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The rest of the coaches are in the front row, side-on to the vault runway so they can see approach, take-off and clearance. Team Dennison moves 14 rows further back. "You can see much better from up here," says Rippon, his feet bouncing and hands grabbing his knees as the tension ratchets up.

Dennison stands on the runway, the bar at 4.30 metres, pole resting on her shoulder. "Now I start reaching for the beta-blockers," says Rippon. He shifts forward in his seat and glugs from a water bottle. "Watch the wind reading," he mutters. "Come on, Kate. Don't mess about with your grip..."

Dennison sprints down the runway, plants, leaps, rotates and clears. Rippon is on his feet even as she lands. "KATE!" he yells. He waves his arms furiously and points up at the giant screen, wanting her to watch and learn from the replay.

The video camera is passed to him. He touches the screen and watches four or five times before dashing down the steps. Dennison jogs over and Rippon shouts across the five metre-wide gap that separates them.

The vital information? He wants the stands that support the bar to be moved five centimetres closer to the take-off. Each athlete can adjust the position to suit the parabola of their jump, and Rippon has spotted that Dennison is reaching her maximum height early. Dennison nods and walks slowly back to her kit-bag.

The adrenaline fizzing through Rippon is patently obvious. As Dennison gets ready for her next attempt he has his arms folded tight, hands squeezed under his armpits. "Get up! GET UP!" he shouts, as she drives up towards the bar, rotates and skims clear again.

"This is the worst part," he says, watching the replay again and again. "As a coach you feel helpless, but you have to stay logical. A final like this is a game of chess. There are so many variables, so many tiny things you can change."

Each coach goes through the same process. They stand rigid as their athlete vaults, watch the giant screen and then bellow instructions and adjustments.

The crowd go wild for . "She hasn't got a chance," whispers Steve. "She told her coach that she'd had a dream last month, where she failed at every competition until the Worlds and then won the gold medal." He shakes his head. "She's got the first part right, anyway."

Battke crashes through the bar. A few minutes later she is out.

"If Kate can finish in the top eight, that would be brilliant," says Rippon. "That would get her an invite to the meet in Zurich next week, and maybe Brussels." Nick scans the list of clearances and calculates overall positions on countback. Dennison is in seventh. "Prize money!" beams Steve.

The rest of the stadium goes bananas as Usain Bolt appears for the 100m medal ceremony, and the pole vault competition is put on temporary hold. The coaches talk among themselves. Do they all get on? "Yup. We sit together, we travel together."

And the athletes - do any of them try to put their rivals off? "Never. They're competing against gravity, as much as each other. Whoever beats gravity wins."

The competition restarts. Vaulter after vaulter fails. Russia's Tatyana Polnova rolls away from the metre-deep landing bed, clutching her bloodied nose. "She's broken that," says Steve, grimly.

Dennison waits for her first attempt at 4.55m, just three centimetres below her British record. If she clears this, she'll be guaranteed to finish in the top eight - a big achievement in her first major final.

"GO ON DENNO!" bellow the four men, clapping rhythmically as she sprints down the runway. The bar crashes down.

Rippon sits back down with a grimace. "No! That's a big missed opportunity." Now it's Lewis's turn to shout at Dennison. Having been deputed to watch her take-off stride, he's spotted that she was leaning back a fraction as she came in. The momentum that she lost cost her the clearance.

In the background is the familiar figure of double Olympic champion , lying by her poles. Having cleared 4.70m in her warm-up, she is yet to enter the competition. Face hidden under a white cap, swathed in a red Russia tracksuit, she appears to be asleep.

Dennison steps into position again, her hands checking the glue on the grip and then her fingers. "Come on..." mutters Rippon, and then whoops with delight as she goes clear.

"Rock on!" The adrenaline is surging through him again. "I'd take that!" he shouts at Lewis. "Start a rain dance!"

The bar goes up to 4.65m, seven centimetres higher than Dennison has ever cleared before.

Rippon has a list in his hand which details which of the eight poles that Kate has with her she should use at each height. While each pole is the same length, the grips are in different places. There is also variation in how much flex each pole gives.

At this height, the plan is to use a stiffer pole to give her maximum elevation. Dennison, however, has decided to stick with a softer one, and Rippon is extremely agitated. "She's not convinced she needs the stiffer one," he scowls.

Lewis too looks anxious. "Come on Kate!" he shouts. Dennison tears down the track and then, just before planting the pole, drops it and runs through onto the mat.

"DON'T DO THAT!" roars Rippon. He runs down the steps and leans over the advertising hoardings. "Come on!" he bellows, clenching his fist at Dennison's back.

He is now both fuming and highly stressed. "She is not going to get it on that pole," he tells Lewis angrily. "If I could get close to her, I'd get right up here. Now is the time she has to gamble."

Dennison tries again. Again she fails to get even close to the bar. Without looking up at her coach, she walks back to her bag and flops down, covering her legs with a towel.

Rippon slumps back in his seat. "She's going to do what she wants," he warns Lewis. "I can tell you what's going to happen - she's going to blow through that third jump, and then say she should have used the other pole."

Lewis nods. "She's not even looking," he says.

Rippon shakes his head. "She doesn't want to look." The adrenaline has dumped him right back down. "She's gone. I think she's achieved whatever her personal goal was."

When Dennison rises for her final attempt, so does the entire support team. Rippon is suddenly back up, the testosterone surging. "LET'S GO KATE!" he shouts, his voice hoarse.

It is no use. She gets only halfway through her vault before abandoning. The four men stay on their feet, now applauding their beaten charge.

There is pride on Rippon's face, along with the disappointment. Dennison has ended in seventh. A few minutes later she is boosted a place as I and finishes a shock last.

As the drama dies down, Rippon becomes more reflective. He knows that his athlete has done well. She has added 18cm to her personal best in a year, broken the British record eight times indoors and outdoors and continued the progression that he hopes will have her in medal contention by London 2012.

"It takes a special person to stand out there and go through what she has," he says. "It's impossible to overstate how much courage and commitment and concentration it takes to do that."

He waves at Dennison as she trudges out of the arena. When she finally looks up he jabs at his ankle and wobbles his hand from side to side. She gives him the thumbs-up and walks on. "I was worried she'd hurt her Achilles again," he explains.

Tomorrow he will upload the video footage to his laptop and hers. They will go through it separately and then come together to share thoughts and analyse.

"I'm up at 6.30am," he grins, as I head off. "Where's the bloke who sells beer?"