We are literally trying to stop time.

Work on Your Weakness

Two minutes, 15 seconds. Take away the warm-up time, and that was the total length of Bradley and McCray's speed workout. Sprinters are fast -- but not all the time. They pick their moments.

To the inexperienced observer, sprinters are experts at wasting time. Their workout seems to consist almost entirely of stretching and resting, punctuated by brief moments of maximum exertion. More accurately, explains Smith, they are using their downtime to recover, so that they can focus on the few seconds that really matter.

A sprinter's season consists of perhaps 10 major races -- less than 100 seconds of performance. To prepare for those do-or-die moments, sprinters submit to a continuous round of bearing down and snapping back. They lay themselves out one day, ease up the next. Weight work is followed by speed work. The goal is to stress the muscles, rest, and allow the body to build itself back up -- to become more powerful than before. In a variation of the old adage, their suffering will only make them stronger -- if it doesn't kill them.

"I don't need to get maximum effort every day," says Smith. "But whenever they can give it, I want it. Last year, Maurice [Greene] told me that he wanted to work with the quarter-milers. It was awesome. They dragged him around the track, but he stayed with them. After every workout, he was doubled over, fertilizing the grass." Smith flashes a smile and scuffs his foot across a swath of browned grass where Greene and the other sprinters had vomited.

"And that's a big deal, because it's no longer a matter of me wanting them to work harder. I have to be smarter in the work that I give them. In Maurice's case, we were already working smarter. He had a problem handling a short recovery, so he put himself in a position where he had to endure a short recovery again and again and again, until he was able to deal with it. Most people work on their strengths. I admire a man who's smart enough to work on his weaknesses."

Move Fast, and Time Will Slow

It happened nearly 29 years ago, but Smith clearly recalls the moment when he reached the "Edge" -- that magic zone where it feels as if gravity is pulling the body along, rather than impeding it. That was the day when he felt the effortless, flowing sensation of moving fast, faster than he'd ever run before. It was the day he nailed the world record in the 440.

To get to the Edge, sprinters must be at their peak physically -- maximum power emanating from the lightest possible body. And their mechanics must approach perfection. For the 100-meter race, that means a total of 45 steps from start to finish, each step striking and lifting from the track in 0.083 seconds -- just enough time to plant the ball of the foot and explode forward with maximum efficiency. Every stride is a balancing act, with the body making countless microadjustments so that it can continue moving in a precise line down the straightaway.

That's not all. When a sprinter has reached the Edge, he has absorbed race tactics and proper mechanics to the point where they have become instinctive. Now, at the crack of the starter's gun, all thought reverts to feeling. There's a vibration, a hypersensitivity to the feel of the track itself. As the runner reaches maximum velocity, breathing and movement are one. He is moving exceedingly fast. But he feels relaxed, in total control.

Smith describes the Edge in near mystical terms. "Everything you've trained for, everything you've learned, is focused on this single, concentrated moment," he says. "And that's the moment when you have your breakthrough. That's the moment when you steal the light."

Smith's moment came in Eugene, Oregon during the 83rd running of the National Amateur Athletic Union championships. "I couldn't sleep the night before, but I wasn't tired," he remembers. "I felt a kind of lightness about me. The race started, and it felt like my feet weren't even touching the ground. Between 200 and 300 meters, all I saw was blur. I was passing people so fast. I put my foot to the pedal in the backstretch, and suddenly everything was moving in slow motion. That's what happens when you're in that zone: Time itself seems to slow."

A clip from the archives of the New York Times shows Smith breaking the tape. His mouth is curled upward in the slightest of smiles. Otherwise, his face is expressionless. There's no painful grimace -- none of the intensity that you'd expect from someone who'd just pushed the limits of human endurance.

"When you look at someone who's moving fast, the thing that's being expressed is movement, which is effortless," says Smith. "The guys who are tense, the guys who are straining, have lost the race. The race goes to the athlete who's in control -- of his body, of his breathing, of his rhythm. Guys who have just run incredibly fast always say the same thing: 'That was so easy.' "

Lose Like a Winner