Heartbreaking Moment: Amy Hunt Burst into Tears After Winning the 200m Silver Medal at the World Championships in Tokyo, Sending a Heartfelt Tribute to Her Grandmother Who Passed Away Just Before the Race Moved the Crowd

In the electric atmosphere of Tokyo’s National Stadium, under the glaring lights of the World Athletics Championships, a moment of raw human emotion unfolded that transcended the thrill of competition. Britain’s Amy Hunt, the 23-year-old sprint sensation, crossed the finish line in second place to secure a stunning silver medal in the women’s 200m final on September 19, 2025. But it was what happened in the aftermath that etched the evening into the hearts of spectators, fellow athletes, and viewers around the world: Hunt collapsed into uncontrollable tears, her body shaking as she clutched her chest, whispering a poignant tribute to her late grandmother, who had passed away mere hours before the race.

The final itself was a masterpiece of athletic drama. Restarted after a false start by Bahamian sprinter Anthonique Strachan, the race saw American Melissa Jefferson-Wooden blaze to gold in a world-leading 21.68 seconds, completing a rare sprint double after her 100m victory earlier in the championships—the first such feat since Shelly-Ann Fraser-Pryce in 2013. Jamaica’s defending champion Shericka Jackson, who had dominated the event in recent years, settled for bronze in 22.09, edged out in a photo-finish thriller by Hunt’s blistering 22.14. Hunt’s British teammate, Dina Asher-Smith, the 2019 world champion, finished fifth in 22.43, her face a mix of pride for the newcomer and quiet disappointment in her own performance.

As the scoreboard flashed Hunt’s name in silver, the stadium held its breath. The young athlete from Hereford, known for her explosive speed and unyielding determination, didn’t leap in jubilation like so many victors before her. Instead, she froze mid-stride, her hands flying to her face as sobs wracked her frame. She stumbled toward the sidelines, where her mother, Claire, waited with open arms. The embrace was immediate and fierce—Hunt burying her head in her mother’s shoulder, her silver medal dangling forgotten around her neck. “Nana,” she gasped between heaving breaths, her voice barely audible over the roar of the crowd but captured crystal-clear by nearby microphones. “This is for you, Nana. I did it for you.”

The tribute poured out in fragments as Hunt composed herself enough to speak to reporters, her eyes red-rimmed but shining with a fierce light. Her grandmother, whom she affectionately called Nana, had been her rock—a constant presence at track meets, a source of unwavering encouragement through the darkest chapters of Hunt’s career. Just 12 hours before the final, Nana had slipped away peacefully at home in England, surrounded by family. Hunt had learned the news mid-warm-up, her phone buzzing with the devastating call from her father. In a split-second decision that spoke volumes about her resilience, she chose to lace up her spikes anyway. “She always said I could do anything if I just believed,” Hunt later shared, her voice cracking. “She fought so hard through her illness, never complaining, always cheering me on. When I got that text… I felt her with me more than ever. Every step on that track was her pushing me forward.”

The crowd, a sea of 50,000 strong including Japanese fans waving Union Jack flags in solidarity, fell into a hushed reverence. Many wiped away their own tears as the big screens replayed the emotional scene in slow motion: Hunt’s solitary figure on the track, head bowed in silent prayer before the gun, then her ferocious surge from sixth place around the bend—a testament to the “bloody-mindedness,” as she called it, that had carried her through injury and doubt. Cheers erupted anew when she raised her medal skyward, dedicating it explicitly to her grandmother. “She passed the baton to me today,” Hunt said, managing a watery smile. “And I ran like hell to honor it.”

Hunt’s journey to this silver-laced heartbreak has been anything but linear. A prodigy who shattered the women’s under-18 200m world record in 2019 with a blistering 22.42—eclipsing even Asher-Smith’s British under-20 mark—she seemed destined for stardom. But life had other plans. A catastrophic quadriceps rupture in 2021 left her bedridden for months; her mother had to physically lift her from the shower, a humbling low that tested her spirit. Mental health struggles followed, compounded by imposter syndrome as she balanced elite training with an English degree at Cambridge University. “I was this ‘academic badass and track goddess,’ as my friends teased,” Hunt reflected in a pre-championships interview. “But honestly, there were days I felt like neither.” Under the guidance of Italian coach Marco Airale, she rebuilt—not just her body, but her belief. This season alone, she smashed personal bests in the 60m, 100m, and 200m, vaulting into Britain’s top three all-time over the longer sprint.

Her performance in Tokyo was the culmination of that grit. Off the blocks in 0.152 seconds—slower than Asher-Smith’s explosive 0.147—she methodically closed gaps, her long strides eating up the curve. By the straight, she was a woman possessed, overtaking Jackson in the dying meters with a lean that photographers immortalized. Asher-Smith, pulling her aside post-race, enveloped her in a mentor’s hug. “Amy did incredibly, bless her,” the veteran said. “She’s the future, and tonight she showed why.”

As the championships continue— with Noah Lyles securing his fourth straight men’s 200m title earlier that evening in 19.53—the Hunt story lingers like an afterimage. In a sport often criticized for its fleeting glory, her tears reminded everyone of the human pulse beneath the spectacle. Fellow competitors, from Jefferson-Wooden to Jackson, offered condolences and congratulations in the mixed zone, a rare moment of unity. Hunt, ever the optimist, plans to celebrate with karaoke—belting out “Maneater,” perhaps, in Nana’s honor. “She loved a good sing-along,” she laughed through fresh tears. “I can hear her now: ‘Run faster next time, love—but for now, enjoy the shine.'”

For Amy Hunt, the silver is more than hardware; it’s a bridge between loss and legacy. In Tokyo’s humid night air, amid the echoes of her grandmother’s voice, she ran not just for victory, but for love. And in doing so, she moved a world.