I’m running as fast as my legs will carry me. The burden of my responsibility is far heavier than the object that I am carrying. Its potential, its meaning is renowned across the globe.

As I journey through the countries, I’ve been avoiding the largest one like the plague (pun intended), as per the advice of health officials. Any day now, I’m anticipating the terrible phone call. The disappointment will be palpable on the other end. The message to tell me that the games will be cancelled.

My path takes me round a hillside, where an expansive landscape lies before me. A huge lake sits at the centre of this majestic backdrop. I find a nearby bench and sit down to catch my breath and drink in my captivating surroundings.

Suddenly, a buzzing sound emanates from my right pocket. It’s time. I already know who this call will be from and what it will be about. As I accept the call and hear the heavy sigh at the other end, I know that my worst fears have been realised. I listen to the news for several minutes, my hope and ambition being blood let out of me as it continues. Finally, the voice finishes speaking and now it is my turn to sigh.

With a heavy heart, I lower my hand and place the phone back inside my pocket. I stare into the mesmerising flame, gazing in awe at its hypnotic power. Who can say what the future will hold for the world of sport. But for now I know what I must do. I wander my way down the slope and walk up to the vast lake. I pause momentarily as I look out across the crystal clear lagoon. My arm stretched out, holding the torch aloft. To any passing observer, I must look like the Statue of Liberty, clothed in white with a diagonal red sash. I am saddled with the duty of what I must do now; I know that there is no turning back.

I plunge the torch down into the lake and it extinguishes instantly. The Olympic dream is dead. Sod the Coronavirus.