The match-up between the Jamaican and the American was supposed to be the highlight of the Beijing Olympics but it wasn't meant to be. Bolt stole the show with three golds and three world records while Gay failed even to make the 100 final. Bolt was in such crowd-pleasing form that in truth you hardly noticed the other seven runners on the track.

Gay leads the world rankings in both events but Bolt is right behind and both are in great form.

Gay has every reason to be hopeful: he's racing well, he's the defending champion, he wants revenge and Bolt started the season late after a car crash.

But Gay has been known to crack, or at least creak under pressure while Bolt becomes cooler and calmer as the heat is turned up. The Jamaican also has the momentum carried over from Beijing and the Lightning Bolt show is such a crowd pleaser, he will have fans on his side.

All in all, Bolt appears to have the edge but does it matter who wins? Bolt's star is shining so bright, even a loss in Berlin (which I doubt very much will happen) would only slightly dim it.

The Olympics rank so high above the worlds and Bolt was so spectacular in Beijing that it will take more than one race for him to lose his reputation as the world's best sprinter. Gay's chance to take that title will not come until London in 2012.

PHOTO: Usain Bolt poses for photographs before a news conference at a beach reggae club in Berlin, August 13, 2009. REUTERS/Tobias Schwarz

Athletics is about running fast, throwing far and jumping high. Walking is about twisting your body and trying to go fast while trying to go slow. It's like swimming in a straitjacket.

Walking is the only discipline where style gets scored. Judges watch you race and  warn, then disqualify you if you're lifting, or if both feet leave the ground.

Who is lifting? Whoever the referees say so. And as with any event with a human element involved,  the decisions will be subjective and often controversial.

This is completely counter to the principles of athletics where it doesn't matter how pretty your style is because the clock just doesn't care.

PHOTO: Valeriy Borchin of Russia walks toward the finish line of the men's 20km walk of the athletics competition at the National Stadium during the Beijing 2008 Olympic Games, August 16, 2008. REUTERS/Gary Hershorn

The Olympics seem to be an excuse for thinking you can do anything to your body without paying a price. But there is a price and the problem is that athletes pay it once the cameras stop rolling.

During my time as an athlete I had a stress fractured femur, the same injury Radcliffe had to overcome.

It was just horribly painful. Once it had healed, a process that took about eight weeks, I could run just two minutes and increase my workload by two minutes every two days.

It was a long road but I bet Paula will now have an even longer road to get back to full recovery ... and it's just beginning.

"I was trying to achieve the impossible because the amount of running I had done wasn't enough and you can't take short-cuts in the marathon," said the 34-year-old said, who has not ruled out one more try for an Olympic medal at London in 2012, where she could expect great support from the home crowd.

"We'll keep fingers crossed for 2012," she added.

NOTE: Balazs Koranyi was an Olympic semi-finalist in the 800m at the 1996 and 2000 Games for Hungary and since 2004 has been a correspondent for Reuters.

PHOTO: Paula Radcliffe of Britain approaches the finish line of the women's marathon at the Beijing 2008 Olympic Games in the National Stadium August 17, 2008. REUTERS/Dylan Martinez

In the last week before my first Olympic race, I tried very hard to escape the Games.

Practices were short and light and didn't do much to drain my energy. So I looked elsewhere. I went to the movies, mostly on my own, and hung out with friends who promised not to mention running. Time crawled and race day just wouldn't get any closer. I suspected I was going crazy because I kept looking up in the sky, expecting a roof tile to fall on my head and end my Olympic hopes.

The anticipation drains the soul. It's no accident Britain's athletics team headed to Macau nearly two weeks before the athletics programme started in Beijing. They won't be doing great deal of training there but being away from home and being together in a camp gives a sense that something has already begun.

And being shielded from the media also helps. I'm now representing the media but at that time I'll admit, being asked over and over again how I was feeling didn't help.

Once athletes move into the Olympic Village, distractions become abundant, which is in a way good. The Village is a novelty with its games arcade, shops, internet room and general bustle, but there is a drawback and it's felt on the track.

As most runners tend to practise at the same venue, workouts can be more about watching everyone else: Who is he? What is he doing? He's looking smooth/tired/sharp/flat/invincible?

It's also a place to meet others, have friendly chats:  So, are you going out fast/hard/easy? and talk frankly: Boy, I'm tired/beat/slow/drained/hopeless.

In the end, everyone will be all too happy to forget the last few days before the Games.

