Sounds of the Gun. And hear the word…GO

Commentary: “The race is underway and we have passed the first second….”
 

Focuses away from the track towards one individual runner

 

His thoughts

 

One: that is one marriage break-up I never thought would happen under the strain of this work. But, hey that’s the way it goes sometimes in that everything has ‘give’. Only in this case it was not the elastic in my shorts or the laces in my running shoes but my marriage. She was bored anyway, she just liked the body and not the idea of resting and travelling. She really wanted to shop and shop she did for another fella. He was not an athlete but would be able to satisfy when needed, and not have to show discipline when faced with a naked female. I have my doubts sometimes… but running for me was the most important thing and she was a second… hate to say it but yes.

 

“Two… It’s a fast race and the pack is strong.”

 

Two: that was the number of bones I broke in my foot in the last year. That last year was really tough on the marriage and me really. For her it was the last straw and it was not nice. I broke my bones moving her mother’s piano from her house to our new pad. It felt that I was blaming her and her music for turning me into a grumpy and irritable person. To be honest I was one anyway, but she liked the look of me and never really admitted that I was a difficult person until the end when it was so very clear to everybody connected with the idea of ‘us’. I was obsessive but that worked for me. It was what sometimes and often made the difference between me and the rest of the field. Like I said, running was important to me and will be for days like this.

However, a sports injury is psychologically tough for athletes to handle. It is a period of inactivity, which can result in depression, and the real lack of self-esteem that goes with it. I was no different and probably worse to be around. I got my confidence from winning and knowing I was good. I would feel good in myself that I was also doing something I knew I had a talent for. This was brought to a halt by my girlfriend and her piano. I resented her often for this, I wish in those periods she left me. She did not, she clung to me like baby. She said she loved me but I knew she was shallow. She liked being seen with me, and the glamour of being noticed was what she would have missed. I always knew that, I should have resented myself for having the weakness not to leave her when I knew the magic had started to wane.

 

“ Three… there is a slight edge for lane 4 from America.”

 

Of course Mr Focus of lane four was starting to edge ahead. It wasn’t always like this. The first time I ever faced him in a race he was a thin long bean and looked like he was running in the wrong distance. But in that first race he showed real talent. I beat him but only just, he came second but gave all the favoured ones including me at that time, a real scare. He was always a quiet person, maybe shy but often mistaken for arrogance. I mean he was not the most approachable of people,  I did try but he just seemed to sit there and make no real connection. There was not even a level of even trying from him. After three sentences I gave up and went to talk to my coach, who could hold a conversation. I thought that, maybe he could not speak English but he was American right?

 

I did not like the American boys that much. They always had a real expectation that they would be there or there abouts. I knew and everybody else from the circuit that they were always spoilt with the best training facilities and they best-looking girlfriends. They all looked like ‘barbie’ figures with the perfect figure and smile. My one abused me with her piano, no chance that would ever happen to them, at all. Boy I envied them all, even the bad ones, they did have a better existence than the rest of us. Mr Focus was edging ahead and he was a strong runner, no personality, but he had talent. Like me, this race was loaded for him, as it was for the rest of us. But we have all suffered in the name of the art of running. I had the story to tell, but only if I won would anyone be interested. No-one likes a loser, myself included, which was why I decided to up the pace.

 

“ Four… the outside lane for Great Britain is making a fight of it.”

 

Great Britain now that’s a story. My mother came from Trinidad and had a real problem in obtaining citizenship in the Mother country. Why they called it that god alone knows, would a mother treat you like an unwanted? Well actually some do don’t they? But really I would have got the message and really returned home. But my mother wanted to be here, She had a real attachment to England that I could not really understand. I was the first born and after my Dad disappeared was the only child she had. Being from a Black single mother and in London attending school was a very humbling experience. The stereotype of being a problem was always there. I had three fights but apparently they were all my fault. Indeed they were in retaliation but since I was from a non-nuclear family and despite the concept of racism being accepted, it was my fault and the result of poor mothering from the backward country. Some assumption from the motherland that was!

