Before a race, especially a big race, I try to clear my mind of mental clutter. I try to forget anybody I know is there watching me or what my mom is doing or what the heckler in row two is yelling at me, which actually happened in the Olympics.

Once I get in my mind a vision of my lane being like a tunnel with nothing else on either side of me, I block out all other senses except for one—the sound of the click of the starter’s gun. No other sense, no other sound.

I don’t focus on the pop of the gun but the click of the trigger, because if you can do that—which is very, very difficult—then you’re doing it exactly right.

With complete concentration, I’m able to block everything out from an auditory perspective. I concentrate on me moving my body, you know, using proper sprint techniques.

This is all I focus on. A lot of times, runners get flustered by their number not feeling right or something somebody said to them. All that stuff is irrelevant to me. Before I get into a race, I don’t think of anything except what I’m doing. The fewer things I hear and the more concentrated I am, the better I compete.

It’s not even a matter of blocking things out or going on any of those things, because that is concentrating on more than one thing. If you’re thinking about blocking this out or blocking that out, then you’re not focused.

I don’t think in negative terms. I think in one positive, and that one positive is the first sound I hear, the sound that releases me safely out into the world. It’s a high level of concentration, a state of focused anticipation.

I get into the starting blocks 30 seconds or so before the gun goes off. Now I think about executing my race plan. In my case, my race plan is to get out of the blocks as aggressively as I possibly can.

When I get into the blocks, I feel incredible anticipation. I try to be as anxious as possible. My body becomes that trigger on the starter’s gun—it’s taut, but it’s ready to move, if that makes sense.

Once the starter says, "Set," my mind goes completely blank other than to listen for the sound of the gun. I shut off all my senses other than my ears. I look straight down the track. My eyes are open, but I can’t tell you what I see.

On the first sound, I move.

Chris Huffins won the 100 meters in the decathlon for the United States in the 1996 Summer Olympics.