NOTE: Balazs Koranyi was an Olympic semi-finalist in the 800m at the 1996 and 2000 Games for Hungary and since 2004 has been a Budapest-based correspondent, covering mainly political and business news. He will be covering the Beijing Games for Reuters.

PHOTO: Pool tables in the recreation area in the Olympic village in Beijing, July 27, 2008. REUTERS/David Gray

The pressure was so great and the adrenaline so overwhelming that mind and body separated and led separate lives.

It was always best to avoid me before races but at the Olympics, I was nearly delirious from the pressure. My body would tremble for days before the race and my mind couldn't escape thinking through my race plan over and over again. I probably ran the 800 in my head a thousand times before setting foot on the track.

In the stadium, my senses grew numb, the world slowed, colours disappeared and sounds blurred.

I know there were a 100,000 people in the stadium but I couldn't see them. I know they rumbled but I couldn't hear them. All I saw were eight lanes and seven competitors and all I could smell was the unmistakable odor of the track.

Once the gun went off, the world grew nearly silent. All I heard were spikes clacking, the wind rushing and my heart pounding.

When I crossed the finish line, the magic would come once again Colours, sounds and smells returned. The joy of accomplishment released my mind and body from its trap immediately and for the first time I was able to apprecite how great the Olympics really are.

The Olympics are addictive. Before I raced, I wished I was sitting in the stands, just watching. But in Beijing, I'll be in the stands and wish I was on the track. It's a vicious circle. The adrenaline is a hallucinogen, in the best sense of the word.

The tension, the climax and the release are so tremendous that when it's over, you wish you could start all over again.

Balazs Koranyi was an Olympic semi-finalist in the 800 at the 1996 and 2000 Games for Hungary and since 2004 has been a Budapest-based correspondent, covering mainly political and business news. He will cover the Beijing Games for Reuters.  

Picture of crowd at Sydney Olympic stadium in 2000 by Mike Blake.

It's the race (almost) anybody can win. It doesn't matter what country you come from, what your skin color is or what your personal best is. It's the event with no favourites.

When I competed as a middle distance runner, I was told too many times that I was in the wrong event because there was just no way I could compete against East and North African runners.

A silly argument, I always thought.  But if you look around, there are indeed some events that are almost reserved for some countries. In the men's steeplechase, a Kenyan has won the last six Olympic titles and Kenyans would probably consider it a tragedy if they lost in Beijing.

In the men's 100 meters, it would be difficult to imagine a runner from outside the U.S. or the Caribbean winning.

But the 800 is different and has a rich history to prove it.

You can be white European (Yuriy Borzakovskiy in 2004), African (William Tanui in 1992) or Arab (Rashid Ramzi at the 2005 World Championships), you can still win.

You can be the favourite (Maria Mutola in 2000) or an outsider (Nils Schumann in 2000) but if you make it to the finals, the world can be yours. In fact, being the favourite doesn't help. Just ask Wilson Kipketer, the world record holder, who was upset by Schumann.

You can be a sprinter and move up (Alberto Juantorena in 1976) or a distance runner moving down (Steve Ovett in 1980), the 800 is your event.

The 800 combines speed, endurance and tactics in a way that strengths and weaknesses even out and runners rarely gain untouchable status.

The most common cliché in sport is that on any given day, any athlete can win. Sure, but I wouldn't bet too much money against, let's say, pole vaulter Yelena Isinbayeva in Beijing.

In the 800, on the other hand, the cliché is true.

Balazs Koranyi was an Olympic semi-finalist in the 800 at the 1996 and 2000 Games for Hungary and since 2004 has been a Budapest-based correspondent, covering mainly political and business news. He will cover the Beijing Games for Reuters.  

Pictures (from top) Borzakovskiy wins in Athens by Nigel Marple, Ramzi wins at Helsinki worlds by Gary Hershorn and Wilson Kipketer takes gold at the 2002 Europeans  by Wolfgang Rattay 

After four years of sometimes excruciating training, athletes have difficulty accepting that the difference between winning and losing can be decided by sheer luck. But that's the case. So little separates the top athletes that a medal can be decided by who's in a better mood, who had a nicer ride to the stadium or who got a nicer good luck call from back home.

Sport is not an exact science. You can win every race for four years but you're still not guaranteed an Olympic gold. You don't control you fate as on any given day, any athlete can beat another. Given these risks, people inevitably turn to the supernatural.

In the beginning, I had lucky safety pins for attaching the competition number. They meant so much that I once searched through the garbage for them when my mother tossed them out. They worked for years but a string of bad races made me realize that I probably overused the pins and diluted the luck.

