To understand Abhinav Bindra’s uniqueness to weigh quick glance at history. For over a century, India has chased Olympic gold. Games after Games. Rowers and swimmers. Archers and runners. Boxers and wrestlers. All that dreaming, desire, talent, so much of it beautiful, always coming up short. Gold just refusing to come in an individual sport till it had the smell of a curse about it. Every successive Olympics, the pressure builds, the questions come, the absurdity of it all grows. Burundi had one, as did Luxembourg, the UAE, Hong Kong. Not India.

Eventually, the gold medal sits there like a tease. It becomes an insinuation of mediocrity, it corrodes ambitions, it settles like a psychological weight in the athletic mind. Those Kenyans rising at dawn to eat up mountain trails with their casual strides; the hefty German rowers with oars tucked under muscled arms in their silken kits; the sleek Americans, all talent and science and technique in sleek bodies. Could they be beaten? By us? Did we have the nerve? Do we know how to do it?

The questions are suffocating, they tamper with the mind, they make the heart race, they don't help at the Olympics, where victory-in a theatre of ceremony and brilliance and harsh scrutiny-is so difficult anyway. It is this environment, this history, this burden, this negativity which used to coat India before an Olympics, that Abhinav Bindra, and his peers, had to contend with. They were lugging along this baggage while trying to beat a world of Olympic shooters so gifted they could trim your moustache with a pellet from thirty paces. And the exquisite appeal of the Olympics, its challenge and cruelty, is that this chance to beat the world only arrives every four years and is often over in 10 minutes, 30 minutes, an hour. You have to find your best, right then, at this appointed time. And he did.

It could only be done by an unusual man and Abhinav fits that definition. He is not an easy man to know, imprisoned in his own shooting planet and insulated by shyness. But he vibrates with intensity, a sort of silent, restrained fury to be flawless, interrupting it only with an occasional flash of dry humour. We do not spend our lives adhered to athletes; we cannot say for certain that one man's work ethic exceeds another's. But Abhinav, clearly, has an almost masochistic quality: he pushes, then he pushes harder, then he pushes even more. I spent days with him where he'd shoot, run, do sit-ups, lift weights, shoot, run more, walk a tightrope, hour after hour after hour, chasing excellence with a purity that was dazzling, and rubbishing any idea I might have had of shooters as just some species of paunchy geeks.

I admire this. I respect the intelligence with which he dissects his craft and the wonder with which he discusses it.

After an interesting two years writing this book during which I had more fun than I had imagined, I have many people to thank. Starting with my exceptional and persevering co-writer Rohit Brijnath, with whom I shared many laughs, coffees and intense conversations on sport. Amit Agarwal, managing editor at HarperCollins India, was enthusiastic and meticulous.

Kamesh Srinivasan, the fine writer at The Hindu, transcribed the first draft of my story and kindly checked all the facts.

A multitude of people, in varying ways, contributed to the project. Photos arrived from Germany, Kavita Muthanna designed early covers for me and Bandeep Singh interrupted a busy schedule to shoot a predictably beautiful cover.

I have fenced for years with the National Rifle Association of India and have not always been impressed with the sports ministry, but there are people in both organizations who have lent me a hand.

Through my career, innumerable people have contributed to my growth. Colonel Jagir Singh Dhillon first taught me under a mango tree, Amit Bhattacharjee tutored me on academics and life, and Maik Eckhardt stepped in to assist me at key times. My friend Ambika Jain provided valuable support; Manisha Malhotra, who heads the Mittal Champions Trust, always believed in me, and Surma Shirur was a kind and patient shooting partner over the years.

Psychologist Tim Harkness peered creatively into my mind while consultant coach Uwe Riesterer toughened me, educated me and wrote me wonderful letters that lifted my spirit. Gaby Buehlmann and Heinz Reinkemeier, who still coach me, kept me in their home and pushed me every day to make me a better shooter.

Without all of them, I would have no story to tell.

But most of all I thank my parents, Apjit and Babli, my sister, Divya, and my brother-in-law, Angad, for never losing faith in me, for putting up with my tantrums and for always loving me.