Chapter Sixty-Five: I Only Run Once
October 28.
10 a.m.
The day after tomorrow, the team will depart for Macau City to participate in the Eastern Youth Games. The opening ceremony is scheduled for the 30th. The sprint events are set from the 1st to the 3rd. So, there are roughly three days left before the athletes step onto the arena, ready for battle.
According to Dong Zijian, everything that needed to be taught has been taught; what happens next depends on the athletes’ performance. Therefore, in the two days before departure, the team only engages in essential physical training. Upon arrival in Macau, they’ll familiarize themselves with the venue, avoiding intensive practice.
The sprint team is among the last groups to leave from the central bureau’s training camp. The bureau's leaders have urged them several times, but it’s like an impatient doctor facing a slow-moving patient—there’s nothing to be done.
Originally, there was to be training this morning, but it was canceled and rescheduled for the afternoon. The sprinters began packing their belongings. The dormitory building was not far from the stadium, so they could see people moving on the field from their windows.
It wasn’t just one person. Those with keen eyesight could spot, among the figures on the field, Coach Li Yan, Assistant Coach Dong Zijian, and two sprinters: Tian Shiwei from the sprint team, and Rousseau, who was “soon to leave the team.”
Rousseau, since joining, had barely communicated with his teammates. Not only did he clash with the coaches, but he never integrated into the group. The sprint team members had mixed feelings about him. There was certainly aversion, but also a sense of regret—especially given Rousseau’s grueling, almost self-punishing training. It was rumored he trained himself sick yesterday, falling ill just before the tournament, which severed his last hope of competing.
Even Zhang Zhen, who had always disliked Rousseau, now found his feelings best described as “mourning the rabbit’s death, the fox grieves.” The sporting arena is cruel; even being selected for the national team is a mark of extraordinary talent, but everyone has witnessed teammates falter, if not experienced failure themselves.
It can even be said that their journey to this honor—representing their country—was built atop the shoulders of those less gifted, less diligent, or led astray.
Now, seeing a teammate so unlucky, excluded simply for failing to please the coach, evokes an inevitable sense of “mourning the rabbit’s death.”
Especially since Rousseau’s performance was by no means inferior; in fact, it was outstanding.
...
Under several watchful eyes hidden behind dormitory windows, Rousseau stood on the track, speaking to Li Yan and Dong Zijian: “I only have the strength for one run now. Watch closely.”
Such arrogance seemed unnecessary… Tian Shiwei, chosen as his opponent, looked at Rousseau and felt the man’s temperament had changed since falling ill. Once proud and reserved, he now exuded a kind of solitary arrogance.
In Dong Zijian’s ear, Rousseau’s words—“I only have the strength for one run”—sounded almost like, “I only have the strength for one performance.”
Dong Zijian couldn’t help but smile wryly. He felt that letting Rousseau run one last time was an act of kindness and comfort. Since Rousseau was leaving the national team, it made sense to run once more on the field where he’d shed sweat and tears—perhaps never to return.
If that was the case, where did Rousseau’s pride come from now?
Regardless, let him have this.
After all, Rousseau endured more pressure than the previous three who left the team. He didn’t choose to quit, but instead used this method to bid farewell to the national team. It was a dignified farewell and deserved respect.
“Please,” Li Yan said, rather sternly.
Dong Zijian had always felt Li Yan lacked humanity. In Chinese culture, saying someone lacks humanity is a harsh criticism. But for this “yellow-skinned, white-hearted,” strictly rational and utilitarian national sprint coach, it hardly mattered.
Li Yan treated sports as… Dong Zijian could never find the right word for it, but Li Yan’s approach was clearly results-driven—he was bound by the bureau’s contract.
Li Yan didn’t think about the future; he only wanted gold medals.
Was such a head coach truly suitable for the national sprint team?
Dong Zijian began to doubt.
...
Rousseau lazily warmed up, stretching just enough to loosen his body, then stopped. He crouched at the starting line: left foot forward, right foot back. He’d never given it much thought, but now there was a subtle sense of obstruction—as if switching feet might make his start faster…
...
Dong Zijian called out, “Ready.”
Rousseau and Tian Shiwei straightened their backs.
Every nerve throughout their bodies felt electrified, heightened in sensitivity.
Every hair on their skin seemed like an antenna, gathering information from the outside world.
For the first time, Rousseau felt so light, so alive, so eager.
...
Beep!
The whistle sounded.
Tian Shiwei had barely started when he noticed Rousseau already charging ahead, head down, a body-length in front.
A false start?
Tian Shiwei was surprised. Rousseau often used this tactic in competitions, but never in practice. So—was this a false start? Otherwise, how could his takeoff be so fast? That was a sub-0.15 second start!
As his opponent, Tian Shiwei’s perception was direct—Rousseau must have false-started.
Li Yan and Dong Zijian, watching closely from the side, had an even clearer view. Dong Zijian also thought Rousseau had jumped the gun.
Should he blow the whistle? Dong Zijian glanced at Li Yan, but saw Li Yan staring intently at the track and waving his hand slightly—the clear signal not to interrupt. Did Rousseau really false-start? Or was Li Yan, showing unusual compassion for Rousseau’s last run, choosing not to call it?
...
The curve was smooth.
The feeling Rousseau occasionally described as “feet on wind and fire wheels” was now beneath him.
Body leaning left—balance—lean left again—balance.
Forward momentum continually gathered in his lower limbs…
Upper body strength was key to balance…
The forefoot pushed off powerfully, energetically, quickly…
Raised thigh and calf formed a ninety-degree angle…
Each footfall was like a gear accumulating energy for the hips…
The hips surged forward like an engine and car’s head, ever advancing…
Increasing stride length and frequency to find the shortest, fastest route to the finish…
At that moment, Rousseau understood the joy of running.
It was the feeling of chasing the wind.
Of leaving everything behind.
Ahead of him lay only the finish line and glory.
...
Rounding the curve, Tian Shiwei felt like giving up.
Rousseau had already pulled ahead by three or four meters.
This wasn’t just a matter of body-lengths—in a real race, Rousseau and Tian Shiwei could fit all other competitors between them.
After the curve, the speed gap became even more pronounced. Tian Shiwei stared at Rousseau’s figure several meters ahead—a distance that seemed short in normal times, but in competition, it was a thrashing, unreachable gap.
This guy… on drugs? Tian Shiwei wondered, astonished.