The Fastest Man Alive

by Usain Bolt

  Everyone in Jamaica seemed to know the day – September 8 – and time – 1:15 p.m. – that I was due to land at Norman Manley airport in Kingston. What a welcome! There were thousands there to greet me, many of whom had spilled on to the tarmac. The Prime Minister of Jamaica, Bruce Golding, the opposition leader Portia Simpson Miller and the sports minister Olivia Grange met me at the steps, while a BMW convertible waited to take me on to a reception in the center of Kingston. The convertible might have seemed like a good idea, but it meant everyone could grab me and pull my arms. Luckily the rain came down, so we had to pull the top up, which saved me from being torn to pieces.

  When you drive from the airport there is a big roundabout, and that day you couldn’t even see it because there were so many people standing there, even though they were getting soaking wet. The car came to a complete stop and hordes of fans were banging on the roof and the windows. One little girl forced her hand in through the window and shouted to me, “I’m going to be the next Usain Bolt.” We were stuck for half an hour until the police managed to clear the way and we travelled on through Mountain View. In town the streets were lined with happy Jamaicans who could not have cared less about the weather.

  Eventually we made it to the Pegasus Hotel, but it was impossible to get through the front door and the police had to clear the reception area too. It was truly mad. I never expected a homecoming like it. Nobody was bothered about my party lifestyle now – this was one party where everyone wanted to be.

  When I won the world juniors I got a lot of attention, but this was something else. My arms were scratched where everyone had clawed at me, and there was a danger of events getting out of control. I was supposed to be staying at the Pegasus, but had to move to another hotel because I couldn’t go out of the door without being mobbed. When I went clubbing that night, security had to rescue me from being crushed. I’d gone in through the back entrance and they’d prepared a special table area for me and some friends. It didn’t make any difference, people just rushed it and, though they meant well, they couldn’t see I was suffocating. It was scary.

  I’M PROVING YOU

  CAN GET TO THE

  TOP AND ENJOY

  LIFE TOO. I’M THE

  SAME PERSON I

  ALWAYS WAS ...

  It was nearly a fortnight before I could get out of Kingston and back to what I thought would be the tranquillity of Trelawny. I should have known better. There was an incredible welcome waiting back there as well. I’d heard about the motorcades which stretched for miles round the parish when I won the 100 meters and then the 200 meters, and I thought the locals might have done enough celebrating.

  But no. This party was for the whole Jamaican Olympic track team, and I wasn’t the only local with a gold medal. Veronica Campbell-Brown, who carried our national flag in Beijing, had retained her 200m title from Athens, which was a fantastic achievement too.

  We had to go to Sam Sharpe Square in Montego Bay to begin a motorcade where we would be transported to our cars on the back of these trucks. We couldn’t even get to the trucks, there were so many people congratulating us. We forced our way through and it must have taken an hour and a half to get to the middle of Falmouth, but I loved it. This was home. Looking over at the video game shop, where I once spent so much time, I reflected how it wasn’t so bad that my cousin had tattled on me to my parents and I’d had to go to training instead of blowing all my dinner money on Nintendo.

  It was a few days before everything calmed down, but then at last I was able to relax and walk around Sherwood among people who’d known me since I was a little boy. They were glad to see me and I was pleased to shake their hands and have pictures taken with them. I’m a people person, who enjoys mixing. Other athletes are a little bit more reserved, even my own countryman Asafa. He does everything low key, while I like to live as normal a life as possible.

  I know why people love me and appreciate that I make them happy, but it’s impossible to please everyone. After the Olympics we were swamped by requests to attend dinners and be presented with awards. I was grateful for all the offers, but I couldn’t be everywhere and had to turn a lot down, which I didn’t like doing.

  One dinner I did attend was the World Athlete of the Year gala in Monaco. It was no surprise to win the award, which was presented by Prince Albert of Monaco, and it was nice to be acknowledged not just as a sprinter but as the best in all of track and field. Oh, and there was a prize of US$100,000 to go with the trophy. One big award I didn’t get was the male performance of the year award, which went to Dayron Robles, the Cuban 110m hurdler who broke the world record in the Czech Republic before winning the Olympic gold.