 

However, although I would hate to say that I rised to the stereotype, one did indeed work for me. They looked at me when I was showing a real physique, and got me a trial. They had never, ever shown me much attention before that. However, after the first race I received plenty. I guess it was a nice experience as well. I kind of enjoyed it. It was good to be acknowledged for something that I found easy. But my mother called it talent. I mean, talent at running whatever next, talent for walking? But, I knew I was fast and won many races at district and county level. The national competitions were where I learnt to run in the professional sense, since to win those was not always easy. However, running for Great Britain after the experience my mother and I had had, was not something I was ever comfortable with.

 

“ Five seconds… its shaping up to being between Great Britain and America…”

 

The mid distance, and this was the race that was seen as the ‘peak’ of my career. However, it did not feel like it at all. I had injury after injury after the piano folly. The foot never really healed properly at all. It did feel like it never would. I would come back to full fitness and the foot would break down again at some stage. It was a real problem. One year of injury and surgery and that still could not guarantee that I would be able to run with any level of consistency. It was difficult to develop any rhythm in my running at all. Even in the build up to these games it was a problem, but here in this tournament I had been able to last the heats; the semis and now it appeared this race. I was really feeling physically good. But I have had this feeling before. It made me nervous just thinking about it.

 

“ Six seconds and Trindad and Tobago is staring to emerge in the race in lane 8…”

 

Boy this was turning into some race indeed. Trinidad and Tobago? I considered running for them but I felt not really that much akin to the country when I visited. They treated me like a foreigner and sometimes worse. I felt like I was treated like a traitor to the country and I was just rubbing their noses in it by coming back and spending money. Also,I knew the competition for places to compete was tougher than in Britain, it was obviously poorer and therefore would only send people who they would not regret sending. Britain on the other hand was the land of opportunity. It was not a hard choice for me but something I considered only because the country I belonged to made me feel like it did not want me before I started running. Really I knew despite the problems with identity and stereotyping I have experienced, Britain was my home. I could not run for any other. It would be to say the least  ‘odd’.

 

“ Seven seconds and a pack of three are breaking away from the rest…”

 

This was a fast race indeed and I started to feel the pain in my legs and more importantly in my foot. I really did not want to come undone now. There had been too much pain and heartache for this to even be a possibility. I needed to dig in and find that inner strength and stamina. I was running well, despite the outside lane and running in an unfocussed way I knew that I was moving smoothly and felt Mr Focus near me. I knew I had a chance and it needed everything I had. The last time I did this and ‘dug in’ was playing football at school and we where one-nil up against the league leaders, surprisingly so, it had to be said. I was marking the play-maker. He was excellent, and had stamina to go the full ninety minutes, I knew that I did not. But I dug in and came through. We won but I never played again, as I could not walk for three days and missed the first races of the season that year. I never made the county team as a result. I knew to play football would be detrimental at what I was really good at. But it taught me the concept of ‘digging in’ could I do it?

 

“ Eight seconds and the medal positions at looking clear but who has what,  is not at all…”

 

This was a strain but it was all I knew I could do since I was young. I did not show any talent at all in anything else really apart from art. I did my A level only because the girl I had a crush on was doing it as well. I did not realise I could draw until then. But give me a naked body with creases and I can pick out the shadowing and texture of it and illustrate this well in a drawing. But it was relaxing, and the girl became my girlfriend for a few months but she was cerebral and wanted to talk politics all the time. I wanted to do something else, especially when I was with her. She became bored of me, and my art career finished there and then.

 

“ Nine seconds it soooo close but Great Britain is there.”

 

The dip… remember the all important dip. It can make the difference in almost any race. I remember Toronto, Sheffield, London, and now here. It made me the winner when things were always close. It was the one thing in running I had mastered in time and pose. I needed to use it here. I had given everything, this was going to be a photo finish and I had to make good.

