The champions

 Years ago, tucked in the hills of rural Jamaica, there was a modest track and field club with rusting weights, uneven lanes, and hand-me-down shoes. They didn’t have the resources of major athletic programs—no fancy gym, no corporate sponsorship, no Olympic pedigree. What they had was a single plan, forged by one coach’s focused intent and a fire that burned in the hearts of every young sprinter who showed up before dawn.

Coach Desmond, a former sprinter himself, believed in more than just raw speed. “Technique, yes. Discipline, absolutely,” he would say. “But if yuh don’t feel it in your soul, yuh won’t last.” He knew that the real secret to producing champions wasn’t just the workouts. It was the emotional bond they built with the dream. Every athlete wasn’t just running to win; they were running for something bigger: for family, for legacy, for the island.

One of his first protégés, a lanky teenager named Jahlani, trained in silence, often running hills barefoot when shoes wore out. He didn’t win races at first, but he never missed a session. Desmond kept him close, spoke life into him, and reminded him, “Progress isn’t plenty plans, it’s one plan with heart.” Years later, Jahlani would cross the world stage, gold medal in hand, and tell reporters that it wasn’t just talent that brought him there, it was purpose.

That small club, once invisible to the world, now boasts a wall of champions with names that echo through stadiums across the globe. Not because they had everything, but because they had one thing most teams overlooked: a powerful emotional connection to their journey, their people, and their purpose. And that made all the difference.