  We stayed in the Monte Carlo Casino Hotel, which is the one above the tunnel the grand prix drivers race through, and partied into the night. It was a great end to a great year.

  I was supposed to start training a month after the Olympics finished, but Coach generously gave me another three weeks off because I was worn out. It put me behind in my preparations for the 2009 season, which was going to be another big one with the World Championships taking place in Berlin, and I really had to work hard for three or four weeks to catch up. There was hardly any social life for me, which was almost as painful as the training.

  I’d got myself back towards fitness when, at the end of April, I had a crash in my new BMW M3 which could have killed me. How I escaped with no serious injury is a miracle. The car had only been delivered to me in February as a reward from Puma for my Olympic performances, and I couldn’t wait to get it out on the road and burn it up.

  On this particular day I was driving along Highway 2000 with two female passengers in the back. It was early afternoon and, with the rain coming down hard, I was going along sensibly, not fast at all. I was driving bare-foot, but I always did that in a car with a gearstick, and I remember changing into third as I slowed down. All I can think is that by leaning my foot to the left I must have accidentally turned off the traction control which had been switched on for the wet. Without any warning, we started skidding across the road and there was absolutely no way of getting the car back under control. The car spun around and we shot backwards, hit the kerb and flew into the air. As we took off I put my hand up to the roof to try and stop me hitting my head and I remember thinking, “Oh God, we’re in trouble, this is gonna hurt.” I can visualize every moment in my mind, and whenever I see a car crash in a film on TV it brings it back to me. In films they are stunts – this was for real. We flipped over and over three times before the car landed with a thud on its roof in a ditch.

  For a moment there was silence. Were we dead? No, it seemed not. I crawled out through the side door, but was in a daze as I saw that the car was a total write-off. I’d completely forgotten there were two people in the back but, as soon as I remembered, I went back to the car to help them. One girl was already getting out, but the other was almost unconscious and I couldn’t figure out how to open the door to get to her. I was panicking and didn’t know what might happen. The car could have been about to blow up. By then another motorist had scrambled down from the highway to help us, and we pulled her clear. The girl’s head was bleeding a lot and she had also busted her knee, while the other one had strained her back but was otherwise OK.

  WITHOUT ANY

  WARNING, WE STARTED SKIDDING

  ACROSS THE ROAD...

  THE CAR SPUN

  ROUND AND WE

  SHOT BACKWARDS...

  Ridiculously, having rolled the BMW three times, smashed it to bits and somehow escaped without a bruise or a scratch, I got hurt walking on thorn prickles in the ditch because I had no shoes on. I stepped on the thorns three or four times as I was wrestling with the door to help one of the girls out.

  We were taken to hospital in Spanish Town and the doctors tried removing the thorns, but there were quite a number stuck in my foot and they didn’t make a great job of it, although I’m most appreciative of all that the doctors did for me that day. If Mom had bee
n there it would have been fine; she used to pull thorns out all the time after I’d been playing in the fields around our house.

  But a thorn or two in my foot was a small price to pay. I must be blessed, because everyone in that car could have died. There should be no way you can flip a car like that and come out of it as well as we did.

  I don’t have flashbacks about it. Yes, car crashes in films bring it back to me, but I don’t have nightmares in bed or anything, I’m just thankful I’m still here. I’ve had three car crashes in my life and this was the worst. I’ve been very lucky.

  The prickles in my foot prevented me from training for almost two weeks, but I decided to go ahead with a special 150m race being held on the streets of Manchester in England. I was keen to do it. I liked the idea of taking athletics to the people in a city center. All we had to do was lay out a track down the middle of the street and get on with it. My foot was hurting and felt like there was something still sticking into it, so I had to run on it at an angle to stop the pain. It wasn’t ideal but I could manage and it made the race more of a challenge.

