The Time Is Now for Track and Field Stars to Restore U.S. Dominance

Sha'Carri Richardson, Noah Lyles and Athing Mu are among the Paris Olympians who could capture American attention in a way we haven't seen in decades.

Richardson's moment at the U.S. Olympic trials on Saturday was long-awaited. / Kirby Lee-USA TODAY Sports

EUGENE, Ore. — The announcement wasn’t really one at all; it was performance, redemption, art—and more valuable for what it made possible and projected. The sun dropped toward the horizon on a perfect Saturday at the U.S. Olympic track and field trials. Temperatures hovered over 80 degrees. And there was Sha’Carri Richardson, the sprinter with the story, the charisma and all the speed.

While competitors in the women’s 100-meter final were introduced, one by one, Richardson leaned back against a brick wall near the entrance tunnel, swaying back and forth. She presented a fierce, focused calm. Winds whipped around Hayward Field, then stopped abruptly, right when Richardson sashayed out toward the starting blocks.

Upon reaching them, she continued with the swaying. She wore a pink headband, a gold speed suit and long nails painted the same hue. She stared straight ahead, unblinking. Cameras panned to family in the stands. Her grandmother clasped both hands. Cameras panned back toward those starting blocks.

Soon, the gun sounded, echoing from the stadium’s Rapunzel-like tower toward the restaurants down on Agate Street. Richardson started slow, in the middle of the pack. But she closed the deficit with ease, pulled ahead immediately and finished first (10.71), 0.09 ahead of second-place finisher Melissa Jefferson. Of course she did.

The tears that formed in Richardson’s eyes at the finish line spoke to her personal path, the last three years full of dominance and heartbreak. She had won this same race before the last Olympics but never did compete in Tokyo in 2021; instead, she was suspended after a positive test for THC metabolites. The ongoing debate—and continued legalization or decriminalization—over cannabis didn’t matter. Richardson came back, winning gold in the 100 and bronze in the 200 at the 2023 world championships. Then she began preparation for next month’s Paris Games, like the rest of America’s budding, on-the-cusp track hopefuls. 

The packed crowd that roared its collective approval Saturday spoke to the status of Hayward Field, the track palace officials have transformed into the sport’s undisputed home as it’s progressed in recent years. Richardson bent down and sucked in air. Nobody stopped clapping. The roar hardly even dimmed. It felt like Hayward had been plugged in; the atmosphere, electric.

Richardson hugged her qualifying teammates. Pointed at her family in the stands, the ones who matter, who remain, who never doubted that she would return to and surpass her place in world-class track when the suspension ended. She continued through the triumph loop. Blew kisses. Unfurled hair from headband. Hugged relatives. Took photos. Jumped. Kept jumping.

At that point, she presented another picture: that of what U.S. track and field might look like in about five weeks. If, that is, the now-established stars—Richardson, Sydney McLaughlin-Levrone, Noah Lyles, Athing Mu, Ryan Crouser—do what’s expected of them. That’s the thing, though. In order for them to shift further into the mainstream sports consciousness, for this grand track experiment to reach anything close to a culmination, they must. 

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For years, everyone involved at the highest levels of U.S. track and field scouted and hunted and built and mentored and molded and developed and trained. Several introduced initiatives to give young track athletes more resources, in the hopes that it would lead to better performances and, later, more hopefuls in the pool, with even more resources to draw from. That was the intended cycle. Each person and initiative shared the same goal—to restore some of America’s dominance, the kind that kept Wheaties sales booming every four years, with an assist from the country’s most elite sprinters, runners, jumpers and the rest.

It’s coming, they’d say.

Been a minute—years, decades; since, really, the turn of this century—since the United States produced a bonafide, homegrown, crowd-rousing, endorsements-demanding, mainstream, crossover superstar. No Carl Lewis. No Florence Griffith Joyner. No Jackie Joyner-Kersee.

The fairest “last” candidate for such lofty status was probably the sprinter Michael Johnson, who retired nearly 24 years ago, soon after his final Games. He won two gold medals in Sydney, only to give one back, as part of a disqualified relay team. He’s still in the sport, even starting a professional league, Grand Slam Track. And, like everyone else in U.S. track and field, he’s still searching for the next, well, him.

