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The toll of greatness is paid piece by piece. While the world cheers for the medals, the records, and the photo finishes, it often misses the quiet moments—the relationships left behind, the friendships sacrificed, and the loneliness that trails even the fastest man on the track. For this sprinter, success hasn’t just meant sprinting past opponents; it’s meant outgrowing people he once called friends.

In the world of track and field, to run under 20 seconds in the 200 meters is to flirt with history. Do it once, and you’re celebrated. Do it over 30 times, and you join legends—Usain Bolt, Noah Lyles. But there’s a quieter name on that list: Kenny Bednarek. Yet, unlike the other two, he hasn’t claimed Olympic or World Championship gold in an individual event—not yet. Still, he’s become a mainstay of excellence in 2025. With two Grand Slam Track titles under his belt already this season and the current world-leading time in the men’s 200m, Kenny Bednarek is charging forward with purpose.

At the World Athletics Relays, he clocked the fastest splits in both the semifinal and final of the 4x100m, helping the U.S. secure victory with effortless authority. So what drives this quiet storm? What keeps Kenny Bednarek surging, season after season, while others fade under the pressure?

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In a recent sit-down on The Attorney Sekou Podcast, host Sekou Clarke asked The Rice Lake native a question that peeled back the layers of medals and muscle: What’s the price of this success? Kenny’s response was reflective, almost mournful.

“The biggest sacrifice is just, you know, I can’t—I mean, I guess coming from college, too, you know, I can’t stay up with my friends, too late. Some of the friends I actually had to end up getting rid of because they’re going to drag me down.” There it was. The toll. The quiet, personal cost of greatness. “You got to cut people loose sometimes,” the 2-time Olympic medalist continued, his voice steady but edged with experience. “You’re going towards this direction, and if they’re going to hinder that… you can’t let it happen.”

It wasn’t just about staying up late. It was about letting go—of habits, of places, of people who once defined comfort but now represented compromise. The transition from college athlete to professional sprinter wasn’t just a step up—it was a shedding of skin.

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Does the sacrifice of friendships justify the pursuit of greatness in sports like Kenny Bednarek's journey?

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“The things I used to do in college, I can’t do as a professional. And, you know, some people won’t get that,” Bednarek said. “It’s sad, but, you know, you’re trying to level up and you do want to bring your friends with you. But if they’re not trying to follow you and level up with you, then you got to cut them loose.” It’s a lonely path sometimes, the one that leads to podiums.

But even in that solitude, Kenny is not alone. There’s still someone who’s been with him from the start—a constant, a cheerleader, someone who saw the fire in him long before the rest of the world did. Though he didn’t name them in the interview, you could hear the weight of that bond in his voice.

The Olympic medalist’s mother stands the rock behind him 

Before the medals and records, Kenny Bednarek was just a boy in search of a home. That home came at age four, when Mary Ann Bednarek adopted him. Since then, she’s been more than a mom. She’s been his rock, his loudest cheerleader, and his biggest believer. At the Paris Olympics, when Kenny claimed another silver in the 200m, Mary cried on the phone with TMJ4’s Lance Allan: “It was beautiful. I’m so proud of him. Momma Mary answered a lot of prayers.”

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But she’s not just proud—she’s passionate. Kenny once joked, “My mother loves to scream,” and she does—from the stands, with joy, with heart, with zero restraint. Whether it’s the Olympic Trials or an international final, she’s always there—hoarse voice and all—celebrating not just the result, but the journey. Because for Mary, it’s not about the medal. It’s about the boy she raised becoming the man the world now cheers for.

However, Kenny won’t just be standing on the podium alone. He’ll carry every sacrifice, every cut tie, every quiet night in—and the unwavering support of the one who believed in him all along. Because the road to greatness is hard. But Kenny Bednarek? He’s built for it.

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Does the sacrifice of friendships justify the pursuit of greatness in sports like Kenny Bednarek's journey?

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