  Coach wasn’t sure about me doing it, but I wanted to try. It was something different which helped the profile of athletics and I didn’t want to let the organisers down. I like the concept of just turning up and running with no stadium required. You couldn’t do it for the javelin or the hammer but you can for a sprint race.

  It was a horrible day, with rain pouring down during the heats. I’d been allowed to miss them and just race the final, which fortunately was when the sun came out. The wet weather made the track bouncy and I broke the world record in a time of 14.35 seconds. Though the 150m is not an official distance in our sport, it was good to be back after the crash with no ill effects.

  I’d had very little time to prepare because of the accident, but thanks to the enthusiasm from the people of Manchester, who enjoyed the race so much, I was happier than usual. Bring on the World Championships!

  Usain and I got really close in 2003, when he came into Kingston to live. Before that, I would only visit during a few summer or Christmas holidays in Trelawny. So although we spent very little time together before, it changed once we were in the same city.

  I grew up in Kingston with my mom, so I found the rural life a little boring at times, but it could also be refreshing. Of course I would play cricket and football with the other young boys in the neighbourhood.

  Usain says he could play cricket and bowl a bit, but I was the real cricketer in the family and am currently playing club cricket for Melbourne Cricket Club in Jamaica – home of the famous West Indian fast bowler, Courtney Walsh.

  There’s a lot of sporting rivalry between Usain and me, but it’s hard to compete with such a talented sprinter. As a junior I tried out for the national cricket squad, without much luck. I was out early at the under-15 trials and broke my favorite bat. I had made lots of runs playing for Calabar High School, which helped me to go into senior league cricket.

  I therefore have to be content with fighting it out on the FIFA soccer video game with Usain. At least I can beat him at that. We’ve always got along and never really had anymajor arguments. We like watching soccer together too; we’re both Manchester United fans.

  I only realized how good an athlete he was when he won the 200 meters at the world juniors in Kingston I was like, shocked, when he ran that crazy time at the age of 15. The whole of Jamaica was celebrating with Usain.

  I didn’t go to the Beijing Olympics but saw it on television with my friends, and one of them was beating the door so hard when Usain won the 100 meters, I thought he was going to put his fist through it. It was a phenomenal feeling to know that was my brother.

  I did get the glorious opportunity to attend the World Championships in Berlin. It was fantastic to be there to see him repeat his victories in both events at the World Championships. It felt like I was living part of it.

  There’s a certain glory in being Usain’s brother, and I admit I’ve used it from time to time with the girls. If I’m out clubbing with him, it certainly helps with the opposite sex. I am more of the smooth, handsome type and am definitely leading him in that department. At least I am sure I am beating him at something.

  BERLIN WAS WHERE I WAS GOING TO continue towards my status as an athletics great. Could I do it all over again a year after the Olympics? Of course I could.

  First there were the Jamaican trials to go through. There were no exemptions, even for an Olympic champion and world record holder. I had to earn my place on the team all over again, and I won the 100 and 200 meters comfortably.

  At my English training camp at Brunel University I asked Coach for a 400m training programme to boost my strength. I’d run a couple of 400m races and worked with my friend Jermaine Gonzales, who is a specialist 400m man. We did a series of 150m runs, where you had to do each one in around 17 seconds and, after a minute’s rest, go again. After eight 150s the programme was finished, and when I’d done it, I knew I was ready.

  Tyson Gay was making noises about beating my 100m world record after running the fastest time of the season in 9.77 in Rome. I wasn’t worried. I’d done a 200 meters a few days earlier in Lausanne, clocking 19.59 on an awful rainy night, and didn’t push all the way to the line. It was one hundredth outside Tyson’s best 200m of the year. A week later, in Paris, for my first Golden League meeting of the season I posted 9.79 in the 100m without any trouble. I knew how to beat him. Whatever he ran I could run faster.

