Velocity 100

Chapter 7 - The Pressure Builds

The months following Cynthia's return to Barbados after the World Championships had been a blur of training, travel, and competition. Each race was a new test, each training session a new chance to refine her skills. But as the calendar turned towards 2024, the pressure began to build in a way Cynthia hadn't yet fully experienced. With every stride forward, the stakes became higher. There were whispers, both excited and anxious, that the island's next great hope for Olympic gold had arrived.

The 2024 Paris Olympics were still a year away, but they loomed large on the horizon. It was no longer just about proving she belonged on the world stage. Now, it was about proving she could handle the weight of expectation that came with being Barbados' top sprinter, the one with the potential to bring home a medal. The pressure came from everywhere—from her country, from the media, from her coaches, and from within herself. Every race now seemed to come with an added burden: the desire to win.

Cynthia was no longer just a talented young sprinter on the rise. She was a national symbol. And as the realization sank in, a quiet unease settled in the pit of her stomach. Could she truly handle the weight of those expectations?

It was the night before her first race of the 2024 season, a high-profile international competition in Jamaica. The island was known for its sprinters—Jamaican women dominated the sprinting world—and this meet, with its star-studded lineup, was set to be one of the toughest of her young career. It was more than just another race. It was the first time she would race some of the best in the world since Doha. It was the first true test of whether her improvements would show.

Cynthia sat in her hotel room, staring at the ceiling. The stillness of the night was a stark contrast to the storm of thoughts swirling in her mind. Her body was ready. She knew that. The months of training had sharpened her speed and honed her technique. But what about her mind? Was she prepared for the pressure? Was she ready for the expectations?

Her phone buzzed on the bed beside her, breaking her train of thought. It was a message from her mother.

"You got this, Cyn. Stay focused. You've already made us proud. Just run your race."

Cynthia smiled and typed back a quick reply: "Thanks, Mom. I'll do my best."

Her mom's words were always a comfort. But they also reminded her of the weight she carried, not just as an athlete, but as someone who represented her country. She wasn't just racing for herself. She was racing for every person in Barbados who had ever believed in her. For the young girls watching her, hoping they too could one day sprint their way onto the world stage. For her mother, who had always been there, no matter how difficult the journey had been.

The expectations, she knew, were a double-edged sword. They were a reminder of how much people believed in her. But they were also a source of anxiety, a pressure that could threaten to undo everything if she wasn't careful.

She stood up from the bed and walked over to the window, pulling aside the curtain. Outside, the streets of Kingston were alive with the hum of the city. The night felt like a quiet breath before the storm of the next day's race. Cynthia closed her eyes and took a deep breath, grounding herself in the silence. Tomorrow, she would race. And she would do it with everything she had.

The morning of the race arrived quickly. Cynthia's breakfast was light—toast, eggs, and a banana—and she could feel the familiar anticipation building in her chest. The nerves were there, as they always were before a big race. But they were different now. In the past, they had been a reminder that she was stepping into the unknown. Now, they were a reminder of the weight she carried. The eyes of the world were on her, and the dream of Olympic gold felt closer than ever.

As she made her way to the track, Cynthia was keenly aware of the atmosphere around her. Athletes stretched, warmed up, and mentally prepared for the battle ahead. Coaches shouted encouragement, and officials moved with purpose, keeping everything on schedule. The air felt charged with anticipation. And as Cynthia stepped onto the track, she couldn't help but notice the presence of the Jamaican sprinters—Shelly-Ann Fraser-Pryce, Elaine Thompson-Herah, and Shericka Jackson—some of the fastest women to ever live, all standing in the same warm-up area. This wasn't just a race. It was a chance to measure herself against the very best.

Cynthia's heart raced. This was a moment she had dreamed of. But now that it was here, the nerves were overwhelming. She felt like an outsider, a small fish in an ocean full of giants. The crowd around her was already buzzing with excitement. But the reality of it all began to sink in. This wasn't a local meet. This was an international competition. She had to prove herself again. And the pressure was suffocating.

"Hey, Cyn!" a familiar voice called out, breaking her reverie. Cynthia turned to see her coach, Mr. Ashton, approaching with a bottle of water in hand.

"Hey, Coach," she said, trying to keep her voice steady, though she felt anything but calm.

He handed her the water bottle, and she took a deep drink. "How you feeling?"

"Nervous," Cynthia admitted, the word slipping out before she could stop it. "I know it's just another race, but... there's so much riding on this one."

"I know it feels big," Mr. Ashton said, his tone reassuring but firm. "But remember, you've been doing this for years. You've put in the work. The pressure comes from inside, not from anyone else. Just do what you know how to do. Focus on your lane, your race. Let everyone else worry about theirs."

Cynthia nodded, grateful for the reassurance. She was always so hard on herself, and the pressure of representing her country made it harder to stay grounded. But she knew that Mr. Ashton was right. She could only control what she could control. The rest was out of her hands.

The starting call came soon after, and Cynthia took her place at the line. The crowd grew quieter, the tension rising as the sprinters lined up. The famous Jamaican trio was in her heat, and as they took their positions, Cynthia couldn't help but feel the weight of their presence. But instead of feeling intimidated, she focused inward, blocking out the noise and the pressure.

The sound of the starter's pistol shattered the silence.

Cynthia's reaction time was perfect, her legs powering through the first 30 meters with incredible force. She had improved dramatically since last season, and it was evident from the moment the race started. She could feel the acceleration in her stride, the technique Mr. Ashton had worked so hard to refine paying off in real time. The other sprinters were quick, but Cynthia was right there with them. She belonged.

As the race went on, she fought the urge to glance around, but the rhythm of her body carried her forward, one step at a time. She was in the mix, shoulder to shoulder with the world's best, and that was enough. As they rounded the curve, it became clear that the Jamaican trio was edging ahead—there was no denying their dominance—but Cynthia held her own, finishing with a personal best of 10.85 seconds, just shy of the top three but still well within the top six.

When the race ended, Cynthia collapsed onto the track, breathing heavily. She didn't win, but she had held her ground against some of the greatest sprinters in history. She had raced with confidence, with poise, and most importantly—she had raced with the knowledge that she was capable of so much more.

Back in the locker room, Cynthia sat on the bench, her mind racing. The pressure had been intense, but she had come through it. She hadn't been first, but she had been strong. And that, in itself, felt like a victory.

Mr. Ashton appeared beside her, a proud smile on his face. "That was some race, Cyn. You've made a statement today."

Cynthia nodded, still catching her breath. "I didn't win, but I'm getting closer. I feel like... like I can compete with them. The Olympics are within reach, Coach. I just need to keep going."

Mr. Ashton's smile widened. "You will. Keep believing. The pressure's only going to get heavier, but you've got the heart, the talent, and the work ethic to carry it."

Cynthia looked at her coach, her heart swelling with a new sense of determination. The road to Paris was still long, but today, she had learned something valuable: The pressure wasn't a burden—it was a reminder of how far she had come. And it was a challenge she was ready to meet.