 

“ nine piont nine five with a photo finish… well it could be anybody’s really”

 

Yes indeed… it could be but lets hope my dip was enough. I need to look at the finish again, but the foot did not give. Was it all worth it? Under ten seconds this season first time for me and for Mr Focus. I guess it was. 

Lane Four

 

Hear the fire of the gun…

 

Commentator: “ And they’re off…a good start from the runners.. it’s going to be close.”

 

The start was good I think I am in the pack as it were. This is obviously a very tough race and one I needed to experience. It has not been easy at all. The injuries, the death of my coach and the problem with that dodgy urine sample all did not help ( I am sure it wasn’t mine). The media were calling this race my rehabilitation but I knew it was more than that. I would have been one of the favourites but the ban and the depression kept me back. It was not easy.

 

“ You’re sample has come back with something in it.”

 

My coach said and that was the hammer blow. The same feeling I guess I had when I heard my mother was terminally ill with cancer and was going to die. It was a numbness that took over me…it was familiar but I was powerless to fight against it. I took three months to recover from. It was a real problem.

 

“ What does that mean in real terms. I have not taken anything. What the hell was it?”

 

“ Don’t know until we get the tests back though. But I will check.”

 

“ Can I still run in the meantime?”

 

But I knew the answer to that. It was out of desperation that I asked that question really. But I was desperate then. It was my life and the only thing I knew how to do really. The pain I was feeling was it was being taken away from me. It hurt worse than anything.

 

I was banned for three years after they found something that was linked to steroids. I never knowingly took anything to enhance my performance but that was it for me. I had the right to appeal but that would be personally, asking a lot from me. I had stamina but only for running and not for facing one of life’s crisis.

 

But crisis it was. I became very depressed. So depressed and withdrawn that my cousins and girlfriend did not want to be around me. Infact the last act of kindness from my girlfriend was an appointment with the GP for treating my depression, before she left me with a Dear John letter and pissed off never to be seen again. I wonder what she is doing now? Ah… what am I thinking?

 

“ Mr Fareel… what seems to be the problem? It’s the drug scandal isn’t it? Tell me what the problem is…”

 

I started to cry. I mean I didn’t know where to start. If he had not asked me an open question I would have (maybe) not have cried so embarrassingly. But I did, after two minutes I sort of composed myself and explained what was going on.

 

“ Depression … maybe a low lying one at that and I will start you on a short course of SSRI treatment.”

 

Well I did not know what he was talking about but had only one question.

 

“ Will it make me feel better?”

 

“ I hope so… see me again in three weeks.”

 

I took the tablets and I did start to feel better after three weeks. Not a sea change in my mood but a little bit better. I decided to try and break out of this feeling and started jogging. This got me out and I started to get fit again. I also noticed that it was important for me to get out and into the outside world. It sometimes became too scary to step out into if you spend all day indoors. Also in the autumn the colours in the park are so beautiful. It does remind oneself’s that to be alive and experience such things is indeed worth it.

 

I called my coach and informed him that I was in treatment for depression and it was working well. I had started to run again and was losing weight and getting fitter. He seemed happy for me and we aimed for a date that I would come down to the track and start running and training. This was important for me and the idea of getting to see a way out was indeed important.

 

*          *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *         

 

Commentator

 

“ It’s the half-way stage and Great Britain and America and the pack are still sooo close.”

 

I was still in there, and this was good form. I knew I could do it.

 

*          *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *

 

“Hi coach… I here and fit and injury free. What’s the plan?”

 

He smiled at me in one of those kind and considered smiles I associated with my Dad.

 

“ Look… since you have been away….”

 

Well, another crisis. What else could possibility go wrong now? He was ill and had developed bowel cancer and was not long for this world. He was given one year at best. My ban was for another more year. He would do what he can but it was unfair he felt to coach me like in the old days. Anyway he was winding down now. This was all I needed to take the wind from under my feet again. But importantly I did not retire into the space I had come from. It was the words he said to me which challenged my behaviour and natural instinct to crawl under a stone.

