The man with a fast lane of his own

The morale of a certain group of international athletes rose sharply a couple of months ago when they were told that Michael Johnson had run his last 200 metres. At last someone else might get a chance. But Johnson, the world record holder at 200 and 400m, and the first man to win Olympic titles at both distances, had been misunderstood. All he meant, he said a few days ago, reflecting on his remarks in the wake of his limping departure from the 200m final at the US Olympic trials in Sacramento, was that he had finished with the distance for the present season.

"I'll take a decision on what distances I'll be running next season at the end of the year," the Texan, 33 today, told a French reporter. "I can't tell you now because I'm thinking about the Olympics. After Sydney I'll decide." His rivals' hearts sank once more, though at least they have the 200m in Sydney without him.

Johnson is a difficult man to deal with. Long renowned for his taciturnity, he has opened up a little in the last year but still sees no need to explain his decisions.

As one of a very few athletes of any era who justify the use of the world "unbeatable", he is even harder to cope with on the track. Short of injury and acts of God, no one else stands a chance. The sense of his invincibility is strengthened by the uniqueness of his knees-up, straight-backed running style, left untouched by his long-time coach Clyde Hart and as distinctive within its discipline as Dick Fosbury's flop - but with the difference that it cannot be imitated.

His absence from the 200 in Sydney probably means that he has said goodbye to the distance as an Olympic competitor, leaving us with the memory of his astonishing performance in Atlanta, where he ran 19.32sec to knock a third of a second off his own world record and left Frankie Fredericks trailing by four metres in second place, a stunned spectator to one of the great Olympic feats of all time.

Ato Boldon, the bronze medal winner, gave a response eloquent in its sense of powerless awe. "I'd always thought that the man who wins the 100 is the fastest man alive," he said. "Not any more. 19.32? That's not a time. It sounds more like my dad's birthday." John Smith, America's foremost sprint coach, remarked: "This record could outlive everyone who saw it."

So this time Johnson will be restricted to the one-lap race, which he won in Atlanta from Roger Black of Britain by a full 10 metres, still pulling away at the line. The only thing he did not do was break the world record, which had stood to Butch Reynolds since 1988. Johnson made up for that in the world championships in Seville last year, when he lowered the mark by a tenth of a second, leaving it at 43.18.

The fact that, in so doing, he knocked two tenths off his own previous best time is, he believes, the evidence that he is capable of becoming the first man to run 400m below 43 seconds. All that is required is that he do the same again. And that might just be all the challenge he needs.

"Michael's motivation is simple," his agent Brad Hunt said. "He wants to win another Olympic title at 400 metres and to become the first man to run 42 something." Johnson is used to the sense of expectation. "It's not pressure," he said. "I just know that every time I run, people are waiting for me to break the world record. I'm looking to myself to run the best possible race, to win the medal and to set the best possible time.

"And, with a bit of luck, that will be a world record. I feel capable of it, but that doesn't mean I'm going to go telling the world that I'm going to break the record, because I don't know if it will happen."

And for Johnson the fact that he is not required to double up in the 200m gives him a healthy advantage. "I'll be more relaxed," he said. "I won't have to be at the stadium every day and I won't be the centre of attention all the time, as I was in Atlanta. And the physical pressure of running four rounds of 400m and then four of 200m is very demanding."

Nevertheless, 18 hundredths of a second represents a considerable hurdle to clear. "It's not easy," he said, "but I'm close. If I can knock off another two tenths, I'll be there. I know how I can improve. In the first 100 metres of the race I have to be more aggressive. That was the key to my record last year. And this year I'm stronger and faster." In evidence he presented the statistics of the season, which showed that, until the meeting in Brussels two weeks ago, he had finished all his 400m races in 43 seconds and all his 200m below 20 seconds. "I've never done that before," he said. "I've begun this season better than ever."

Nevertheless he admits that, turning 33, the preparation is getting harder. He has also been stung by the remarks of those who point out that he has not, in the past four years, produced a 400m performance to match the Atlanta run. "Records like that don't happen very often," he said in a reproving tone. "It's not every day that you have the games in your own country and 100,000 spectators shouting 'Michael, go, go, go!' That should explain why I ran so fast."

In Sacramento the final of the 200m, in which he was billed to meet Maurice Greene, the 100m world record holder, in a much hyped showdown, ended in anticlimax as both men failed to complete the race. But he is adamant that he has recovered from the cramp that hit him that day.

"In 10 years I must have had 20 injuries," he said. "What happened in Sacramento, it wasn't as though it was something new or I didn't know how to deal with it. When I get injured, my thought is always to focus on recovering as quickly as possible in order to get ready for returning to competition as soon as I can."

Johnson reads broadsheet newspapers and listens to Ray Charles. He is proud to be known as one of only four athletes in history to hold world records at 200 and 400m simultaneously - the others are Marita Koch, Irena Szewinska and Tommie Smith - but he is insistent that the past is the past and all that matters is the next target.

A shy and obsessively neat man, his monosyllabic delivery and bass profundo voice give him the air of a lone gunfighter, and he likes to play up to the image, in his downbeat way. "I don't personalise my rivals," he said this summer. "They have no faces or names. They are just seven people standing in my way."

In Brussels someone asked him who was the last quarter-miler who had given him a problem. "I don't remember," he replied.