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.

Breakfast bowl musings

5000m goal : 15:50

5000m PB : 16:29.9

5k SB (post-Sept 2011) : 17:36

There are few things I dislike more than someone using my breakfast bowl, but cross county isn’t one of them.  I love cross county.  Not in the minutes before the start, or during.  In those moments cross county and I merely tolerate each other with a mutual distain.  But I get a primal satisfaction from swaggering past people (not actually swaggering) up hills, and chalking off the blades of grass one after another.

This weekend saw me not only make my county championship debut, but also record my highest ever county championships finish.  A majestic six miles on a mild Solihull course saw me finish the 21^st loser in a performance that I can take enough encouragement from to suggest that I am nearing full fitness.  And while they will rightly claim that they have had better days, I take much satisfaction from finishing sandwiched (not literally) between two of BRAT Club’s finest disciples.

Despite me still not having my name to any distance running house leads yet, mainly because I am not yet brave enough to show myself on an accurately measured course, I still retain my 1m16 house triple jump lead, which has somehow survived the onslaught from housemates reenergised after their latest pregnancy scare.  It turned out that Ally was simply wearing a few more layers than he remembered Alison dressing him in.