We are literally trying to stop time.

"Runners, take your mark," intones the Madison Square Garden announcer, quieting a crowd of 16,000 that has turned out for New York City's Millrose Games, the most illustrious stop on the U.S. indoor-track-and-field circuit. Six Olympic-quality sprinters step up to the starting line and prepare to run the men's 60-meter race.

Built like streamlined NFL running backs, the athletes each begin a meticulous, 30-second choreography of twitches and flexes. Maurice Greene -- the reigning world champion in the 100-meters and the world-record holder in both the 60 and the 100 -- crouches and, in one quick, catlike motion, springs backward on both legs, briefly testing his ankles, calves, quads, and hams. Jon Drummond, a 1996 Olympic silver medalist in the 400-meter relay, presses his fingertips into the Mondo track, aligning his hands on the starting line like a pool player lining up a break. Ato Boldon, the 200-meter gold medalist in the 1997 World Championships, locks his eyes on the finish line, then bows his head and waits for the next word.

"Set," commands the announcer. A moment later, the starter pistol cracks. In a microsecond, the sprinters vault forward.

As they burst out of the blocks, they collectively unleash enough force to make a Ferrari go from zero MPH to 60 MPH -- in 4 seconds flat. They hurtle down the straightaway with a fury that is simultaneously beautiful and terrifying. Hands slash through the air like switchblades. Runners reach maximum velocity in 3.5 seconds. At top speed, they cover 8 feet per stride. They are so swift, it is almost impossible for the unschooled observer to take it all in.

But not for John Smith, a six-foot, one-inch combination of track smarts and street charm who stands near the track's edge. Smith, 49, was once a renowned world-class runner. In 1971, as a member of the UCLA track team, he clocked 44.5 seconds in the 440-yard dash, setting a world record. More recently, in 1996, he cofounded HSI, an Irvine, California-based sports agency.

Smith is also the track world's foremost teacher of speed. Greene, Drummond, and Boldon are three of his pupils. But they are not alone. His circle of speed demons also includes Inger Miller, the women's 200-meter world champion; Marie-Jose Perec, the women's 200- and 400-meter gold-medal winner in the 1996 Olympics; and Quincy Watts, the men's 400-meter champ in the 1992 Olympics.

The lessons that Smith passes on to the world's fastest runners have obvious implications for businesspeople who want to win a competitive race that's measured in Internet time. To learn how fast companies -- and the people who work for them -- can move even faster, we caught up with Smith, who has embarked on a title fight with time itself. At stake is nothing less than his ambition to reinvent the way that the race is run, to shatter the physical and psychological barriers that prevent the world's fastest sprinters from doing what they were born wanting to do -- that is, to fly.

"What are we after? We are literally trying to stop time," says Smith. "Running 100 meters in 10 seconds won't bring you fame. But running it in 9.79 will. He who finishes closest to zero wins. Freeze the clock -- that's what we're all about."

Here, then, are five of Smith's clock-stopping rules for competing in a race where there is no speed limit.

To Go Fast, Take Your Time

Half a step. That was the margin of victory in the Millrose 60-meters, as Greene barely nipped Drummond at the tape. Drummond has one of the best starts in the business, and he challenged Greene for the entire race. But Greene's searing finish managed to hold Drummond off in the final few meters.

So how did Greene win? "He took his time," Smith replies. Huh? Greene edged out Drummond by 0.05 seconds -- roughly the length of time that it takes a hummingbird to flap its wings once. When did Greene have the time to "take his time"?

The answer, it turns out, is that he ran a smart race. Smith has used 400-meter tactics to help him radically rethink the way that shorter distances are run. "The 400 sucks up everything you've got, so you have to be very careful about how you distribute your energy throughout the race," he says. "You need to structure the race, and you need a plan. I took everything that I knew about the 400 and used it to teach the 100."

Smith analyzed the shorter race, trying to clip off a few thousandths of a second here, another few thousandths there. He saw an opportunity in the final 20 meters, when a runner is assumed to have lost the capacity to maintain his top speed. If Smith could stretch out a sprinter's speed for the entire distance, the sprinter would have some fuel left for the finish.