The television stayed on after the 100 meters final, the noise from the stadium still filling the room as the broadcast moved forward. Replays came and went, the commentators circling back to the race every few minutes, but the focus had already started to shift. The moment had passed for everyone else.
For David, it hadn't.
He was still sitting on the floor, but the intensity from before had settled into something quieter. Not gone, just contained. His posture had relaxed slightly, though his attention hadn't really left. It just wasn't locked onto the screen anymore.
The men's 200 meters final came up without much build-up. The camera cut back to the track, showing the staggered lanes, the athletes walking out again, some of them familiar from the previous race. The crowd was still loud, but it didn't feel the same. Not sharper, not heavier. Just loud.
His mother glanced at the screen, then at him. "He's in this one too, right?"
David nodded. "Yeah."
She waited for more, but nothing came. That alone made her look at him again, longer this time.
The runners took their positions on the curve, each standing in their lane with that slight outward lean, the stagger stretching them across the track. The commentators talked through expectations, fatigue, how the earlier rounds might affect the result.
David watched, but not with the same focus as before. His eyes followed the movement, but his mind wasn't anchored to it. He still noticed things, still saw the way Bolt carried himself compared to the others, but it didn't pull him in.
The gun went, and they came out of the bend hard. Bolt was already moving well, his stride opening early, eating into the stagger before they even reached the straight. It was obvious again, the same kind of separation building, the same ease in his movement.
David saw it.
He just didn't lean forward this time.
By the time they hit the straight, Bolt was already ahead. The race played out the way it was expected to, the gap stretching, the finish never really in doubt. The commentators rose again, their voices lifting with the moment, but it didn't feel as sharp as the night before.
David watched him cross the line. He saw the time. He saw the reaction.
Then he looked away before the replay even finished.
His mother noticed immediately. "You're not watching?"
David shifted slightly, leaning back on his hands. "I saw it."
She frowned. "You've been stuck to that screen all week."
He didn't answer straight away. His gaze dropped for a moment, then lifted again, not to the television, but somewhere in between.
It wasn't the race anymore.
It was what came after.
That feeling had been building since the semi final, maybe even earlier. Watching wasn't enough anymore. Understanding wasn't enough. Every time he saw it done properly, it made the same thought come back stronger.
He wanted to do it himself.
Not just run around outside, not just race other kids. Something more deliberate. Something structured. Something that actually led somewhere.
He turned slightly, looking back at his mother. There was no hesitation in him now, no uncertainty about what he was about to say.
"I want to do that."
She blinked, caught off guard by how direct it was. "Do what?"
David nodded toward the television, where the replay was still running in the background. "Sprint."
She followed his gaze, then looked back at him. "You mean like at school?"
He shook his head. "No."
That made her sit up a little straighter. "Then what do you mean?"
He held her gaze, steady, more focused than she was used to seeing from him. "I want to be a sprinter."
The words didn't come out rushed. They weren't exaggerated or dramatic. If anything, that made them land heavier.
She studied him for a moment, trying to read whether this was just excitement from watching the Olympics, something temporary that would fade in a day or two. There was no sign of that. No uncertainty, no second-guessing.
"You're serious," she said.
David nodded. "Yeah."
She leaned back slightly, processing it. "You're four," she said carefully. "You don't even do proper sports yet."
"I know."
That didn't shake him at all.
"You already run around outside," she added. "That's what kids do."
David shook his head again. "Not like that."
There was a pause. She didn't interrupt this time.
"I don't just want to run," he said. "I want to get faster."
The way he said it made her stop and think. It wasn't vague. It wasn't playful. It was specific, even if he couldn't fully explain how yet.
"How?" she asked.
David hesitated briefly, not because he didn't have an answer, but because he didn't have the words for it yet.
"Train," he said. "Practice properly. Get better at it."
She let out a small breath, her expression shifting again as she looked at him. "You've been thinking about this."
David nodded. "Yeah."
"Since yesterday?"
He shook his head. "Before that."
She looked at him for a long moment, then back at the television, then back again. The race was still playing behind them, but it didn't feel like the focus anymore.
"Alright," she said eventually. "We'll see."
It wasn't agreement, but it wasn't dismissal either.
This time, when David turned back toward the screen, he wasn't watching the race.
He was thinking about what came next.