First Lt. Charlie Bentham jogged in place just before the 2000m dash would begin. His heart was pounding in his ears as adrenaline rushed through his blood. This would be it. His most glorious moment. Not the crowning achievement; he had too much time ahead of him to say that this would be the best moment of his life. Instead it would be the start. Many officers and sergeants tried out for the United States Olympic team, and he was one of the select few to make it to Athens. It was such a big honor.
President Wareing himself was attending, sitting in the stands, his hawk-like features glaring out over the track, intently, as always. The President looked to the runners on the sidelines, at Charlie himself. Charlie had had the pleasure to share a ship with the President in the trip across the pond and through the Mediterranean. He was a silent man, at least whenever he was around the lower officers (which most of the athletes consisted of). Most of his time was spent in the officer's quarters of the ship, with other important persons. He was so aloof, so... intimidating. He did smile, but he still wouldn't say much. He just seemed to be a man who preferred to keep to himself.
And Charlie was determined to impress him. This could be the quickest and easiest way to a promotion he could ever hope for, and just by running. He beat all his friends in the races, from school boys to army buddies. He was zippy, speedy, gone before you said to start. And he was determined to beat all these foreigners and take the gold for the USA.
He and the other competitors were on the track. Time slowed as the anticipation welled up in him. He carefully put his heels on the blocks, his nose to the ground. He looked to his left. A Brazilian looked back to him, giving him a nod one gladiator would give another before the match. It did feel so Roman, these Olympic games. He almost expected to look up and see President Wareing giving him the upward thumb... the approval to kill.
The gun went off, and Charlie was sprinting as fast as he could. The Brazilian was ahead of him a few seconds in, but both were towards the head of the pack. That man had such long legs, but Charlie's legs were long too, and there was no way he would allow a Brazilian to beat him, in front of the President himself. He tried to summon every calorie in his body and direct it towards his legs. All melded together into a rhythmic pounding from his arms to his heart to his legs to the ground. It felt forever as he slowly gained on the man, but he did overtake him, halfway through the race.
He was doing it. He was at the head. He was running to get the gold and the glory (and the promotion) behind the red tape at the finish line. His confidence swelled as he began to stride to the end.
He didn't see the Pole in the corner of his eye, making gains on Charlie like he made gains on the Brazilian. By the time he noticed, it was too late. The man had broken the tape. Charlie was next over the line... but he was second. Second! He looked to the stands frantically, to see the President, to see if it had mattered that he just barely missed the gold and glory.
The President was walking away.