They’re coming, the hunters continued to predict.

Sure, there were stars, none larger than Allyson Felix, the sprinter turned collector of medals that matter most, winner of 11 at the Olympics and the 20 at the world championships over her two-decade career. Felix is the most decorated U.S. track and field Olympian of all time. She won more medals at worlds than anyone, from any country, ever. It’s just that, of her 22 golds in both, 16 came in relay events. She reached a level of stardom that’s remarkable, that she earned, surpassing most athletes in the history of U.S. track, but not, arguably, joining the likes of Griffith Joyner and Joyner-Kersee. Not everyone would agree with that, but …

At the 1988 U.S. Olympic trials, Griffith set a new world record in the 100-meter sprint. / IndyStar-USA TODAY NETWORK

The lack of a mainstream track star doesn’t fall solely on the sport’s top athletes, coaches and development programs. Track teems with tradition but not eyeballs or the corresponding dollars banked by an athlete similar in caliber, accomplishments and adoration to any of the retired crossover stars. What constitutes one in the first place changes, too, as viewing habits, sports media content and track’s popularity relative to other sports continue their respective shifts.

But those involved, the honest ones, admit that any one shift matters little, that there have been good U.S. Olympians in track and field, great ones and generational talents since Johnson stopped sprinting into the national sports consciousness. None have caught on the way that he did, let alone attempt to reach the rarest of air breathed by those like Lewis, Flo-Jo and Joyner-Kersee. That’s the thing, though, about these Olympic trials. The familiar refrain has mostly gone unsounded by a group of track diehards who must, on some level, feel like they will be proven right. Maybe they already have been.

Maybe Richardson is proof.

Maybe what was coming, for years and years, through all manner of transformative measures that, when combined, led to this Olympic cycle of vast promise … is now … here.

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Should any American capture even more of America’s attention in Paris, the most likely candidate remains the one who can blur down tracks with those long nails painted gold. Richardson appears equipped with all factors that might play into a broader sports celebrity status. Saturday night, once more, showed how.

Richardson affirmed her top-end speed—there’s no faster female finisher in the world. She displayed personal growth, cheering on her teammates and skipping the kinds of things she said—“I’m that girl”—after her previous 100-meter trials triumph, before the positive test and suspension. She also showed off charisma through the combination: blazing finish, bolstered humility and tons of personality (she even drummed on the microphone as she sat down for her post-win press conference.)

If Richardson felt redeemed, or remained upset about how those events unspooled, she hardly showed a hint of it. She described the moment that was this time as the result of hard work, her plan, her family. She deftly side-stepped a question about the tears that formed in her eyes at the finish. She kept pointing anyone who wanted to look backward in the opposite direction—toward the next Olympics, toward Paris and another chance, the possibilities now broadened. Each word she spoke and sentiment she laid out seemed to come from a place of intention. She said she had honed a “better understanding of myself” and “a deeper care for the talent that I have been given.” Veteran answers, each of them.

Richardson is leading the U.S. track and field resurgence ahead of the Paris Games. / Abigail Dollins/Statesman Journal / USA

Journalists continued the dance anyway, asking how “everything you went through” informed this night, this moment. Richardson seemed to sigh then. Her voice took on a slightly sharper tone. “Everything I’ve been through is everything I have been through to be in this moment right now,” she responded. “So there’s nothing I’ve been through that hasn’t designed me to sit right here in front of you.”

It’s all part of it, these endless questions that follow the greatest athletes still competing. Dream delayed? Yes. But Richardson is not only back—she’s older, more mature, better and faster than before. She earned those questions. Just like any other mainstream sports superstar.

Thus continues this USATF resurgence, with Richardson in front and many others not that far behind. All that’s left is to head to Paris and do the hard part.

“We didn’t put the world on notice,” Richardson said late Saturday. “The world already knew who we are.”

True. But still. What’s happening with U.S. track is a redefining—of what that team can be, both in this Olympic cycle and in future ones.

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Consider: Lyles. Like Richardson, he’s a prime candidate for prime time. Like Richardson, he’s young (26), accomplished (200-meter, bronze medal Tokyo; six-time world champion). Like Richardson, he’s magnetic. And like Richardson, he has improved in the past three years (evidenced by faster starts at trials). He could win three golds in Paris—in the 100, 200 and 4x100-meter relay.

