Twin Ambitions - My Autobiography (31 page)

I’m looking around and telling myself, ‘This is my moment. This is it.’

I am ready to race.

There’s a lot of expectation on my shoulders going into the 10,000 metres. I’d done well in the Worlds. I’m in great form. Now I have to do it all over again. I have to bring that gold medal home, no matter what. All the big names are there for this race: the Bekele brothers, the usual mix of Kenyans, Ethiopians and Eritreans: Zersenay Tadese, Moses Kipsiro, Moses Masai, Bedan Karoki. Then there’s my Oregon training partner, Galen Rupp. He’s a threat. Everything has been going well for him in training, and I know what he’s capable of. We are called to our marks. The crowd waits.

The gun CA-RACKS.

‘Shit!’ I think. ‘The gun’s gone. It’s started.’

Early on the going is slow. I just focus on doing my thing, starting from behind and taking it as easy as possible. Telling myself, ‘Work your way through the pack. Don’t make any mistakes.’ All I’ve got to do is hold level with the lead group of runners and put myself in a strong position heading into the last few laps. Then I can kick on for the big finish.

The pace is going backwards and forwards. In the corner of my eye I can see that Greg Rutherford is doing well in the long jump. He wins the gold as I pass by on another lap. The crowd is whooping and cheering. Greg has just jumped 8.31 metres. It’s enough to win the gold. It’s a one-two for Jess and Greg. Eighty thousand pairs of eyes turn to watch the climax of my race. At the 5000 metres point, Tadese, the half-marathon world record holder, suddenly puts a big surge in, upping the pace. Then Kipsiro goes down. The field scatters. I slip back alongside Galen. He tries to go with the pace.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ I tell Galen. ‘Don’t go with them. Chill.’

Galen eases off. He settles alongside me towards the back of the pack. Gradually the two of us start picking off the other guys, working our way through the group. Just like we’ve trained to do under Alberto. With four laps to go, we close in on the front runners. We’re still working our way through. Every lap, we’re gaining a little more. The leader of the race is changing all the time. One minute it’s Tadese. The next it’s Tariku Bekele. Then it’s Gebremariam.

‘Yeah, yeah,’ I tell myself. ‘This is good, I’m where I need to be.’

Now the other guys start trying to get rid of Galen and me by pushing the pace. The race gets faster. But I’m calm. I know I’ve got my sprint finish. As long as I’m near the front with two laps to go, I’m golden. This is my race. My time. I’m not going to lose to anyone. Not here. Not in front of my home crowd, with everyone in the country cheering me on.

As we hit the two-lap mark, Tariku Bekele takes the lead again. I am right behind him with Galen on my shoulder along with Masai and Karoki. I wait for my moment to kick on. The last lap rings out.

Now I kick as hard as I possibly can. I surge past Bekele and take the lead. The crowd goes ballistic. I didn’t think it could get any louder than before. But I try not to get carried away. I still have a job to do, there are still guys to take care of. Instead, I try to use the energy of the crowd, digging deeper and deeper as I veer into the final turn. I’m in a lot of pain. I’m running flat out. It hurts. At last, with 200 metres to go I manage to open up a gap between me, Tariku Bekele and the rest of the chasing pack. The crowd is roaring and driving me on. I’m not looking behind. I’m not looking at the clock or the screen. I don’t know where Bekele is or where Galen is. I focus everything on the finish line.

‘Keep going,’ I tell myself. ‘Keep going.’

It’s only once I cross the line that it hits me.

I’ve won.

My immediate reaction is, ‘What?!? I’ve won!’

I look across my shoulder and see Galen coming through. On the home straight he pulls ahead of Tariku Bekele to take silver. I don’t know what I’m doing at that point. It’s a mad, crazy blur. All I can think is, ‘I’ve just won the race and my training partner has finished second. What is going on?’ I think back to training with Galen in the mountains in Albuquerque. Alberto had predicted that we would finish first and second in the Olympics, but he wasn’t sure in which order. Somehow, standing here now, watching everything unfold, it doesn’t seem real.

I see Alberto in the crowd. I run over to him and give him a hug.

‘Go and enjoy it!’ he shouts above the electric noise of the crowd. There are almost tears coming out of my eyes. It’s an emotional moment for me – for all three of us. I’m still struggling to believe what I’ve just achieved. The crowd is shouting my name. Someone chucks me a Union Jack. I wrap it around my shoulders like a cape and pose for some pictures. I do the Mobot, but honestly I’ve got no idea what I’m doing any more. I’m just like, ‘Oh my days! I’m the Olympic champion. Have I really won? Did that really just happen?’ Winning gold at the Olympic Games, in the city I call home, is one of those things that takes a long time to come to terms with.

