understand that. Anytime you back down, it won't be you who wins. ”