 

“ You have never let me down…but you have let yourself and your talent down. You are a great runner, but you need to believe it and run like you are a winner, especially now. They will all want you to fall… show the strength and stamina you have physically in your mindset. That’s were you can improve. It would be wonderful to see. “

 

Great words but the fact that he gave me so much and wanted to see me running again was indeed the focus and goal I needed to avoid the pitfall of moving back. I had a year and I trained every single day, even over Christmas I was out there running through the park. I wish he could see me run sooner, as I was feeling great now, and getting better all the time. I was also experiencing a new focus, which gave me stamina to run further. Was my mindset changing or was it the drugs, I hope anti-depressants have no hint of steroid in them?

 

The first National race was in Sheffield. It was a strong line up and we where all in the final that could have been predicted before the trial and event began. It was a race where I had surprised a few people. I had been out for years. I was supposed to be out of shape but here I was. I knew the new skills and strength I had found was not physical but mental. My attitude was so focussed on the race and remembering the words of my former coach that it made the nerves I used to feel before a race fade away. It was excellent to experience this focus and what it did to my running and I was not going to let it go.

 

But it had to be said, I struggled in that race, as it was so fast I was really pushing myself to get into the pack to stand a chance of qualifying. The fact that I was in with a real chance to qualify after being out for so long was something really. But despite my new found mental strength, my physical shape was not the greatest and despite me feeling good, I knew I could be in better shape. Infact judging by the Sheffield race it was fourth best, but I had made the national team and this was so important. The relief was like a watershed, and for the first time in years since I was eight and hurt by leg, and of course the GP, I started to cry in public. It was a relief and I felt I was back to where I was and belonged.  Infact the tears just kept coming and coming, and I was worried I might de-hydrate. But I did not care. Even though I was crying I felt great.

 

Coming into this race was different. It was a bigger international field and the semi-finals were the hardest race I had run so far. There was not much difference in the field and we had all run similar Personal Bests this year. It was going to be how you felt on the day, and how you ran. I ran like the wind, but that only got be into second place and therefore the fourth lane. Not ideal but off the running pack and near Mr Focus the ‘Hot’ favourite. He looked so mean and powerful, but for once he did not intimidate me.

 

“ Remember the race is won in the latter stages in your mind. It is that extra ten percent which can and does make all the difference. Physically you are in the best shape, you cannot get any better, but your mindset was always something I thought could be improved. Not now, I feel you have it.”

 

He said that before he was admitted into hospital. That was to be his last admission as he never came out. Those words were banging around my brain right now. It was the confidence boost I needed, he had that knack of saying the right thing before an important race. It was the last piece of advice he gave me but it was the one that meant the most. I felt like a winner now and felt I had a real chance.

 

“ Remember no-one expects you in the final.”  

 

*          *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *

 

 Yes of course coach but here I was in the thick of it. I glanced across. I was in the pack I had a chance.

 

Commentator

 

“ Well…well well…. What a race and a whisker will define the winner and the person in sixth place. It was so close. Six people under ten seconds…… a photo finish…..

 

Yes it was close…Fingers crossed luck was on my side and my coach in spirit.    

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reduction : Jeff Fernandez: jfernandez@nhs.net

 

 

It isn’t often that this happens to me…

 

Voice over the loud speaker

 

“ Get ready and in order we are going to the track. Single file now.”

 

We all stand up and get into line some smiling, others not looking at anything at all but ahead. I catch one in the path of my vision. I feel cold and shiver. It this what they call focus? Boy.

 

Voice on the loud speaker

 

“ Right in single file and order… out we go”

 

It’s a very warm night. They say it is ideal conditions for this to happen but it should not matter. There is always hyperbole and media hype in anything of any interest now. If it is not on the television the websites will pedal it and drive some interest from somewhere. In this world there was always someone who is, particular this type of competition.