Rhianna comes running onto the track. Then Tania joins her. The three of us together, after a month away. Tania’s stomach is huge. Her doctor didn’t want her to be here. I give both of them a big hug. Sharing this moment with them both is the best thing ever. The sacrifices they have made too … Tania is telling me, ‘Go and enjoy it!’

I’m telling Rhianna, ‘Come jog with me, one lap around the track.’

And Rhianna’s plugging her fingers in her ears and shaking her head and saying, ‘No, no! I’m scared, Dad!’

It’s so loud it is literally scary.

I head off on my lap of honour around the track. I wave. People wave back. I don’t know where I am. I just see this huge wall of people stretching out before me. I enjoy that moment. I enjoy it like you wouldn’t believe.

Super Saturday, as it was later known, would go down in history as the greatest day in British athletics. In the space of forty-six minutes Greg, Jess and myself have all won Olympic gold, making it the best performance ever on a single day for British athletics. The gold rush had begun earlier in the day at Eton Dorney, with Andy Triggs Hodge, Pete Reed, Andy Gregory and Tom James winning the men’s fours in the rowing, followed by Sophie Hosking and Katherine Copeland taking gold in the women’s lightweight double sculls. A few hours later, the track cycling team landed another gold with Laura Trott, Dani King and Jo Rowsell winning the women’s team pursuit, setting their sixth successive world record in the process. Then it was our turn. By the end of the night, Team GB had won six golds – the most successful day our country has enjoyed at an Olympic Games for 104 years.

People would soon be comparing ‘Super Saturday’ to England winning the World Cup in 1966 and Jonny Wilkinson kicking the winner against Australia in 2003. Seb Coe called it ‘the greatest day of sport I have ever witnessed’. Andy Hunt, chef de mission for Team GB, said, ‘It is a day our country will never forget’. For me, standing there on the track, soaking it all up, it’s a simply incredible feeling, to be a part of something so special. It’s something I’ll remember for the rest of my life.

It’s gone midnight by the time I get back to the village. I grab some food. I’m tired, but I can’t sleep. I’m still buzzing from the crowd. The next day I have arranged to meet Tania and Rhianna at the Nike HQ at BMA House, this grand old building in Tavistock Square, a stone’s throw from Euston Station and King’s Cross. All the Nike-sponsored athletes are at BMA House, anybody’s who won a medal, plus all the top Nike executives. Getting there is a mission in itself. The traffic is ridiculous and someone explains to me that I’ll have to pass all these security checkpoints going by car. It sounds like a big hassle.

‘I’m not doing all that,’ I say. ‘I’ll just jump on a train instead.’

Having changed out of my Team GB kit, I am now wearing a big jacket and a hoodie and a pair of jeans. I pop my hoodie tight over my head and hop on the Overground. My disguise works. No one recognizes me. I spend some precious time with my wife and daughter at Nike HQ. My old mate Malcolm Hassan is there too. Malcolm and his dad have come down from Sunderland; I’d managed to get them tickets for the 10,000 metres. ‘I can’t believe how well you’ve done, man!’ Malcolm says when I greet him, his Geordie accent thick as the day I first met him. We joke for a bit. Then it’s time to head back to the village. I take the train back. This one guy recognizes me. He’s about to say something when I put my finger to my lips and go, ‘Shhhh!’

To his credit, the guy doesn’t say a word. It’s our little secret.

When I at last get back to the village, I’m knackered. Alberto and Ricky are waiting for me back at the village. I’ve still got one more race to go. They can both see that I need to get some rest. But it’s hard sometimes, because the other guys in the village are coming up to you, saying, ‘Well done, mate!’ Wanting pictures of you, wanting to shake your hand. The attention is lovely, but it also saps the energy out of me at the exact moment when I most need to conserve it.

The following day I try heading down from my room in the village to grab a bite to eat. Again, there is a lot of attention on me. Usually I wouldn’t mind, but I still have a race to compete in and this isn’t ideal preparation, posing for pictures and shaking hands wherever I go. In the end I decide it’s best not to leave my room, but how am I going to get food? Barry Fudge steps in to save the day, making food runs back and forth from the restaurants. I also get rid of my SIM card in my phone so that no one can get hold of me. The only person who has my new number is Tania. Anyone else that I needed to speak to on a regular basis, like Alberto, is already in the village. It’s a case of cutting off the outside world. Even my brother and mum don’t have this number. (Later I’ll find out that some random guy ended up with my old phone number. Every time I do well in a race or I’m in the spotlight, this poor guy’s phone explodes with phone calls and text messages from people looking for me.) Today I do nothing but sleep and chill. Rest is the most important thing. The 5000 metre heats are set for the following Wednesday. I have to recover in time, because if there’s one lesson I learned from Beijing it’s that you can’t take your place in the final for granted.

