Track Training with Hannah, Charlotte and May

I had my first track training session last night and it was pretty much an exercise in humility. Which I suppose is a good thing because I need to be brought down a peg or two.

Last night’s was apparently an “easy” session. A mere 3K speed challenge. This is OK, I though, I can run 3K with my eyes shut (Provided there are no corners or roads). However the whole speed challenge thing was concerning me somewhat. It turned out I was right to be concerned.

A number of things struck me. First, running club members are very, very strange. Men, if you have an arse the size of a grapefruit, it probably isn’t a good idea to wrap it in lycra unless you want to draw horrified glances. Secondly the warm up alone nearly did for me. I have a condition called Congenital Shitness you see. This means I have to train really hard just to be shit at things. Fortunately I am fairly well adjusted and thus don’t feel the need to be competitive. Otherwise I’d be fucked.

Anyway after a lot of retarded hopping about, including the infamous Cockney Skipping (Well done to Charlotte for observing that moving the knees outwards makes any activity far more “Cockney” than keeping them straight) and numerous lunges, we were ready for the off.

And indeed off went everyone. My friends disappeared into the distance and I was reminded of the fact that in this life, we are always truly alone. Especially if our friends are much faster than us.


1K – Friends disappear into tiny specks in distance, but still going strong although emphasemic breathing begins

1.5K – Seeing spots, feeling dizzy and at the back of the pack

2K - Existential angst

2.5 K Arms and legs not responding to brain's desperate urges of “faster faster faster”, however do manage to overtake one person and thus not actually be last

3K Cross finish line puce and feeling like I have stared into the empty eye-sockets of Death himself

Interestingly enough, I did manage to get chatted up while wheezing and being purple in the face which just goes to show what a fox I am. A congenitally shit fox, but a fox none the less.

Today I have a hamstring injury and am limping round like a crip. Time to resurect my stable name of Lasty.