 

Official

 

“ It is 8.36 in four minutes the event will start. You will receive a countdown and on the sound of the gun firing, you will start. Not before. In the event of two false starts you will be dis-qualified.”

 

We all knew the score and all looked nervously at each other except for Mr Focus who stared clearly ahead. I would hate to be his girlfriend, or boyfriend for that matter remembering we are in the 21st Century and over trivial things like that. Yes the modern world …of course we are.

 

I take my place on the inside three lanes from the outside left. If only I had found my ‘kick’ in the last third I would be in the middle next to Mr Focus. I needed to be there, but when I tried my ‘kick’ wasn’t there. It had vanished ever since four months ago, it came back in England two weeks ago, but it was hard to make consistent. But I was here, and I needed to focus on that. I still had a chance to come good.  Here I was twenty-two years of age on the inside lanes off the chasing pack in the race my life had come to be built around. I remember the journey.

 

*          *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *

 

“ Hi you’re Nathan aren’t you? Heard a lot about you from the other officers at the site. This is a trial to see if we can help you achieve something in the sport.”

 

I remember his voice as clear as the day we first met. It was him that had the greatest influence on me then when I had come out of the borstal home into the real world. He was special and really, I would not have been in borstal if it were not for Leggy Arnold being so bad at theft and really freezing in front of his aunt in Woolworths. Borstal for stealing chocolate from Woolworths or that is how it seems to my mother before the court date. I had ‘previous’ and she was unaware of that and this really shocked her into not talking to me until I left the borstal. I was really sorry, and the look on her face in court hearing my previous, I will never forget.

 

But I had to make amends really. I found something inside. Ironic really, I spend most of my life screwing around and being crap, but when faced with real authority I really became focused. I don’t know why really. I felt protected and focused when I was inside with the time I needed, to think, because in many aspects, I probably did not think enough.

 

Anyway I had shown an aptitude, if that is what you call it, to run. I was always a fast runner, as the local police would say. Always out sprinting the others in the year of my school, but I never focused on sports at all really. Never on anything until the look on my mother’s face changed me. Not that I am saying that borstal is a good thing, but probably for drifters in the mind like me, who have never developed the mindset of reflection, it is a good thing really.

 

I started to run and then discovered as the race’s progressed in size and crowds, that there was more to running than just running if you catch my drift. The first National Trials was where I developed an understanding of how powerful the mind is in some areas. It was in the Sheffield Arena that I first felt some anxiety about what I had in terms of talent. There were really ‘big’ guys in the field. As we were all led out for the first time, I was intimated and I froze a little. But on other occasions when this happened I always found enough from somewhere to get in front. I remembered this and tried to re-assure myself. But it did not happen for me in that race. I came last and was embarrassed for myself as well as my coach. My mother was in the crowd and she looked happy still, I figured that this was because I was somewhere where I could be seen, I suppose. But for me this was a bitter experience and one where I learnt that running is something that needs to be worked on and learnt, to compete at the highest level. The slightest weakness and that was it really. You were a goner and would be left behind the winning pack. 

 

I remembered my mindset and really worked on this in the post Sheffield sessions. It was there that I learnt to appreciate the science of running and how it could be improved. There was my start, the posture the angle of my legs was important. At the top races I learnt that even this could affect my race-time my 0.05 of a second. Not much time in the whole scheme of things but in a race, very important. It did have an impact in the county races that before I sometimes struggled to win. Now I was winning easily just from focusing upon my start. Wow, I thought, what else? My coach told me everything. I thought at first, he was joking. If only …

