Miracles do happen

The sun is out. The sky is blue. And I finally made it to Tuesday night track training.

After the 'light' hills workout on Saturday, I felt a bit more prepared for the high intensity madness to come. After a warm-up that would pass for a whole exercise class, we had to choose from two speed-work sessions. Unfortunately, sitting down watching other people was not an option.

First off, 1200 metres. Running around a track brought my school days flooding back. I would occasionally run the 800 metres at interschool sports day. For the whole week leading up to it, I would be paralysed with fear. 'Track-fright' thwarted my burgeoning Olympic career (probably?!) and facing my nemesis 22 years on was a bit odd. What was also weird was finding that my legs wanted to run faster than the strength in them would allow. So when we got to the 150 metre sprints, part of me felt I had the momentum and will to go faster, but my wobbly lower limbs felt they would give way if I did. I kept having visions of finishing the last 50 metres on my face.

Thinking about it, 400 metres was my most successful distance. And that's only because I improved each time I did it. In fact, by the third 'go' I managed to knock 20 seconds off my original time. This was quite heartening, though did wipe me out for much of the rest of the session. Must remember not to peak too early next time.

I will definitely be back. There's something cathartic about pushing myself to see what I can achieve. Something I rarely, if ever, do. And I figure, if I can continue to knock 20 seconds off my 400 time each week, then I should be knocking on the door of a world record by September. Which will be nice.

(Stats: Not sure of my 1200 or 150 time, but my 400 metres: 1.52; 1.46; 1.32 (minutes, not hours.))

Why did the chicken cross the road?

To get away from the track training session before anybody spotted her.

So, last night I spent 30 minutes travelling to a stadium in north-west London for my very first proper coaching session. From what I can gather, the hour's coaching would involve several runs around the track, interspersed with resting and stretching. Interval training, I guess. And it came highly recommended if I wanted to increase my fitness and speed.

As I walked up to the sports field, I was reminded of my first cross-country event last October. 'How hard can it be to run 6 km?' Those were the innocent thoughts going through my head, before I quickly discovered exactly how hard it can be: uphill, downhill, in mud and against people who can do all this and still achieve a 6 minute mile. Me and my body were in shock. I even considered throwing myself in a ditch. Not good times.

This memory loomed large as I regarded the track and the array of athletes, who all looked considerably fitter than me.

So I ran away.