I was born in Enniskillen, Ireland, in 1882. My family moved to Ontario when I was five, and Canada was in later years as proud to call me a citizen as I was to be one.

I started working in my early teens. I had always loved to run, and as I grew older this hobby became more of a passion. I began a training program for myself, and set strict routines to balance the 12-hour workdays and the twilight sprints down my family's street. I started to win some regional competitions in the 100, 440, and 800-yard races, and used money that I had saved from my fire brigade job to travel to St. Louis for the 1904 Olympics. I lost in the qualifying rounds, but I returned to Hamilton frustrated and more determined than ever. In the next few years I set Canadian records in the 40, 50, 60, 75, 100, 150, and 220-yard events, as well as the new 100 and 200-meter races. I was counting the days until the 1908 Games in Rome, Italy.

On April 7th, 1906, Mount Vesuvius erupted and devastated the city of Naples, Rome's neighbour. Italy was forced to divert Olympic funds to its reconstruction, and London was offered the impossible task of preparing for the Games in only two short years. Shepherd Bush stadium, which held 68,000 people, was built especially for the Olympics and was considered a technological triumph for England at the time. On April 27th, 1908, the opening ceremonies began in a cloud of controversy that followed London's Games throughout.

The athletes paraded around their Olympic stadium behind their national flags for the first time. The Finnish team, expected to march under the Russian flag instead of their own, chose to use no flag at all. Irish competitors were listed as representatives of Britain, and most of them did not show up for the ceremonies and resigned from the Olympics in disgust. The American flag was accidentally left out above the towering stadium before the ceremonies. In protest, American flag-bearer Martin Sheridan, the greatest discus thrower of his time, refused to dip his flag to the royal box as he passed, considered a tremendous insult. Sheridan defended this act by saying, "This flag dips to no earthly king."

The host country was responsible for supplying the officials, as they had in the past, but that would change following the 1908 Olympics. During the 400-meter event, an English official accused America's John Carpenter of blocking Britain's Wyndham Halswelle in the final stretch, and the finish-line tape was removed just as the American was about to win. A re-run was ordered for the next day, but the Americans refused to participate; 3 out of the 4 finalists were Americans, leaving only Halswelle, who jogged around the track to victory. To this day it is the only known "walk-across" in Olympic history. The Americans also protested the mandatory knee-length running shorts by wearing mid-thigh outfits, and launched a public outcry when their track team's manager wasn't allowed on the field.

London's Olympics did provide some great moments, however. The marathon distance was changed to 26 miles when Princess Mary requested the start to take place below the windows of the royal nursery, a distance standard that would never change. During the race, in extremely humid and hot conditions, Italian runner Dorando Petri inspired the 250,000 onlookers the entire race, and entered the stadium for the final lap with a huge lead. He fell five times from exhaustion, the roaring crowd urging him on. Race officials, including "Sherlock Holmes" author A. Conan Doyle, rushed to his aid and helped him finish. He spent many hours following the race near death. The U.S. second-place finisher later protested, and the Italian was stripped of the gold medal. Petri was presented a gold cup by the Queen, immortalized in a song, and beat the American easily in a marathon four months later. He became the face of the 1908 Games and the catalyst for the Olympic's future popularity.

As for me, I had to race six times in four days to reach the finals of the 100 and 200-meter events. On July 22nd, I won the semi-final of the 200-meter in the morning, won the bronze medal in the 100-meter final later that afternoon, then took the gold in the 200-meter final the next morning. Britain celebrated my achievements, with Canada seen as a representative of the British Empire. I returned home to a huge parade and was showered with gifts and praise. I never competed again, but I remained active in track and field, serving as a coach, meet director, and even official starter. I attended four Olympiads in different capacities, and was honorary secretary of the Canadian Olympic Association. When I died at age 81, a park in Hamilton was named in my honour.

In a time when politics ruled the Olympic Games, and national pride vastly over-shadowed individual glory, I earned my country the respect of the world. My name is Bobby Kerr, and for Canada, I was fast first.