In the first round of the 100-meter dash, Lyles cruised to the lead by about 30 meters on Saturday. He opened a large enough advantage to slow down for the final 40 or so, then pronounced that he had never “felt” better in an opening round 100. Maybe the vibes came from Snoop Dogg, who sat with Lyles’s mother in the stands. Or the Yu-Gi-Oh! card (Blue-Eyes White Dragon) he pulled out of his singlet before the start. This dragon, according to legend, is a mighty engine of destruction; one few foes have even faced.

“It’s coming,” he said. Meaning, not the dragon, but the race—and time—he wanted to run. The goal: 9.8 seconds.

“This year,” Lyles said, “I feel like I have everything.”

Before his races at the U.S. Olympic trials, Lyles pulled Yu-Gi-Oh! cards from his singlet. / Chris Pietsch/The Register-Guard / USA

Didn’t take long for Lyles to prove his own prediction right. In his semifinal on Sunday evening, he pulled another Yu-Gi-Oh! card from another singlet—this singlet: red; this card: Exodia, or the Forbidden Monster. Such was the anticipation when the race started that, through the silence, one could hear a crying baby near the finish line. That didn’t last long. Lyles started slowly, fell behind Kenny Bednarek and needed the entire 100 meters to win his semi in … 9.8 seconds, as the crowd stood and roared. “That’s the kind of energy,” he said, “I try to create.”

Imagine the energy that would be created if, in Paris, Americans won both versions of the 100-meter dash. That last happened in 1988. The winners: Lewis and Griffith-Joyner, naturally.

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Consider: Ryan Crouser. Transfer his shot put dominance to another event or another sport and he’d already be the face of 15 companies, a celebrity endorser, celebrated from Boston to Boring (Ore., his hometown). Crouser is anything but dull, as evidenced by his seventh national championship; this one earned on Saturday. As he exited Hayward’s track, Crouser signed everything put in front of him. While clutching a winner’s flower bouquet and a small American flag in his meaty left hand, he scribbled with his right. That helps, the extra engagement.

Consider: Mu, the 800-meter specialist who hasn’t run as much as she would have liked lately. In her Sunday semifinal, she charged from behind to clip the leader near the finish, posting a season’s best time of 1:58.84 and qualifying for Monday’s final.

Consider: Quincy Wilson, only 16 but already blazing. In his first 400-meter dash at trials, he broke the under-18 world record, clocking a time of 44.66 seconds and breaking a mark that had stood for 42 years. He followed that with a 44.42-second time in the semifinal round, qualifying for Monday's final. 

Consider, well, everyone else: Sydney McLaughlin-Levrone (24), Rai Benjamin (26), Fred Kerley (28), Grant Holloway (25), Erriyon Knighton (19), Gabby Thomas (26), Raven Saunders (27), Kenny Bednarek (25), Raevyn Rogers (27) and many more.

More proof of the wave that’s no longer incoming but here. The men’s 10,000-meter winner, Grant Fisher, is 27. Heath Baldwin, the men’s decathlon winner, is 23 and fresh out of Michigan State. Jasmine Moore, the female triple jump champ at trials, is also 23. The female 100-meter sprinters who will join Richardson in Paris—Jefferson and Twanisha Terry—are 23 and 25, respectively.

Consider Track Town, with the only American stadium built for track and field, where fans dance and deejays spin and crowds waited for over an hour on Saturday in the hopes of someone like Crouser signing an autograph. And where organizers listed the number of ticketed spectators for the first two days at more than 11,000. At one point Saturday, a volunteer employee told fans passing by that all stations close to there had run out of water.

Add it all up, everything: more talent, rounding into top-top form; better development programs available for all; leading to even more talent, in earlier stages, with bolstered programs at their disposal; then all of that repeating, for as long as American track officials can sustain momentum.

Sooner or later, one of the stars will break through. They must. Lyles, by the way, won Sunday’s 100-meter dash. He then took half another lap around the stadium, waving both arms and imploring the crowd to join him in the possibilities, broadened once more. Bednarek finished second; Kerley, third. Each embodied what Richardson said the night before. None announced themselves to the world. But each continued to define and shape what they presented. And the next step—well, that’s the big one.