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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.

The herald cries out, the trumpet sounds, and you sprint. The stadion race is a blur of gasping lungs and pounding hearts. When you cross the finish line first, you aren't just a cook anymore. You are a hero of Greece. Beyond the Race On the final day, you stand before the Temple of Zeus

The dust of Elis rises in a golden haze as thousands of travelers, from the rugged mountains of Macedon to the sun-drenched shores of Rhodes, converge on the sacred grove of Altis. It is the midsummer of 776 BCE, and the are about to begin. The herald cries out, the trumpet sounds, and you sprint

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 You are a hero of Greece

: In the Hippodrome, four-horse teams thunder around the posts, wheels splintering in "shipwrecks" that leave the crowd breathless. The Victor's Reward