Flogging a Dead Horse

Sometimes everything just falls into place.  This weekend was not such an occasion.

In a stark contrast from the Olympian performance of seven days earlier, spectators at the windy, run-down Saffron Lane track this weekend were treated to a master class in turning a promising performance in to a 3:40 final kilometre plod to the line, in a state of torturous purgatory which would just not end. 

This abysmal display of back-running ended a promising sequence of four PBs, but economised my afternoon by alleviating the need for a warm-down.

Indeed pundit analysis following this spectacle suggested that “Carter may have to relinquish his dream of remodelling himself as a 5k runner, and accept that he is just no good at any distance.” 

Buoyed by this criticism, paparazzi at Metchley Park last night captured me successfully hurdle a 35cm railing, fuelling speculation that I may be making my steeplechase debut on my next outing.

Alternatively, breakfast time browsing through Alastair’s Runners World magazine unveiled a training programme for the time-pressed individual, which assuredly guarantees a “fast track to a 5k PB on under 90 minutes a week training.”  This is exciting, and I look forward to running sub-16 following the completion of this programme.

Runner's world guarantee of a 5k PB.

Every Horse Has His Day

Sometimes everything just falls into place. 

Six months of training culminated with Heat 2 of the Men’s 5,000m, the main event, in the centre piece of the 2012 year – Populous’s £486m Olympic Stadium.  Despite being equipped with Saucony’s Fastwitch 5, costing a mere 220 grams per foot, pre-event training had been poor, but with a boost of being drawn in the same event as former rival Steven Bayton, meaning that friends and family, and the 6,000 spectators only had to pay keen attention to one 12 ½ lapper.

The 5k was an aerobically challenging experience, with the primary aim being not to be lapped by the afore-mentioned man from Halifax.  Elated by achieving this aim by circa 15 metres, I scampered to finish the final two furlongs in a hasty 67 seconds, for a concious lifetime record of 16:14.

The Final Furlong (Video by Sarah Mac, pun by Alison Camp)

The following day was a delicious slab of icing on a delicious cake.  I only ever entered the 10,000m as a back up due to BUCS controversial entry procedure, but after a pizza and video evidence review, the decision was made: “why not?”  A late night ice bath and a few hours sleep preceded the 6:20am start, to race for the second time in 18 hours.

For the first 200m, I took up my customary place at the back of the field preparing myself for a long morning, but I moved swiftly through the ambition-starters, digging deep into the faulting limbs, for what in reflection, was the most effortlessly proficient display of running, tactics and elegance the stadium had seen [that morning].

My stadium record – for the second fastest 10,000m ever ran in that venue – was personified with a Ovett-style raised arm celebration reflecting the elation at smashing my PB by 18 seconds, in an event that I hadn’t ever planned to do 24 hours earlier.  How I dragged that performance out of tired legs, I will never know. 

Even superhero Bayton was impressed, failing to follow up his magnificent 5k PB the previous day with an identikit performance.

But not to be outdone, Sarah McCormack, livid at only making it onto the number three spot on my all time favourite athletes list, performed a championship highlight, rocketing home in 34:31, a genuine stadium record, and the opportunity to urinate into a small cup in front of total strangers.  She described it as “the perfect day”, and was rewarded by just under one square inch on page 15 of last weeks Athletics Weekly.

A BUCS Gold medal.  Maybe in another lifetime for me.