I’m now in full swing on the training program and things feel pretty good. Trusting the coached science and beginning to believe that I can do something good this year in terms of performance is a huge motivation.

As the winter has clung on it’s meant treadmills and turbo sessions which whilst never fun, are convenient. The challenge now is as the ‘long run’ Sunday increases in duration, the idea of running in wind and rain doesn’t fill me with joy. I convinced myself yesterday that 2 hours on the treadmill would not only ensure a consistent pace, but would build my mental fortitude.

It did….sort of. Set up with drinks and gels and pace set I ran pretty well for 90 minutes. Staring at a wall with a glimpse of car park through a window I plodded along merrily until someone got on the treadmill next to me. Sure I wasn’t putting in the pace but they could see I was 90 minutes in…they could see I was a hardened Ironman with neoprene veins and energy gel blood….no? Better put the pace up to at least match theirs then.


Like a competitive child I ramped my speed up by an extra 5% for a 5 minutes just to show I’m a great runner. I’m not. I’m sure that my gym nemesis couldn’t have given one iota of faeces let alone two as I ramped up to a full sprint for the last 5 before getting off sweating and stumbling over the step on the way out.

I didn’t do it to impress or show dominance or anything of that ilk. I did it because I think that deep down we’re all competitive. If you accept that then deep down we all now we can push a bit harder and sometimes it takes an external factor to trigger that neanderthal thought.

My only saving grace being I wasn’t wearing a vest, nor did I then go and pump iron whilst grunting and dropping weights so everyone can hear. So I’m either pushing myself harder daily (6 times a week plays into that camp or I’m something I really don’t want to be. A #gymdick.