55. Zeke
DAY THIRTEEN OF THE 2024 OLYMPICS
Walking out of the changing room, through the tunnel, and into the stadium never got old. As Zeke stepped out, the crowd roared. Zeke waved, and the crowd got even louder. He turned around and, without even realizing that’s where they would be, he spotted his mother, brothers, Haruki, Valentina, Aditi, and Arlo waving at him from the supporter stands. Then he made eye contact with Olivia.
Zeke lifted his arm, put his hand up to his face, and blew her a kiss. Her face lit up as she blew one back. Zeke’s body relaxed as he realized that, no matter what happened that day, everyone he loved would be right there in the audience ready to embrace him when it was over. Well, almost everyone.
He put his headphones back on and turned up the noise- cancellation switch until all he could hear was the sound of his own breathing. He did his stretches, reassessed the track, nodded at his competitors, and smiled at the field volunteers, whose eyes widened in excitement.
Zeke’s pre-run rituals meant everything to him. He wasn’t usually superstitious, but he knew that the steps he took the morning of each run were what helped him to completely focus on the task that lay before him. Which was why what he did next made so little sense to him. In fact, if he’d been thinking, he would have concluded that it was the worst possible thing he could do on the day of a competition. Never mind just four minutes before he was scheduled to compete in the 100m final of the Olympics. But it wasn’t an active choice, it was an impulse he couldn’t fight.
He picked up his phone, readjusted his headphones, and pressed play on the song he’d been avoiding for the past ten years. And as soon as the opening guitar strings began, he was taken right back to that morning ten years ago. The very last time he’d seen his dad.
It was an ordinary Saturday in the summertime. Zeke was fourteen, and he was getting ready for a regional athletics race. He hadn’t known it then, but it would be the very last competition his dad would ever take him to.
Zeke had woken up late, again. And he’d run down the stairs ready to receive a lecture on the importance of always being on time. But, instead, he’d found his dad listening to the mixtape of old Zimbabwean music that formed the soundtrack to his entire summer. The one he’d been playing that morning was an Oliver Mtukudzi song called “Wongororo” that sounded like sunshine. It was lined with the gentle sound of a mbira, the upbeat strum of an acoustic guitar, and warm, soulful percussion. Instead of a lecture, Zeke was greeted by the sight of his dad dancing around the kitchen. Sunlight poured through the windows and onto his father, bathing him in a golden light that made him look years younger than he was. The joy on his face was so palpable that Zeke started dancing too.
Zeke was well accustomed to grief. To the knowledge that he could never get back the person he loved the most. He worried that recalling those perfect, sunlit memories would plunge him into a sadness so deep that he wouldn’t be able to claw himself out of it. And so, he had done his very best not to remember, until this moment. Now, Zeke sat on the ground of the Olympic running track and smiled. As the final guitar strings of his dad’s favorite song played through his headphones, he let himself sit in that one perfect memory. Then he whispered the advice that he’d carried like a guiding light: “Just put one foot in front of the other, but faster than you ever have before.”
Zeke knew what he had to do.
He and his competition lined up across the track. Everyone around the world tuned in to watch the most anticipated race of the year. The stadium held its breath.
It was midnight in Hong Kong. A group of university students were crowded around the TV in their apartment. Eager to watch the competition they’d been waiting for ever since the opening ceremony.
It was one p.m. in Buenos Aires, and a group of eighty-something-year-old men who’d known each other since they were kids were watching it outside on their neighbor’s porch. Talking about how it was only a matter of time before one of their grandsons qualified to compete for their national team.
It was six p.m. in Harare, and the whole extended Moyo family were congregated in their grandmother’s house to watch their grandson, nephew, and cousin run his race. The house was filled with food, joy, and British and Zimbabwean flags. They’d been precelebrating for hours. But as soon as the camera panned to Zeke, the room became completely silent, pride pinning their eyes to the screen as they waited for the announcer to call out his name.
“Ladies and gentlemen, prepare to be seated for our final competition, the Men’s One Hundred Meters Sprint Final!” said the announcer, and the whole stadium roared.
This was it, thought Zeke as he took off his headphones, letting the noise of the crowd rush in. Some athletes felt a surge of adrenaline when they got onto the track. Some started to shake with nerves. And others were calm and focused under the lights. But Zeke became quiet, completely quiet. His thoughts cleared, his muscles relaxed, and he felt completely weightless.
The moment unfolded in slow motion. The words of the announcer started to sound fuzzy and far away. Zeke became more aware of his breathing and took each step forward with quiet but determined intention. Everything except the track faded out.
“On your marks!” said the announcer. And everything came back to Zeke in sharp focus.
