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I lined up next to the other athletes for the Spanish national anthem in the final of the Olympic games 200 meters in 1992.  The crowd were on their feet, hands on hearts, singing.  Rows and rows of passion and ecstasy filled the stadium.  I shook my opponents hands staring into their eyes, assessing them, like a doctor would with his patients.  All ordinary stuff, really.  But it wasn't.  There was one man, an african american, who had smashed all expectations to reach the final.  His eyes were tinted yellow and his face was cold and sharp, showing no emotion.


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⏰ Last updated: Nov 17, 2015 ⏰

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