 
The start, the first paces that could be extended and then, the middle. This was where the whole body can be focused upon. The pumping actions of the arms are important as well as the rhythm this has with the movement of my legs. The head needed to be straight and not moving around so much. All so silly it seemed at first but, that humiliation in Sheffield haunted me into focusing on everything and anything to not repeat the experience. Then there was the focus on the final straight and the all-important dip. It was important to reduce your shape so as to have a compact body passing the finishing line. It was important in the photo finishes that sometimes happened, that this ‘reduction’ took place. I found this a difficult technique to learn. Indeed in my racing life up until Sheffield, it was never necessary. But all the things I had learnt from the science of running were now there. It had improved my performances and was now giving me good times that were along side my peers in the national team. Infact some of the times I had achieved were better. This gave me confidence in thinking that I could do it. I would not be intimated again and should be able to stand with those prime athletes and believe that I belonged there.
 
Before Sheffield I never knew quite how powerful the mindset was and the difference it can make when there is a cigarette paper or 0.005 of a second between being a winner and a loser. It is important to have confidence in sport always. I knew and felt that I recognized its importance now. Not before, but really this was always going to be a learning curve for me. Talent alone can only take you so far and it is attitude and application at times that really make the different. Oh… and of course confidence going into ‘Big’ races. This gives you the all-important belief.
 
It was a long and hard year learning this, but with every adaptation to my racing technique and the confidence this instilled in me will give me a real chance to make it in the repeat Nationals in Sheffield. I always knew that I would make it. All sportsmen and teams say it is important to get into a consistent run of winning. This can give you a rhythm and mindset which can make you gain that extra yard. I was going well and winning all the county championships and the national events I was called as a guest. But the unexpected happened and the stuff learning curve of learning to cope and recover from injury.
 
It was a hamstring tear and it needed complete rest. This was a problem, my mindset collapsed and I started to comfort eat what I thought was a way out of it. Therefore two months and a stone and a half later, there was I in a tracksuit again (Actually one size bigger). I felt that I had to start again. I did not believe I could do it… But my mother visited me on the trackside and said some comforting words of wisdom…
 
“ I have seen you before son… run like the wind … you have the talent and talent is always there just look for it again.”
 
 I had never heard her speak like this but it touched a nerve. It seemed she believed in what she saw, and in that, my talent. No doubt I had worked hard, but this gave me some belief back. My coach thought to compete in Sheffield this year would be bad for me psychologically, especially after my injury being so near. However, those words from my mother and my belief in my talent needed to take me as far as I could.
 
 
 
Official
 
“ Get ready and in position…”
 
We stood above our starting blocks but my mind had focused now and on thinking about the journey to get here in the final of the nationals gave me certain grit to my belief. Would this be enough? I am sure it will make a difference. I was not the frightened little lamb that I was last year. I knew that. I knew I had talent, and even my coach and mother knew that.
 
I remember the great man Ali, a champion in his time, saying that he would always enter the ring in the belief that he would win. This he always felt, and other guys mistook this for arrogance and aloofness. It was not, but it clearly intimidated his opponents and I looked to Mr Focus. Was he like that? Did he really believe that he was the winner already? Is it that simple? Well it can be for some people and those who win all the time seem to make it all look so easy.
 

Official

“ Move forward to your starting positions please…”

 

I moved into the blocks. The lane seemed very far away from Mr Focus who was in the middle lane. He ran the fastest times in qualifying and won the semi-final I was in. I came into the final as the best runner up. I had the times in the season to beat him easily but I was recovering still. When was this talent going to emerge and triumph?

 

“ You don’t just need talent but belief and belief in yourself is a very huge factor, in getting to that byline before anyone else. To first get there you have to believe that you can get there. Understand me?”

 

Good words and one from a person who had been a winner himself and was now my coach. He believed and my mother believed and now I was starting to believe.

 

Official

 

“ Get ready… On your marks….”

 

There is only one shot at this now. A whole year of learning, pain and advice reduced to ten seconds or less.

 

“ Get set…”

 

Here’s hoping it’s going to be less. Of course…now I know it will be.