It’s very nearly not enough. On the morning of 8 August I limber onto the track feeling tired and drained. Despite putting everything into my recovery, that 10,000 metres race has taken a lot out of me. Somehow I’ve got to make it through this heat and hope I can recover a bit more ahead of the final. I tell myself, ‘Just get the job done. Because if you don’t make it through qualifying, you have no final.’ There’s no way I am going to suffer a repeat of Beijing. Today, this heat is my final.

I struggle in the heats. It’s hard. My whole body is aching. I scrape through in third place behind Hayle Ibrahimov and Isiah Koech. Massive relief. If that heat had been the final, I would’ve struggled. Big time.

Galen makes it through in the second heat as one of the five-fastest times. I’m just glad that we’ve both qualified. I watch the replay of my heat on TV. I look visibly tired. I spend the next two days resting. Only now, with the heats safely negotiated, do I start thinking ahead to the final. I turn over the race in my head, asking myself what I have to do in order to win. Telling myself, ‘Damn, I want the same feeling I had in the 10,000 metres. I want to feel like that again. I want to make history.’

Only a select few athletes have ever done the 10,000 and 5000 metres Olympic double. Kenenisa Bekele did it in Beijing in 2008. Lasse Viren did it in Munich in 1972 and again four years later in Montreal. Emil Zátopek, he did it in Helsinki in 1952. I want to put my name up there among the greats. For the next two days I don’t venture outside at all. Barry Fudge is busy making his by now regular food runs, bringing my meals up to my room. So I rest. And I think. And I wait.

Three days after the heats, it’s the 5000 metres final.

There are some fresh legs out there on the start line. Guys who haven’t competed in the 10,000 metres: Dejen Gebremeskel, Thomas Longosiwa, Bernard Lagat, Abdalaati Iguider, plus Koech and Ibrahimov. Seven guys on that start line have run faster personal bests than me. So, a lot of fresh legs. But I feel strong. I’d shown in Daegu that I can run a tough 10,000 metres race and then a few days later recover to win a 5000 race against the best guys in the world. And I’ve done so many races at the shorter distance that I know what to expect. It’s different with the 10,000 metres. If you think about a football match, where a game can be quite slow for the first sixty or seventy scoreless minutes, the pace suddenly picks up as the final whistle approaches and both teams are chasing a win. That’s how 10,000 races are run. You don’t want to go too hard at the start because you have a
looooong
way to go. The 5000 metres is nothing like that. There’s no gentle tempo at the start. As soon as that start gun goes, you’re off.

I emerge onto the track and – wow! Somehow the crowd is even louder than the other night, if that’s possible. It’s like someone has just scored a winning goal in the World Cup Final. We are called to our marks. The crowd is going crazy and we haven’t even started racing yet. I look around at this sea of British flags. People bouncing up and down. The reception I get is mind-blowing. There are 80,000 people cheering me on. I feel the weight of the whole country behind me, willing me to win.

It is 7.30 p.m. on a beautiful August evening and I am about to make history.

The pressure is off for me tonight. I’ve already got one Olympic gold medal in the bag. Most athletes will only ever dream of winning Olympic gold and it meant so much to me. I had no intention of taking my foot off the gas, but being Olympic champion at the 10,000 metres has taken the edge off in terms of the pressure. There are no big bags of sugar weighing heavily on my shoulders this evening.

The first five laps are relatively slow – a relaxed 77 seconds a lap. Then Gebremeskel, one of my main rivals for the title, pushes to the front and begins picking up the pace, doing 60-second laps. This is a big surprise. I’d reckoned on Gebremeskel kicking on more towards the end of the race, so why has he gone now, so early? Maybe he’s hoping to burn me out. Maybe he thinks that I’m still feeling the effects of the 10,000 metres. In years gone by, I might have struggled. But I’ve done the miles. I’ve given it all in training. I have spent the past year waking up each day and asking myself: ‘What more do I need to do? Do I have the speed? Do I have the endurance? What about my mental preparation? What else is there?’ Now, in front of massed ranks of flag-waving Brits, everything is coming together.