The Olympic qualifiers were everything Rohan had expected—and worse. Brutal in every sense of the word. The intensity of the competition, the stakes riding on each race, the unrelenting heat of the track under the scorching sun—it all felt like a test designed to push each athlete to their absolute breaking point.
The Indian National Trials were held in Patiala, a place steeped in athletic history. The weight of tradition only added to the pressure as the nation's best athletes gathered for a chance to represent India on the grandest stage of them all. The field was packed with familiar faces, all hungry for the same opportunity—men and women Rohan had raced against for years, athletes who had become legends, and promising newcomers looking to make a name for themselves.
Rohan had prepared for this. He had pushed his body beyond its limits in training, fine-tuning every detail. He had visualized these moments with Dr. Kapoor, standing alone on the track, facing the enormity of the Olympic Trials. But nothing could fully prepare him for the emotional intensity of being there in the flesh, surrounded by a swarm of athletes and spectators.
As Rohan stretched out near the track, feeling the tension in his muscles, he could hear the chatter around him—whispers of who the favorites were, analysis of past performances, predictions about who would rise and who would fall. There was one name that came up often—Arjun.
Rohan hadn't raced against Arjun since the World Championships, but he knew his old rival would be here. Arjun had been training hard and had been clocking impressive times in the lead-up to the Trials. Their rivalry had always fueled Rohan, but now, with so much on the line, it was more than that. Arjun wasn't just competition; he was the benchmark. Beating him would mean more than just securing a spot on the team—it would mean that Rohan was ready for the Olympics.
Rohan's first heat was scheduled for mid-morning, and as the time approached, he felt his heartbeat quicken. He went through his usual pre-race rituals: stretching, focusing on his breathing, and picturing the race in his mind. The key was to stay calm, to stay present. In these moments, it wasn't about who was watching or what was at stake—it was about running the best race possible.
When Rohan lined up at the starting blocks, he glanced at the competition. His eyes settled on Arjun, who stood a few lanes over. Arjun caught his gaze, gave a brief nod, and turned his attention back to the track. There was no animosity between them, but the rivalry still hummed in the air like static electricity. This wasn't just about the race—they were both running for their Olympic dreams.
The gun fired, and Rohan shot out of the blocks like a bullet. His legs churned with power, and his arms pumped in perfect rhythm. The initial surge of adrenaline carried him through the first stretch of the race as he fell into his stride. He didn't let himself think too far ahead—he stayed focused on the race, on his own performance.
The pace was fast—brutally fast. The runners surged forward as if the finish line was a beacon they were all desperate to reach. Rohan held his position near the front of the pack, matching their speed, his mind locked into the rhythm of his steps. He had learned from past mistakes not to push too hard too early, but the pressure was palpable. The athletes around him were world-class, and any hesitation could cost him.
As the race wore on, Rohan felt the strain starting to build in his legs. The lactic acid burn crept in, but he had been here before. He had trained for this pain, trained to push past the threshold.
With 200 meters left, he made his move. Rohan shifted into a higher gear, his legs powering forward as he passed one runner, then another. The finish line was in sight, and he could feel the adrenaline surge through him. His body was screaming, his lungs burning, but this was the moment that counted.
He crossed the line in second place, just behind Arjun, both of them collapsing into a controlled jog as they caught their breath. They had qualified for the semifinals, and Rohan allowed himself a small moment of relief. But it was short-lived.
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The semifinals arrived, and the tension only grew. The athletes who had qualified were some of the best in the country, and now the competition was fierce. The times in the heats had been fast, but everyone knew the semifinals would be even faster. There were only a few spots left for the final, and every runner was desperate to secure one of them.
Rohan knew he had to be smart. He couldn't afford to make a mistake—there was no margin for error. But as they lined up for the semifinals, Rohan felt a sense of calm. He had been here before. This was just another race.
The gun fired, and they were off.
Rohan got a good start, surging forward with the pack. The pace was blistering, but Rohan stayed calm, holding his position near the middle of the group. He knew that the real challenge would come in the second half of the race, and he was determined to conserve his energy for when it mattered most.
But something felt off. As they approached the 400-meter mark, Rohan felt a sudden, sharp jostle from the runner behind him. His rhythm broke, just for a second, but it was enough to throw him off balance. He stumbled, trying to regain his footing, but the disruption had cost him valuable time.
As he steadied himself and tried to push forward, he heard the commotion from the sidelines. The crowd's cheers had turned into gasps, and Rohan felt the panic rise in his chest. He glanced around, trying to assess the situation, but it wasn't until he crossed the finish line that he realized what had happened.
Disqualified.
The official's voice was clear and unwavering as he approached Rohan, holding up a red flag. "Lane infringement," the official said, his tone professional but final. "You stepped outside your lane after contact. It's an automatic disqualification."
Rohan stood frozen, disbelief washing over him like a cold wave. He had been bumped—he knew that—but to be disqualified because of something that wasn't his fault? It felt like a cruel twist of fate. He had been running a good race, managing his energy, staying in the competition. And now, because of one split-second misstep, his Olympic dream was slipping away.