 

“ Go…”

 

Sound of the crowd and commentary… and then fade…

 

The end.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

MR FOCUS:

Jeff.Fernandez@islingtonpct.nhs.uk

 

 

Mr Focus… yes that’s what they call me. But to hell with them who are they to make fun of  me in that way really. I have struggled to get here, more than anybody does, really I have. They have all had the coaching and parental support and consent. I never had these and it looks like I never will.

 

*                                  *                                  *                                  *                      *         

 

“ Come on son… you need to come with us.”

 

He was a kind man and smiled in a very sympathetic way. He put his arm on my shoulder, and I must admit is felt re-assuring then. He passed me through a whole lot of people before he but me into the van which was going to the station.

 

“ I know this is a grave situation son… really you never really know what can happen. But after you start to feel better we really need to talk to you.”

 

I knew that was coming, but bollocks…I was only ten years old and now had no-one.

 

“ Did you think she was depressed at all.”

 

“ …Who?” I replied, knowing what he meant but really unable to focus.

 

“ Your mother…was she ever depressed at all as far as you know?”

 

“ I never knew really she was always high on something or other with many people in the house.”

 

“ Did she ever use drugs in front of you?”

 

“ I guess yes and I saw her once but she said it was insulin.”

 

The man turned to his colleague and asked

 

“ Did social services know of this situation?”

 

“No…”

 

“ What a cock-up. Another life lost and another life let down.”

 

I remember it all so vividly. I guess something like that will never leave you and never be resolved. I have tried myself, in my own head to make some sense from this but to be honest, I cannot. It all seems too heavy. I tried with the professionals and their CBT stuff. All it did was cause me pain. However despite my childhood making me a miserable bastard, I found an outlet where it could work for me and give me that edge. It was running.

 

I mean life in the care home was not something I really wanted for myself. There were some real bullies at that place, I had my fair share of ‘kickings’ from the wardens and the kids. However, I started to gain respect and a physique from racing. I was instantly good at it. It really got me noticed by PE teachers and the club coaches in the sport.

 

I was getting older and more powerful. My sport had taught me to eat the right foods and to be really organised as well, in terms of training and building up my strength, weight and muscle. This gave me an air of power and the bullies started to stay away from me, and some even came to watch me infact. Still, it did not seem to be that important, as the running and the winning started to compensate for the pain I had felt since that incident which took my mum from me. The admiration I received from the people who watched me and the coaches behind me, helped to ease it at certain moments. It was the only thing that did really. Like a drug, like my mother, I craved it more and more and this gave me the drive to win. Ironic that success and happiness are really build out of pain and suffering. I know that is not always the case, but for me that was the truth.     

 

It was hard to get along with the other athletes as they seemed so different with different experiences of life. They had families who would come and see them, and take an interest it all of the things they achieved. I had none of that. I felt so unloved sometimes it made me really distant from the others. Although I knew I had to get along with people there were so few people I got on well with really. Those people had known me the longest and from the ‘home’. They had damaged lives the same way I did, there was definitely a connection with them. For the other athletes talking about their girlfriends and their families was hard for me to hear`. All I could translate from these conversations was the pain I had by being denied these simple things. I felt hurt by it all, it was not my fault my mother ended her life, but I had anger at that. However, I challenged this anger into my running. I was so unbeatable this season because of it. My coach was starting to worry.

 

“ Hey…as long as you are running, it is a use for you…but what about when you cannot run anymore? What will become of the pain then?"

 

I knew he had a point. I was worried that it would eat my personality up and rewrite it into a self-destructive type. I knew at that point in my life, proper counselling will probably help then. I will be older and more mature in my reflection to think of a way out from the pain. It also scared me sometimes, as it resembled a vacuum and it feel like it was sucking out my soul.

 

“ Bad things happen… it is how you deal with them which defines a person.”

