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Can Justin Gatlin—And American Science—Defeat Usain Bolt?
Popular Mechanics
At the pop of the starting gun, Gatlin exploded off the blocks. Bolt had a slight edge in the straightaway. There were nine men in the race, but the two rivals surged ahead, hurtling toward the finish line, heads extended. They finished so close that when it was over you needed high-speed photography to have any chance of understanding what happened: Bolt won the race by ten milliseconds. One-tenth of an eyeblink. Four inches.
This August, at the Rio Olympics, will be the first time the two men race again. In the rarefied air world-class sprinters breathe, it takes about forty-six strides to get from the starting blocks to the finish line of the hundred meters. If Gatlin can knock just two ten-thousandths of a second off each stride—and Bolt hasn't improved his pace—he'll take the gold.
Four high-speed cameras record Gatlin's starts.
Those two ten-thousandths of a second are why Ralph Mann, USA Track & Field biomechanist for sprints and hurdles, has set up a computer monitor and a laptop on a flimsy folding table next to the track in Orlando where Gatlin and his coach are practicing on a hazy spring Tuesday. From Mann's table wires snake outward across the red rubberized track and connect to four high-speed Casio cameras capable of recording three hundred frames a second, fast enough to capture the individual beats of a hummingbird's wings. The cameras are arrayed around Gatlin as he digs his heels in against a pair of force-sensing starting blocks. He places his fingers on the ground to set his stance and waits for his cue.
"Ready!" his coach yells. "Set … Go!"
Can Justin Gatlin—And American Science—Defeat Usain Bolt?
Popular Mechanics
At the pop of the starting gun, Gatlin exploded off the blocks. Bolt had a slight edge in the straightaway. There were nine men in the race, but the two rivals surged ahead, hurtling toward the finish line, heads extended. They finished so close that when it was over you needed high-speed photography to have any chance of understanding what happened: Bolt won the race by ten milliseconds. One-tenth of an eyeblink. Four inches.
This August, at the Rio Olympics, will be the first time the two men race again. In the rarefied air world-class sprinters breathe, it takes about forty-six strides to get from the starting blocks to the finish line of the hundred meters. If Gatlin can knock just two ten-thousandths of a second off each stride—and Bolt hasn't improved his pace—he'll take the gold.
Four high-speed cameras record Gatlin's starts.
Those two ten-thousandths of a second are why Ralph Mann, USA Track & Field biomechanist for sprints and hurdles, has set up a computer monitor and a laptop on a flimsy folding table next to the track in Orlando where Gatlin and his coach are practicing on a hazy spring Tuesday. From Mann's table wires snake outward across the red rubberized track and connect to four high-speed Casio cameras capable of recording three hundred frames a second, fast enough to capture the individual beats of a hummingbird's wings. The cameras are arrayed around Gatlin as he digs his heels in against a pair of force-sensing starting blocks. He places his fingers on the ground to set his stance and waits for his cue.
"Ready!" his coach yells. "Set … Go!"
