Four years isn’t all I’ve had to train, almost ten years I
have abstained from bars and fatty fast food chains to snatch those PB busting
gains.
Now London 2012 does call, a beacon in the urban sprawl, I
must not stop - I can not stall, if I’m to go and give my all.
No watching from my TV screen, I’m at the greatest show I’ve
seen, its opening night - this feels obscene with Bond and our sky-diving
Queen.
Off to the village then to rest, to mentally prepare to test
myself against the worldwide best, adorned with my own GB vest.
The thumping of my aching feet, to simply win the opening
heat, it’s already my greatest feat, but victory would taste so sweet.
And now my heart won’t cease to pound as I pace up and down
the ground, no respite peace or quiet found between the first and second round.
But to my mother’s own relief and shock of the athletics
chief I’m in the pre-final de-brief, somehow, against all true belief.
Get set, waiting for starter's gun, a spring about to be
un-sprung then run and run and run and run, flash, wait – could I have really
won?
I’m trying hard to fight back tears, it’s what I’d waited
all these years for beating all those shocks and fears and tonight, believe me,
there’ll be some beers.
For whilst I could not match the pace I’ll take silver and
second place and smile’s upon the nation’s face – then I’ll be back, just watch
this space.
So to all you kids who’re at the start, but want to win let
me impart you don’t need wealth, there’s no dark art – you too can win if you’ve
the heart.