To avoid the problem of overuse, I next found lucky shorts, a fast and a slow pair. The idea was that I didn't need to run fast every time and the selective use of the fast shorts would get me though the big ones.

Others athletes I knew relied on religion, jewelry, tattoos or anything else that could be "smuggled" past stadium security. Some athletes believe in routine. One runner I knew thought he couldn't run a good race if he didn't follow the exact same warm up routine every single time.

When my lucky shorts failed, I turned to socks. And they worked like a charm. They got me through two Olympic Games, national records, and grand prix meets. They're still kept separately and will one day go up on the wall in a frame.

Oh, if I had only found them sooner! The question remains, though: would I have run faster if I hadn't washed them?

Balazs Koranyi was an Olympic semi-finalist at the 1996 and 2000 Games for Hungary and since 2004 has been a Budapest-based correspondent, covering mainly political and business news. He will cover the Beijing Games for Reuters.  

Superstition? World champion 400 metres runner Jeremy Wariner says he will never run without his trademark sunglasses. The Beijing Olympics will open at 8pm on 8.8.2008. Eight is considered a lucky number in China. Pictures by Gary Hershorn (top) and Grace Liang. 

I'm glad the talk about an Olympic boycott has died and I hope it stays dead for good.The Olympics are about competition and the dreams of some of the world's finest young men and women. Politics have to be involved just due to the sheer size of the event but governments must resist the urge to take a front seat.

In 2001, it was politicians who picked Beijing to host the Olympics, despite some serious concerns over China. Now, it's time to take responsibility for that decision.

An athlete doesn't and shouldn't care much about where the Games are. Athletes spend a decade or more working for what proves in most cases to be once in lifetime shot and governments would do better bowing their heads in respect.

I guess the ultimate question is who do you compete for? Your country? Not me. I did it for myself first and probably even second. Then came family, friends and coaches. Country, even in the idealistic sense of the word, wouldn't make top three.

My country became interested in me only once I started making a name on the international scene. By then, my mother had spent ten years financing my hobby, three high school coaches spent four years dealing with my teenage ego and a university spent $90,000 financing my education. I spent weekends on endless bus rides to competitions and sacrificed countless summer breaks to chase a dream.

I was six when I first declared that I want to become an Olympian. The 1980 Moscow Games were in full swing then and radio broadcast them day and night. I didn't really know what the Olympics were about but the magic touched me through the airwaves. I even stunned my kindergarten teacher when I said I had to rush home to listen to the Olympic broadcast.

It's ironic that the Moscow games, my first memory of sports, were boycotted by dozens of nations which then led to another boycott four years later in Los Angeles.

I don't argue against a boycott because sports are holy and stand above politics. (Although they do.) I argue against it because the ultimate investment in the success of the Olympics was made by thousands of families and not those who claim the right to decide. If you boycott, you don't ruin China. You ruin the lives of some of your best citizens.

I'm not unhappy with how my country treated me. It did its job perfectly. It supported me while I wore the national jersey and took pride in me when I succeeded. But dozens of people invested much more in me when I was at best an unbroken colt.

I owe most to those who supported me out of loving and caring and governments owe respect to those who wear their uniforms in Beijing.

Let politicians boycott. Let them skip the opening ceremony, let them make a statement and take a stand. But they don't have the right to destroy dreams.

Balazs Koranyi was an Olympic semi-finalist at the 1996 and 2000 Games for Hungary and since 2004 has been a Budapest-based correspondent, covering mainly political and business news. He will cover the Beijing Games for Reuters.  

Picture of a demonstration in Taipei in March by REUTERS/Nicky Loh  

I was first offered performance-enhancing drugs in 1998, after breaking the Hungarian 800-metre record and making the European championship finals.

Doping in sports is less hidden than many people think. Everyone suspects drug use is widespread, but what they see less is how athletes treat the subject as a regular, everyday part of the game.

In my five years on the international athletics circuit, I ran into the issue time and again, and had to make some tough choices.

A sports doctor and a coach I had never worked with called me in separately for chats and pushed me to get involved. They told me the risks were nil and results immediate. I was promised the drugs would shave a second off my time and were undetectable.

When I asked about health risks, they said modern drugs were safe and I had nothing to worry about. For good measure, I was told that only losers stayed clean and anybody who is somebody used something.

The push was strong but not vehement. Unlike many runners in eastern Europe before the collapse of communism, who were required to use drugs if they wanted to be on national teams, I did have a choice.

