One day he would do it. One day. It was in his very being. No one gave him a chance. No one ever had. But that made him more determined. The park was getting empty now. Just a few young kids hanging around. It was time to do what he could without the irritation of comments.

Why did people have to try to destroy ambition? Was it jealousy? Was it a wish to prevent anyone escaping from the confines that the world imposed? That they imposed. By their views. There he was running in the park, trying to achieve what he had always wanted to. Yet he couldn’t do it without someone trying to drag him down. Away from the ideals he held dear. Back down to earth.

He started to run along the path that went across the park. It was a long run. But he had done it in three minutes a week ago and he was going to again. He was certain of that. He had set the stopwatch and got into his stride. Further he must go, faster. He pushed with every sinew of his being and it hurt. Not at first when the idea was new. But the faster he went, the harder he worked.

He had been inspired by the Olympic coverage on television. Each day he had sat transfixed in his council flat. Watched as young people from right across the world had pushed themselves as far as they could. Some would have had support from the day they were born. Others would not. They were the ones who would have done it all themselves. Found a place they could go on a daily basis and forged their own direction. Defying the underlying essence of education. Of the system. Of those who were only too happy to put you in your box. Confine you to the train to nowhere.

He had thought about doing it through music. He may do so one day. Get himself an electric guitar. Learn those songs that blasted out every day as he sat there in his bedroom and played them on his stereo. But for now that could wait. Because, since the Olympics, he had a new goal, a new way to escape from the treadmill.

He pushed harder. Faster. A small group of young kids were hanging around, pointing, starting to snigger. It happened every time, as long as he came here. He still pushed. Nearly there. He passed the tree that overhung the fence and slowed down, breathing heavily, the pain in his chest pounding so fast, his throat dry. He looked at his watch. Three minutes twenty seconds. He hung his head as he heard the kids laughing. So close to achieving his aim. But still a way to go. By the end of the holidays he would do it. And then into Winter. As the ground became black and white.

He didn’t know how it would be taken at school. There was an inner circle. A sort of golden group who represented the school. It was more down to whose parents were known and nothing to do with ability. He had to overcome that, get to a situation where he would be judged properly. For his running. He was going to be so good that no one would be able to deny that he was up to it. First occasion would be at sports. He would run ahead of the pack. Show what he could do. It would be described as a one off. But he would do it again. So much that they would have to notice and pick him to represent them. Then the possibilities were huge.

It was getting colder now. The kids had gone. He had the place to himself. How if he tried to do it again? He set his stop watch and started running.