There are weeks in sport that remind you exactly why you fell in love with it in the first place. This one has been like that for me a cascade of moments so powerful that I found myself clapping alone in front of the TV, rewinding replays just to feel them again.
Sitting here in Kingston Jamaica, a place where track and field isn’t just a sport but a heartbeat, I’ve been overwhelmed by what I’ve seen. Part of it is the setting. Every taxi driver, every corner shop conversation, in fact just everyone in general seems to carry an opinion on the sprints. But it’s also the sheer scale of what unfolded on the world stage that captured the imagination.
Shelly-Ann Fraser-Pryce. Even writing her name feels heavy now that she has run her last championship race. I remember when she first burst into our lives in Beijing back in 2008, that electric start, the green hair, the way she sprinted not just with speed but with joy.
Since then, she has given us over a decade of excellence, resilience, and an energy that inspired millions. Watching her close out a legendary career from Jamaica itself felt almost surreal. I saw the pride on people’s faces in the gym, at the golf course, even in line for patties. This wasn’t just one woman retiring. It was the end of an era. An era that defined Jamaica’s place in the world.
And yet, just as one door closed, another swung wide open. Faith Kipyegon. What can you even say? To win a fourth world title in the 1500m is scarcely believable.
I’ve run enough to know the suffering baked into that distance the endless rhythm, the late-race surges, the way your lungs burn as your legs scream. And she does it with such grace, such tactical mastery, that she almost disguises the pain. Four world titles. Think of the consistency, the pressure, the years of staying ready. It’s history, and we are lucky to witness it.
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Then there were the marathons. Imagine running for two hours and change, stride after stride, kilometre after kilometre and then it all comes down to a photo finish.
The men’s race especially gave me goosebumps. The sheer absurdity that after the full distance it could be decided by the lean of a chest. Even the 100m final, usually the fireworks of any championship, couldn’t match that drama. And yet I loved that it was a reminder that every distance, every discipline in athletics has its own theatre.
The women’s 400m had its own kind of history. Only three women in all of time have ever broken 48 seconds. Two of those runs happened in this one championship. Just let that sink in. Years and years of athletes chasing the barrier, and suddenly it crumbles twice in the space of days. I felt myself grinning, shaking my head. This is why I love the sport, because it still shocks you, still produces performances that feel impossible until they happen right in front of you.
Sydney McLaughlin-Levrone ran the fastest women’s 400 metres in 40 years to claim world championship gold in 47.78sec, the track didn’t look fast, but two athletes dropped under that 48 second barrier. I have to pause and think only three athletes ever have went under the 48 seconds.
As a Brit, I also felt pride watching the men’s 1500m. A Scot on the podium with silver, Jake Wightman diving at the line in another photo finish, it was exhilarating. Middle-distance running in Britain has always carried echoes of Coe, Ovett, and Cram, and moments like this remind me that the tradition is alive. But what struck me most over these days wasn’t just the results.
It was how much this sport means to people. I’ve lived in places where track and field only matters for a week every four years, but Jamaica is different. Here, athletics is lived daily. Kids run barefoot races in schoolyards. Champs turns teenagers into household names. A woman like Fraser-Pryce isn’t just an athlete she’s a symbol of resilience, motherhood, excellence. Watching these championships here, I realised again that sport can carry an entire culture on its shoulders.
Personally, it also reminded me of why I cling to sport so tightly. I’ve had my own battles with my body moments where walking, let alone running, felt out of reach. But when I see someone like Kipyegon glides through the final lap, or a marathoner throws themselves at the line, it stirs something deeper. It reminds me that performance is about spirit as much as muscle, about how far the will can carry us when the body protests.
This championship has given me so many snapshots I’ll carry with me: Fraser-Pryce waving goodbye, Kipyegon making history, two marathoners collapsing into each other’s arms, a Scot fighting for silver, Jamaican flags rising in celebration.
Sport at its best doesn’t just entertain it inspires, connects, and reminds us of possibility. And right now, as the echoes of this championship still hang in the air, I can’t help but feel grateful. Grateful to have watched, grateful to still be moved by it all, and grateful to be in Kingston, where track and field isn’t just a pastime - it’s a way of life.