I would be lying if I said I did not think hard about saying yes. That single second could be the difference between a medal and not even making the finals.

Not long before, I had spent some time with a runner who would later become an Olympic champion. She made no secret about her drug use, and her coach made a strong case.

An athlete has just two to four years at the top, and has to earn enough money in that time to last a lifetime. Athletes in retirement usually have very unspectacular careers and most struggle to adjust to real life. But with a loaded bank account, you simply do not need to adjust.

Michael Johnson, the four-time Olympic champion who recently said he would return a 1996 Olympic relay gold medal because one of his teammates admitted to doping, argued that athletes on drugs do not tell friends about it.

My experience was different.

The athletes I knew did not brag about drugs but often compared notes. At one meet, I sat with a group of throwers on a bus heading to the stadium and listened to them comparing experiences with various drugs.

The discussion was a frank, matter-of-fact exchange of information. There were no emotions, no hints of shame or a feeling that this was wrong. It seemed like an everyday conversation about sports accessories, as if they had talked about shoes or hats.

Up to a point. One of the first things I learned when I began running internationally was not to look in other people's trash. I once noticed a used Erythropotein (EPO) injection vial in the garbage, and got into trouble for looking too hard.

Everybody knows what is going on but discretion is a must. Used accessories are tossed in the garbage and everybody just knows not to look. The message was that this is a job and doping is sometimes part of the job.

In the end, I said no to the drugs: my family took pride in my success and that mattered more than medals. The offer was repeated a few times but I politely turned them down.

After one such rejection, I was called up for a surprisingly large number of drug tests.

Drug testing is not fun. It is heavy on procedure, never comes at a convenient time and peeing while another man watches is not easy. So I was irritated, and made some phone calls.

I was told it was no accident my name was on the list so often. As I was known to be clean, there was no risk in testing me to fill a testing quota.

I once had a long chat with the doctor who first offered me drugs and I asked him why he started. He said he accepted that he could not prevent athletes from taking drugs so the next best thing he could do was to give guidance to cut risks.

He said teens were most vulnerable as the first taste of success makes them hungry for more, and many simply lack the patience to work for it.

Drugs do not make you run faster. They let you train harder and recover quicker but athletes must still put in the work.

It would be fair to ask why I did not blow the whistle. The answer is I was too busy chasing my own dreams. Seeing something and proving it are two different things, and I was not ready to take on the world when all I wanted was my 15 minutes of fame.

The world has changed a lot over the past eight years. Testing is tougher and the anti-doping fight is more serious. But drugs are part of the game and this is a never-ending circle.

Picture by Daniele La Monaca

For an athlete, the Olympics are a bigger gamble than putting money on the zero at a roulette table. And when you take a big gamble, you're bound to do dumb things.

I read recently about marathon world record holder Paula Radcliffe, who was hobbling on crutches at the time, talking about coming back from a stress fracture for Beijing. It made me wonder why normally bright, rational people do insane things when it comes to the Olympics.

I was in a similar situation eight years ago, though not quite at the same level. I had just collected an indoor European bronze medal in the 800 metres and had every expectation of making the final at the Sydney Games. So, I pushed and pushed myself until something broke. Well tore, actually. It was my calf.

I had time to heal, rest and train again but even the thought of letting up on my dream drove me near insane. I couldn't rest. I had spent a decade preparing for my date with destiny.

So I pushed and pushed more, despite the pain. I spent 2 hours a day practising and 22 hours putting myself back together for the next practice. The pain was excruciating. I limped everywhere. I skipped friends, I skipped going to the movies because it hurt too much to get out of the house.

What I had not counted on was the emotional toll of being in pain.  When it hurts, you hate the world and have no friends. The burden is all on you and you're mad at world for not sharing your misery.

Training for the Olympics are about walking the fine line between health and injury, or to be more precise, between minor and major injury. You have no choice but to push your body to the breaking point and inevitably, sometimes you push too hard. Top athletes develop an awesome ability to override the body's warning signs and not even know where edge is.

So I pushed some more. As I tried to protect the injured leg, I strained the healthy one and tore a foot muscle. The pain was worse but again, there was no time to stop.

In the end, I got to the Olympic semi-finals but ran an unspectacular race as my mind and body just couldn't give more.

Even in hindsight, I'm reluctant to say I'd do anyhing differently. The Olympics are a gamble and unless you risk big, you won't win big.

Picture of Balazs Koranyi (in yellow) on his way to victory in the 800 metres at the Osaka Grand Prix in 1999 by REUTERS/Eriko Sugita