Velocity 100

Chapter 1 - Dreams on the Track

Cynthia Riveira stood at the starting line of the track, the cool morning breeze brushing against her skin as she prepared for her usual pre-dawn training session. The scent of wet earth filled the air, remnants of last night's rain still lingering in the early hours. She closed her eyes, her mind drifting to the same thought that had been with her every day for as long as she could remember: the Olympics.

She was only 17, but Cynthia had been running since she could remember, the rhythmic pounding of her feet against the track feeling more natural than walking. Her dream was simple yet monumental — to become the fastest woman in the world. The 100m and 200m sprints, where athletes like Shelly-Ann Fraser-Pryce had made their mark, were where Cynthia's heart belonged. She idolized the Jamaican sprinter, admired her fierce determination, and wanted to follow in those same powerful footsteps.

Born in Barbados, Cynthia had grown up on a small, quiet street in the capital, Bridgetown. The island was a place where the rhythm of life often matched the pulse of the ocean, slow and steady, but Cynthia's ambitions were anything but. She was determined to carve out a different path for herself, one that would take her far beyond the shores of her homeland. While her friends dreamed of university life or jobs in the bustling tourism industry, Cynthia's thoughts always soared far past the horizon, toward stadiums and gold medals, and the Olympic flame burning bright at the center of the world.

Her family understood her drive, but sometimes, even they couldn't quite comprehend the full scale of Cynthia's ambition. Her mother, Lucia, a small, kind woman with an infectious laugh, often reminded her that life wasn't just about winning. "But there's nothing wrong with winning, right?" Cynthia would tease her, a grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. Lucia would chuckle, brushing Cynthia's hair out of her face. "No, sweetheart. But remember, it's not just about the medals. It's about who you become while you're chasing them."

Cynthia understood that her mother's words carried a wisdom shaped by years of sacrifice. Lucia had always supported her, even when it meant making difficult choices to ensure Cynthia could train, travel, and grow. They'd made countless sacrifices—late nights, missed family gatherings, and sometimes, even the luxuries of life. But there was no other way.

The starting gun cracked the silence of the morning air. Cynthia's body instinctively dropped into the starting position; her legs coiled like springs. She could feel the faint outline of the wind pressing against her skin, a familiar sensation that urged her to run faster, to go farther. Her coach, Mr. Ashton, stood at the side of the track, stopwatch in hand, eyes focused on her every movement. He had been with her since she first joined the local track club at the age of 9. He knew her better than anyone, from the girl who could barely finish a lap without tiring, to the young woman who now had the discipline and focus of a true competitor.

"Cynthia," he called after she finished her run, "good time, but not good enough. Not for the Olympics. You need to push harder."

She nodded, wiping the sweat from her brow, her legs already aching. The journey to the Olympics was long and full of sacrifice. The dreams of youth sometimes had to clash with the harsh reality of dedication and discipline.

But Cynthia didn't mind the pain. She welcomed it. Every blister, every cramp, every drop of sweat felt like a step closer to her goal. She had always believed that greatness was not given — it was earned through relentless effort and the unwavering belief that one day, it would pay off. Yet, even with that belief, the doubt still crept in sometimes, gnawing at the edges of her mind. Was she really cut out for this? Did she have what it took to rise to the top? Every time she asked herself these questions, she thought back to the moment she'd first watched Shelly-Ann Fraser-Pryce race in the 100m at the Olympics. The way Fraser-Pryce's legs seemed to move faster than the wind, the effortless power in every stride, it had stirred something deep within her. That was the vision she chased.

Her coach, Mr. Ashton, had a way of knowing exactly when to push and when to let her catch her breath. Today, he had pushed. And pushed hard. He was relentless in his belief that Cynthia could be great. But with that relentless drive came a certain coldness, a hardness that Cynthia sometimes had trouble with. After all, he wasn't just a coach to her; he was a mentor, a second father. Still, Mr. Ashton had no time for half-measures.

"I know what you're capable of, Cynthia. But talent alone won't get you to the Olympics. You've got to sacrifice more than you ever thought possible. Every hour you spend on this track, every second you spend in the gym, it's all preparation for the moment that will define your future. Your time is coming. But you've got to be willing to put in the work — every single day."

She smiled through her exhaustion, but inside, the pressure began to mount. The road ahead was long. The competition fierce. And the closer she got to her dream, the harder the grind became. Other runners were catching up, some faster than she'd anticipated. It was becoming harder to stay ahead. But one thing was certain: she wasn't about to let go of her dream. Not now. Not ever.

Cynthia walked off the track, the cool breeze still teasing the edges of her damp hair. The sun was beginning to rise, casting long shadows across the field, but she didn't feel the warmth of it. Instead, a chill settled in her bones. It was a reminder that the path she had chosen wasn't a warm, sunlit one. It was gruelling and unforgiving, but she had always known it would be.

She reached the bleachers where her mother sat, waiting patiently. Lucia smiled as Cynthia approached, her face breaking into a gentle, understanding grin. "Good run, baby?"

"Could've been better," Cynthia said, her voice tinged with frustration. "Mr. Ashton says I need to push harder."

"Sounds like him," Lucia chuckled softly. "But you know what? You're doing great. You're working hard, and that's what matters."

Cynthia's shoulders slumped slightly, the weight of the day's workout settling in. But as she looked at her mother, she felt something shift inside her. She could feel the love and support in the air between them, a quiet reminder that even though the road ahead was tough, she didn't have to face it alone.

"I know, Mom," she said, her voice quieter now. "I just feel like I'm getting so close. But then... not quite there."

Lucia put a hand on her shoulder, her touch warm and comforting. "You're closer than you think. You've got the heart for this, Cynthia. You just have to keep believing. And when you don't feel like you can keep going, remember why you started in the first place. You've got this."

Cynthia nodded, inhaling deeply as she looked toward the horizon. The journey was far from over, but it had already taught her so much about herself. She wasn't just chasing medals. She was chasing the woman she wanted to become — and no matter how long it took, she would keep running toward that dream.

Her eyes, focused and determined, never wavered. Not now. Not ever.