Unlike most American athletes, I stayed at a hotel in downtown Atlanta–not in the Olympic Village. I’m used to hotel rooms, and I didn’t want to stray from my routine. Money wasn’t really a factor. One of my sponsors covered the cost of four rooms at the Hilton for my two coaches and their wives, my girlfriend, Leilani, and me. It was an exciting place to stay. We came down to the lobby one time and Evander Holyfield was waiting for his car. A couple of times we shared an elevator with Bruce Jenner. On most nights we’d go watch events. I watched our gymnasts win the gold medal. I sat front row, center, and watched Michael Johnson win the 400 meters. Right after Michael’s race we went to a celebration for him at Planet Hollywood, and there was no way I was getting out of there without drinking a victory toast. When I was younger, I thought that one drop of alcohol was going to be detrimental to me. But by the age of 30 I knew better. I was determined to have a good time.

Besides, I knew what I needed to do on the track. Every morning I woke up at 8 and hammered it in practice. We’d pile into the van and be out on the track by 10. Most days I was back at the hotel by 1 p.m. All that time I didn’t think once about the 1992 Olympic trials–when I was the favorite but didn’t make the team because I failed to clear a height in the pole vault. I had been working with a sports psychologist all year, so that once I got to the ‘96 trials nothing could throw me. Before, if anybody talked to me about what happened, I would get upset. But by the trials I didn’t care. I was ready.

I didn’t get really nervous until a few days before my event. The nights leading up to a big decathlon are the only time in my life that I don’t sleep well. I also dream quite a bit. Nightmares. In Atlanta I had a couple of dreams where I’m stuck outside the stadium and I’m late for my race. I can hear the crowd cheering but I don’t know how to get inside. Believe me, I was relieved when I woke up to find a dark hotel room.

The day before my race, I was a wreck.I get really testy. Everyone around me tries to understand, but it doesn’t help. So that afternoon Leilani and I got in a cab and moved to another hotel, one within walking distance of the starting line. We watched a movie on HBO, and by 10 she was out. Not me, though. I was wide awake. I couldn’t stop thinking about how it might feel to be called “the world’s greatest athlete.” But the next thing I knew, it was 6:30 in the morning.

The realization hit me as soon as I woke up: Wow, it’s here. It’s time. I had bought breakfast stuff–cereal, fruit, juice–and I ate a quick meal right there in the room. Leilani slept the whole time. I kissed her and left.

Here’s how the Olympics work on the day of your event. They give you these credentials that get you in everywhere, like a backstage pass at a rock concert. Then you get your jersey number and tape it to your uniform. I always tape the corners. Otherwise it gets all ripped and crinkled, and I hate that. Then they start announcing heats for the 100-meter dash: “Shuttle bus for Heat No. 4 will be leaving in two minutes. Please board.” The only people on the shuttle are the guys I’m racing against. Eight guys, one bus. And it’s like a morgue in there. Sometimes if you’re lucky, there’s another guy who speaks English and you can joke with him. But this time it’s just silence.

There’s 80,000 people in the stadium, and by the time I get inside I’m practically shaking. The stomach’s churning, I’m ready to shoot somebody. I’m saying to myself, “This isn’t the Olympics. It’s just another race.” I try to take the importance out of it. It’s not working.

Then they announce my heat. I head to the starting line and put down my blocks. That’s when the first announcement comes: “Three minutes, gentlemen, three minutes!” Now I’m just soaking it all in. I look around the stadium at all the people and wave a couple of times, just to get them going. “Two minutes, gentlemen!” I spot one of my coaches, who’s right next to the starting line. He’s screaming at me: “Get wired up! Spank the back leg!” “Sweats off, gentlemen!” That means it’s time for introductions, so you stand in your lane and enjoy it. No turning back from here. Then you get down into your blocks, they shoot the gun and off you go.