I was born in 1908, ironically the same year that Bobby Kerr brought two Olympic sprint medals home for Canada. I was a skinny kid growing up in Vancouver. My parents split up when I was young, and I didn't really have any hobbies. I joined my school's track team, and the other students started paying attention to me for a change. Once, a man named Bob Granger approached me after a school track meet. He said he wanted to coach me, and even though he was a bit strange, I said, "Sure."

Bob used to wrap me in blankets before I raced even when it was hot out, and he always massaged me with this oil that smelled like coconuts minutes before it was time to run. Everyone called Bob a "kook" or a "whacko", but I kind of liked him. I won the Canadian Olympic trials in Hamilton, which again was ironic, being Kerr's hometown. I used to write in my journals every day, and Bob laughed at what I wrote after the trials: "I can't quite understand it yet, but they say winning the 100-metre puts me on the boat to Amsterdam."

Canadian Olympic officials felt coaches were unimportant, so I arrived in Amsterdam alone. My mother and some other fans of mine in Vancouver raised enough money to send Bob over on a cattle freighter, and he arrived three days after me. I remember the hours spent working on my poor start in the hotel room. Bob placed a mattress against the wall and I would leave from a start position, take two quick lunges, and bounce off the mattress onto the floor. I would laugh, but Bob remained stern and serious.

The 1928 Amsterdam Olympics were historical in several regards. They were the first Games in which women were allowed to compete in track and field, something that was strongly opposed by the Vatican and Pope Pius IX. As a result, the number of women more than doubled even though the the total number of athletes declined slightly. Germany and their World War I allies were permitted to compete again after a ten-year probation for their "aggressiveness". Amsterdam also began the tradition of carrying the Olympic torch from Athens.

Historians feel the best thing that came out of the '28 Games was that, for the first time, the list of medal winners was truly international. Athletes from twenty-eight countries took home a gold medal, a record that stood until 1968. Nations normally lost in the shadows of the U.S., Russia, and China suddenly emerged as worldly forces; the five rowing events were won by five different countries, something that would never be repeated. It became obvious to skeptics that the modern Olympics were not only permanently established, but would affect the growth and development of competitive sports world-wide for decades to come.

There were 87 competitors in the 100-metre race, so I had to run three heats before the final. After I won the first two heats, I wrote in my journal: "I always imagined the Olympics were the games of heros. Well, I'm in the semi-finals myself so it can't be so hot." I lost to U.S. favorite Bob McAllister in the semi, and with two hours to kill before the final, Bob made me read a book while he rubbed me down with that coconut potion of his. Lined up beside McAllister and 200-pound British giant, Jack London, my 126-pound body looked even smaller. I left on the third crack of the gun perfectly. The papers said later that I started with "a driving rage" and seemed to "float on God's coat-tail" to the finish. I crossed the line a yard ahead of the Brit, with a German coming third. In my journal: "Well, well, well. So I'm supposed to be the world's 100-metre champion. No more fun in running now." I won the 200-metre final two days later against an assembly of sprinters considered to be the fastest eight men ever to face each other in a single race up to that time.

To complete the series of ironies, Canadian Olympic coach Bobby Kerr was there to hug me at the 200-metre finish line. I reflected back on those days later in life, and to be honest, I didn't really like racing that much. I just did what Bob told me; I crouched at the starting line, and I ran. I liked the attention that came with winning, but running gave me no real satisfaction. I just ran.

The U.S. challenged me to a series of sprinting competitions during the next few years, over a variety of distances and surfaces, and I won 19 of 21 of them. A thigh injury in the Los Angeles Olympics sent me home with no medals, and therefore no parades or cash rewards or fame. I became an insurance agent, never married, and lived with my mother until she died. I committed suicide at age 74, tired of my severe arthritis and the pain that came with it.

I may not have been a fierce patriot or passionate competitor, but I triumphed over the world in the two most recognized sprint events, and that should speak for itself. My name is Percy Williams, and if today's Canadian Olympians traced their country's heroic roots, they would find that I was fast first.