  We avoided each other before Berlin, but on arrival in Germany I felt the same way as before the Olympics – I was going to win another three gold medals. I also thought the 100m and 200m world records would go again, because there was Tyson and Asafa in the 100 and Tyson in the 200. After what happened at the Olympics, Tyson was not going to Berlin for a silver. He wanted to stop me being the number one athlete in the world. But I was tuned in to winning, even if it was going to take another world record to do it. I wasn’t going to be repeating Beijing by shutting down in the final 15 meters, though. I didn’t think that would be possible this time around. I might be the best, but the others were no mugs. They were seriously fast guys who were capable of taking advantage of any mistakes.

  The 100m heats were on day one around lunchtime, and I breezed it, as did Tyson. Then came the quarter-finals that evening, where my training partner Daniel Bailey was in the lane to my left. We got away together and were joking with one another as we jogged over the line and qualified as first and second. Again I got criticism for fooling about like at the Olympics, but it was funny for Daniel to be there beside me showing that if I could jog and qualify, he could too. He even edged me out by one hundredth of a second. Meanwhile Tyson and Asafa were winners in their respective races.

  I POPPED THE BLOCKS

  A FRACTION TOO

  EARLY, AND YOU COULD

  HEAR THE SHOCK AND

  THE “OOOOOHS” ALL

  AROUND THE STADIUM.

  The semi-finals caused a stir when I false-started after me and Daniel had a bet about who could get away quickest. I popped the blocks a fraction too early, and you could hear the shock and the “ooooohs” all around the stadium. I thought, “Calm down, people.” There are pictures of me smiling after the false start and it’s because I’d almost got it right and done Daniel, while he was laughing about me going early.

  The next time we went the gun again sounded for a false start and the cameras zoomed in, everyone wondering if it was me. If so I was out, which would have been a very big deal – but it wasn’t me. Unfortunately for the British athlete Tyrone Edgar, it turned out to be him and he was disqualified. I made no mistake when we got away the third time and did a 9.89, to Tyson’s 9.93 in the other semi.

  The final was just over two hours later, and I had a bet with my masseur Eddie and my agent Ricky where we each put in 100 euros and guessed my time. Whoever got closest would take the 300 euro pot. I said I’d do 9.54, Eddie 9.57 and Ricky an unbelievable 9.5. My world record from B
eijing was 9.69 and, good though I was, Ricky was taking it too far. I chatted with Daniel as we waited, and we started messing around doing dances and stuff, while Tyson was looking at us as if to say, “What are they doing?”

  As you line up for a race the camera comes really close, and Daniel in lane three was sort of doing punches towards the lens. When it came to me in the next lane, I was jumping around telling the audience to enjoy the race, and even Asafa got into it, chewing up his number. Tyson, in lane five, wasn’t having any of it; a salute to the crowd was all.

  The stadium was full, the atmosphere electric. I took a deep breath and settled on my blocks. “On your marks, set...” and we were off. In two strides I’d got the jump on Tyson and was ahead of him. Coming up out of the drive phase I could feel him on my shoulder, but he wasn’t in my direct eye line and I was pulling away. With ten meters left I’d got it, but what was the time going to be? Who was going to win the 300 euros? As I glanced at the clock I wasn’t looking to see if it was a world record, I knew that was going to go, I wanted to know who’d won the money. Wow, 9.58 – it was Eddie’s. Oh well, good for him, I’d have to make do with a gold medal and a world record.

  To my astonishment, as I kept running around the corner there was a photographer carrying a heavy, long-lens camera, and not the leanest man you’ll ever see, who was absolutely belting along to keep up with me and get his pictures. If he’d been in the final he might have had a chance.

  There were thousands of Jamaicans in Berlin, many of whom had foam Bolt arms which they strapped over their shoulders. I did my Bolt “To the World” signature, which by now was far more refined than in Beijing. Then I hooked up with Asafa, who had taken bronze behind Tyson, and we did a little dance together. Asafa was learning to loosen up at last!