One of the highest compliments you can give to Noah Lyles is that he truly lives up to his own claims. First, there’s his foresight. Then comes his commitment, almost as if he’s channeling his vision into existence. Finally, he delivers, the practical process of backing up the promises his words have made for him. In almost the time it takes you to read this paragraph, he establishes himself as the Olympic 100m champion.
The newly crowned king of men’s sprinting is something of a complex genius, a manga and anime enthusiast who enjoys painting his nails and skateboards, who even referenced his therapist during a press conference. He comprehends better than many that glory and despair are essentially two sides of the same coin. A stunning illustration of this duality is seen in a final won by a mere five-thousandths of a second, showcasing the breathtakingly harsh distinction between Lyles and Jamaica’s Kishane Thompson.
It was an intense battle, which is fortunate because that’s exactly how Lyles thrives. In a sport characterized by its simplicity and straight lines, perhaps the most straightforward of all, Lyles excels in the friction of competition, the quick-twitch muscles ignited by rivalry and challenge, thriving on both the tears of his critics and his own. It’s often said that the first step is a mental one for athletes. For Lyles, it is more accurate to say that the initial step originates from his bold statements.
For instance, he has bravely declared himself the “fastest man in the world” all season long, despite Thompson having run the fastest time this year; he has called out nearly every NFL and NBA player for claiming to be world champions. He even referred to himself as a three-time Olympic gold medalist before the last Games, making it his phone’s wallpaper, just before departing Tokyo with only one bronze medal.
What shifted? Perhaps we discovered that just seconds into the final. He had already been narrowly defeated by Jamaica’s Oblique Seville in the semi-final and by Great Britain’s Louie Hinchliffe in his initial heat.
Whatever confidence he may have carried from his flawless performance at the world championships in Budapest a year ago, it became less visible 40 meters into the race, with Lyles lagging in last place and Thompson ominously taking the lead.
Thompson, at 23, remained largely an enigma until that warm evening in Paris. A product of the renowned MVP club in Kingston, his coach Stephen Francis has made a notable effort to keep him under wraps, treating his talent like a closely guarded secret. After clocking 9.92 seconds in the heats of last year’s national championships, Francis withdrew him before the final. At times, he has instructed Thompson to pull back after 60 meters, which, in retrospect, may not have been the wisest move.
At approximately 50 meters, where Thompson typically elevates his knees and launches into his powerful drive phase, something started to go awry. His head began to wobble, his arms hung somewhat loosely. In the most significant race of his career, and in a moment of pressure few can truly imagine, Thompson appeared unsteady.
This, possibly, is where those five-thousandths of a second became critical. Lyles has endured challenges. He has felt the weight of defeat, the void of depression, the sting of rejection, even faced humiliation, but has persevered. More importantly, he has refined techniques in meticulous detail with his coach Lance Brauman, and has developed a mindset through extensive and often tough therapy sessions.
His arm movements were flawlessly executed, his head remained perfectly still, and his mind presumably mirrored that calm. Lyles powered through those final meters, and then the last few centimeters, driven by an intrinsic competitive impulse that simply wouldn’t allow defeat. A charged moment. The eyes of the world focused on a small blue screen. Then, the outcome. A roar from Lyles followed by a dash down the back straight, pursued by a swarm of photographers, encapsulating the most striking athletic mismatch of the evening.
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What unfolds next remains uncertain. Men’s 100m champions, from Jesse Owens to Usain Bolt, have always been tasked with symbolizing something greater, serving not only as champions but as representatives, guiding figures, embodiment of a physical ideal, and enduring personal brands upon which hospitality packages and consumer products can be reliably sold.
This expectation proved too immense for defending champion Marcell Jacobs. It might have been a bit premature for Thompson as well, an athlete still exploring the depths of his own potential, who undoubtedly gained invaluable insights.
In contrast, Lyles has always envisioned this role for himself. Amid the confusing post-Bolt era, with fleeting moments of dominance from Justin Gatlin, Kerley, Jacobs, and Christian Coleman, athletics has been searching, albeit with some internal conflict, for a worthy successor to its extraordinary, once-in-a-generation sprinting legend.
As the realization of his accomplishment began to settle in, Lyles started to decelerate. He ceased his leaps and theatrical gestures for the cameras. He looked up towards the stands and for a brief moment, he fell completely quiet, embodying the weighty solemnity of a man honoring a sacred promise.
