"Welcome back to the evening of Day 1 of the Olympics, on the track the first of 5 quarter finalists are finishing their warming up..." The commentator gushed excitedly.
David sat in front of the TV while the television cast a soft glow across the room as the 9 lane track had athletes of all over the world blast out of their blocks and adjust them for their upcoming race.
His mother hadn't moved from the sofa, but her attention had shifted. Earlier, she had been watching casually, half-interested, but now her eyes flicked between the screen and David more often, as if trying to work something out.
The first race was introduced, the camera moving across each athlete as the commentators spoke about their chances. David watched quietly, taking in how they carried themselves. Some bounced lightly on their feet, others stood still, conserving energy. A few looked tense, shoulders slightly raised, while others seemed loose, almost relaxed.
His mother spoke before the athletes got into their blocks. "Alright," she said, her tone light but curious, "who's winning this one then?"
David didn't rush his answer. He watched them settle, waiting until the final moments before the gun. Just before they dropped into stillness, he lifted his hand and pointed toward one of the lanes.
"That one."
The gun fired, and the runners burst forward. For the first half of the race, it looked close. Two athletes pushed ahead, nearly level, their strides matching as they accelerated down the track. But as the race progressed, one began to edge forward, his movement staying composed while the other tightened slightly.
By the finish, the gap was clear.
His mother leaned forward, a small note of surprise in her voice. "Oh… you got that right."
David didn't respond, already watching the replay.
She gave a quiet laugh. "Alright, lucky guess."
The next race was called, and this time she didn't wait as long. There was a faint smile on her face now, but it was mixed with curiosity.
"Go on then," she said. "Who's taking this one?"
David watched the athletes step forward, his eyes moving from one to the next. He noticed the same things as before. Posture, tension, how naturally they moved before even getting into position. After a few seconds, he pointed again.
"That one."
She followed his finger, her expression narrowing slightly as she tried to see what he was seeing.
The gun went, and the race unfolded quickly. This one stayed tight for longer, the athletes moving almost in sync through the early phase. But as they reached the final stretch, the same pattern appeared. One runner maintained his form better, his stride opening up just enough to separate.
He crossed the line first.
His mother let out a short breath and leaned back slightly. "Okay… that's two."
David remained quiet, focused on the screen.
By the time the third race was introduced, her attention was fully locked in. She leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on her knees now.
"Alright," she said, her tone more deliberate this time, "which one?"
David didn't hesitate as long. He had already made his decision before she finished speaking, pointing toward another lane.
"That one."
She didn't question it, but her eyes stayed fixed on that runner as they got into position.
The race started cleanly, and almost immediately, it was clear. The runner David had chosen didn't dominate from the start, but there was a steadiness to his movement that the others lacked. While the rest began to strain slightly as they pushed, he remained composed, his form holding together all the way through the finish.
He won without much doubt.
His mother shook her head lightly, a small, disbelieving smile forming. "Three in a row," she said quietly. "That's not normal."
David didn't react outwardly, but inside, he was becoming more certain of what he was seeing. It wasn't just that he knew the outcomes. He was starting to understand the differences that led to them. Even if he couldn't fully explain it yet, he could recognise when something looked efficient, and when it didn't.
Yes he recognised he had hindsight on his side, but that was mostly related to Bolt and the those who made it into the finals, this didn't translate as strongly in the quarter finals or even the semis when it came to who actually won where before the finals.
"Alright," his mother said slowly, "that's a bit strange."
David glanced back at her for the first time in a while.
"What?"
She studied him for a moment, as if trying to decide whether to take it seriously.
"You got every single one right," she said. "All of them."
He shrugged lightly, turning back to the screen.
"They were obvious."
She let out a small laugh at that, but there was something uncertain behind it now.
"Obvious," she repeated. "Yeah… not to me."
Her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer before returning to the television. She didn't say anything else, but she didn't go back to half-watching either. Her attention stayed, both on the races and on him.
The broadcast began to build toward the semi finals, the commentators raising the tension, talking about favourites and expectations. David listened, but his focus had already shifted beyond that.
He wasn't just watching anymore.
He was recognising patterns.
The way some runners held their form under pressure, while others broke down slightly. The difference between forcing speed and carrying it. Small things, but consistent.
That mattered.
Because one day, he wouldn't be sitting on this floor, watching from a distance.
He would be on the track himself.
And when that happened, it wouldn't be about knowing who would win.
It would be about becoming the one they couldn't catch.