If You Don't Try To Win You

To A Sprinter, The Hundred-yard Dash Is Over In Three Seconds, Not Nine Or Ten. The First 'second' Is When You Come Out Of The Blocks. The Next Is When You Look Up And Take Your First Few Strides To Attain Gain Position. By That Time The Race Is Actually About Half Over. The Final 'second' - The Longest Slice Of Time In The World For An Athlete - Is That Last Half Of The Race, When You Really Bear Down And See What You're Made Of. It Seems To Take An Eternity, Yet Is All Over Before You Can Think What's Happening.

The Secret Is, First, Get A Thoroughbred Horse Because They Are The Most Nervous Animals On Earth. Then Get The Biggest Gun You Can Find And Make Sure The Starter Fires That Big Gun Right By The Nervous Thoroughbred's Ear.

It Dawned On Me With Blinding Brightness. I Realized: I Had Jumped Into Another Rare Kind Of Stratosphere - One That Only A Handful Of People In Every Generation Are Lucky Enough To Know.

People Come Out To See You Perform And You've Got To Give Them The Best You Have Within You.

In The Space Of Less Than Seven Days, I Attended A Track Meet In Boston, Flew From There To Bowling Green For The National Jaycees, Then To Rochester For The Blind, Buffalo For Another Track Meet, New York To Shoot A Film Called The Black Athlete, Miami For Ford Motor Company, Back Up To New York For 45 Minutes To Deliver A Speech, Then Into L. A. For Another The Same Night.