The Color Of Speed

keeper> Because Black ppl have more "fast twitch fibers" than white ppl

Because> Because he wears sunglasses, and thus, looks emotionless.

l/////'m all e>For one he looks like a geek. Two, he tried to act as if he is black. And third, he thinks he is the greaest thing since sliced bread. And get rid of the sunglasses unless you're running during the day!

LOLO> HE'S HOT! I LIKE SKINNY WHITE GUYS. FROM: MIA/LATINA

Sure, he heard what buzzed through the crowd when he and seven African-Americans coiled into the starting blocks for the 200-meter and 400-meter sprints: Man, what's that white boy doin' out there? Sure, he stuck out in his new surroundings. But not for long.

He had already traded his long, curly hair for a clean buzz. Now he quietly observed and began to blend in, the way he had years earlier in the classroom. His voice inflections changed. A little bounce came into his walk. Like many white suburban kids watching hip-hop videos, he began wearing baggier clothes. Hours of training under the Texas sun burnished his skin to the coloring of his Cherokee great-great-great-grandmother. The alternative rock he'd favored in middle school disappeared from his radio. Off he'd roll in his car, driving his new track buddies home after practice, Jay-Z and Lil' Wayne booming from the speakers. "He just molds to the environment he's in," says teammate Korey Wright.

Half of the kids at his high school were of African, Asian or Hispanic descent. More and more, that was the half he hung with. Pookie came to a few conclusions about African-Americans. "They aren't judgmental," he says. "They don't worry as much about popularity."

African-Americans came to a few conclusions about Pookie. "You see a lot of white guys trying to act black and a lot of black guys trying to act white," says Darold Williamson, a world-class sprinter who would end up being Jeremy's best friend at college. "Guys trying to be cool by being somebody else. Not Jeremy. He's not forcing anything. He's real free about life. He goes with the flow, he doesn't obsess over stuff like some white guys do. He's always just himself. That's why it's so easy for African-Americans to accept him."

The more he looked and acted as if he belonged on that oval, the more he felt it. What others felt didn't faze him, didn't even seem to register. Sometimes his mother wondered if she'd overprotected him. He seemed naive to harsh realities, unaware of any lane markers between blacks and whites. "I've heard about racists on TV," he would say. "But I've never seen a racist. I've never seen racism."

So this was the extraordinary cocktail that the white boy brought to the starting blocks: familiarity ... relaxation ... focus ... innocence ... and hair-on-fire speed. A few seconds after he launched, Man, what's that white boy doin' out there? became Man, you SEE that white boy RUN? By the end of his senior year Jeremy had posted the year's fastest 200-meter and second-fastest 400-meter high school times in the U.S.