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On the final day, you stand before the Temple of Zeus. There is no prize money. Instead, the judges place a simple wreath of wild olive leaves ( kotinos ) upon your head.

: In the Hippodrome, four-horse teams thunder around the posts, wheels splintering in "shipwrecks" that leave the crowd breathless. The Victor's Reward On the final day, you stand before the Temple of Zeus

You are Koroibos, a humble cook from the nearby city of Elis. You stand at the stone starting line ( balbis ) of the stadium. Your feet are bare against the cool earth; your body is slick with olive oil, glistening like bronze in the morning light. There are no silver or bronze medals here—only the pursuit of arete , or excellence. To win is to be favored by the gods; to lose is a shadow that follows a man forever. : In the Hippodrome, four-horse teams thunder around

As you return home, your city-state tears down a portion of its defensive walls to let you enter—for what need has a city of walls when it is guarded by an Olympic champion? Your name will be carved in stone, your meals will be free for life, and poets like Pindar will sing of your glory long after the fire at Olympia has flickered out. The Legacy Your feet are bare against the cool earth;