The main reason I wanted to be successful was to get out of the ghetto. My parents helped direct my path.

I don't do drugs. I never have taken any drugs. I don't believe in them.

I have been running since I was 7. I was trying to restructure the way my body was made instead of trying to master the way I ran. I would get so frustrated with my starts in practices that I would just cry. When I ran, I wouldn't even try to get out of the blocks, I would just run.

I know what I have to do, and I'm going to do whatever it takes. If I do it, I'll come out a winner, and it doesn't matter what anyone else does.

You were born to run. Maybe not that fast, maybe not that far, maybe not as efficiently as others. But to get up and move, to fire up that entire energy-producing, oxygen-delivering, bone-strengthening process we call running.

To do justice to a lifelong dream of being a writer, I must give it the intense concentration and focus I gave to track. To do both with excellence is not possible. It is with a sense of sadness and joyous anticipation that I leave track and move on.

Nothing is going to be handed to you -- you have to make things happen.

I've always overworked in the weight room. I love working with weights. I knew they'd give me the strength I needed.

I like being unconventional.

I love working with kids, talking with them and listening to them. I always encourage kids to reach beyond their dreams. Don't try to be like me. Be better than me.

Injuries made me a believer in cross-training.

I couldn't wait until I grew up. I used to look at my mom's stockings and put them on with her high heels and mess with my hair.

If you want to run as fast as the men, you've got to train like the men.

I used to be teased for the way I wore my hair at school. I used to do things like wear a different-colored sock on each leg.