“Set!” He lifted his body, heard the audience quiet in anticipation, and held his breath. He could hear the memory of his father saying, Just put one foot in front of the other, but faster than you ever have before.
Zeke nodded, heard the shot, and ran.
Running was the closest thing to flying. STEP STEP. Dancing felt like flying too. His mother started every Sunday morning by cleaning the house and dancing. STEP STEP. The sky was the same shade of blue as the first beach he remembered going to when he was six years old. The joy of each step felt like all the nights he’d spent out in cities around the world with Haruki and Valentina. STEP STEP. Joy was the color green. Green like the juice he’d spilled on Olivia. STEP STEP. There had been a hailstorm the day he’d got the call to say he’d been invited for Team GB tryouts. His brothers had thrown him in the air, and he’d landed on the sofa with a beaming smile. He’d cried as soon as he’d gone upstairs to his bedroom. STEP STEP. His dad had died before he’d ever got to see how far putting one foot in front of the other, faster than he’d ever done before, would take him. STEP STEP. The wind on his face felt like the breeze that blew his shirt back when he rode a bike through Richmond Park in May. STEP STEP. The first time he’d seen Olivia, she’d looked at him with the sun silhouetting her head like a halo. STEP STEP. His feet pounded against the track like they had on stadium fields every summer before this one. It was pure, peaceful bliss. It was chaotic, overwhelming euphoria. It was like his whole body lit up and propelled him forward. STEP STEP. It was over before he’d even really realized it had begun.
“In first place is… Ezekiel ‘Zeke’ Moyo!” shouted the announcer as the whole crowd roared. “He is the winner of the hundred meter final. Zeke Moyo is the fastest man on the planet! Breaking his personal record and the world record! Finishing at an extraordinary nine point two nine seconds!” The whole stadium cheered his name.
Zeke couldn’t take it all in. It was so quick. Before he knew it, he was surrounded by photographers. Fueled by pure adrenaline, he ran another lap with a Union Jack wrapped around his shoulders.
The whole stadium was going wild. Coach Adam and his teammates threw him up in the air. Then his family, who’d somehow managed to defy security and make their way down onto the stadium grounds, ran to hug him.
But before he could find Olivia in the stands, he was ferried off to a press conference where he was immediately greeted by camera flashes, microphones, and shouted questions. After all the usual postvictory questions, a reporter asked him if he planned on coming back to the next Olympics to defend his new record. Zeke paused for a moment, looked directly into the camera, and said:
“I’m so incredibly grateful to have won this medal. I’m so grateful to my phenomenal coach, my best friends and teammates at Team GB, and to all the people who have supported me so fiercely. It’s been the greatest honor of my life to run for my country… but I won’t be running for Team GB at the next Olympics.”
The whole room erupted into shouted questions and camera flashes as people speculated about an unreported injury.
“I’m twenty-four, I’m definitely not retiring yet,” Zeke said, quelling the murmurs around the room. “But for the past few years—the last decade in fact—I’ve been running from something. A dream me and my dad had before he passed away. It felt so important to me that it was easier to run away from it than face the reality of doing it without him. But someone really important to me reminded me that while we’re all scared of things not working out, the only way to find out is to try. To put your heart on the line.
“So instead of running away from what I care about so deeply that it scares me, I’m going to run toward it and take the next few years to live out a dream I’ve always wanted to fulfill.” He took a pause as the whole room leaned forward. He gave himself one last chance to change his mind, but as he searched for reasons he realized that he was completely at peace with his choice; there was no fear telling him to turn back.
“At the end of this year, I will be joining Coach Chikepe and his incredible team of athletes as I compete for Team Zimbabwe. The country my parents were born in, and where I’ve dreamed of competing for ever since I walked onto my very first running track.”
Each row of journalists was taking photos and shouting out questions, but Zeke didn’t need to explain himself. So, he didn’t. Instead, he looked over at Coach Chikepe, who was sitting in the front row. They had so much to achieve together. Then he locked eyes with Coach Adam, who was standing at the side of the room beaming at him. Zeke smiled back as he remembered the advice Coach Adam had given him when he’d gone to his office that morning to tell him about the decision he was about to make. Coach Adam had given Zeke his full support and encouragement. Telling him just how proud he knew that Zeke’s father would have been to see him come this far.
“We’ll talk about all of that in the new year, but right now, I just want to go out and celebrate,” Zeke said as he stood up and left the press conference to the cheers of his friends and family who were waiting in the wings. But there was only one person he wanted to see at that moment. As he spotted Olivia in the crowd, the sight of her smile was more glorious than any gold-medal-winning victory.