 

My coach was wise and a good mentor for me. He had the knack of teaching me how to run, as it is harder than it looks… take my word on that. Also he had a knack with words. Sometimes calming, sometimes highly inspirational. I knew that was why I stayed with him, he seemed to be one of the most consistent people in my life and really looking out for me. I know for him there have been some difficult situations for him to work out but really. I ran for him as he had my respect as well as for myself.

 

Tannoy 

Voice over the loud speaker

 

“ Get ready and in order we are going to the track. Single file now.”

 

It’s the call. This is the final and it is always a position I find a problem. There is so much nervous tension out on the waiting area, I am not sure why no-one has ever started crying, I mean you can also touch the emotion in the area itself. But I must not let that get to me. From previous races at the start of my career, this feeling was so hard to deal with it badly affected my racing. Like I said, my coach was an inspiration to me, he told be to channel and focus on the real reasons I was there, in the final. It was because I had the making of a champion and at this level 0.05 of a second can make or break a champion. I had to focus and orientate myself to what I needed in terms of motivation. I tapped into my pain, it always worked for me to give me that little extra. It made me so absorbed in thought, that I never heard anyone speak to me before races. They thought this was aloof behaviour, but most of this field in front of me had been bitten by my reason for focussing that now they never came near me.  I never really liked any of them anyway. So no loss there, then.

 

Voice on the loud speaker

 

“ Right in single file and order… out we go”

 

This is the moment I have worked for all year. It is the true champion who can handle this pressure and this make the race work out and be in a real winning position at the end. This was being televised across the world and in effect, being in the final had made this whole field into mini celebrities. Some warmed to this more than others, I was a distant, cold type and always referred to as the professional.

 

I was never one for the celebrity circuit or even the talk shows that were starting to become far more frequent that I wanted really. Most of the runners here apart from the odd few had been on the sports shows preceding the games and this final. This race was the ‘big’ one and although there were the obvious favourites, again anything can happen. The second favourite picked up an injury in the heats and had to retire. The fifth favourite failed in the semi-finals. There are two new runners in their first finals as we line up. That always makes me more nervous. New runners at this stage of the race are an unknown quantity and the surprise medal positions are always disturbed by this alone.

 
I had my motivation though and it had served me well so far this year. I was the favourite and had won every race this year except one. That was the foot injury guy, yes.. him lining up in the fifth lane who beat me but that was by a whisker. I think its his ‘dip’ which I do admire really. Excellent talent but injury prone…something about his ex-girlfriend and fridge I think broke his foot. Well…whatever, I will not fail this time and I had taken a few tips off him and perfected my dip. If I needed this in the race and it was close, I knew what I had to do.
 

Official

 

“ It is 8.36 in four minutes the event will start. You will receive a countdown and on the sound of the gun firing, you will start, not before. In the event of two false starts you will be dis-qualified.”

 

Of course I had to be more aware of that then most. Sometimes when I let the atmosphere get to me I seem to really jump the gun and let my timing slip. I had had one false start this season, it ruined my start when I did finally start running and the foot guy won. At this level it is the little things that cost you.

 

“ Relax… be confident in your own ability. You are a champion and that in itself to look at in the flesh is intimidating for the other races. In terms of psychology, you create more problems for other runners that they create for you. Always remember that.”

 

I started to repeat this again and again in my head. It seemed to calm me and I stared straight down the track. Running and winning had given me something that made sense of the pain I had before. It eased my suffering and made me use the bad karma in me, as a positive. This race was for my mother, God rest her sole. My coach, the only man who really stuck by me over the eight years and has made me move from a boy with talent to a man. However, this race and winning the thing was more importantly, for me.

 

Official

 

“On your marks….get set…..Go

 

Hear the fire of the gun and the running commentary.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Five: Back on Track 

Having travelled the world over I am very lucky that I have been good at running and able to take advantage of the fact that the sport can give you many, many breaks. I have been to Kenya, America and Australia and in all theses countries I have been invited to live and train with the best and I have been truly privileged to have done so.

 
I did learn the hard way. Training with the best whilst useful can often be lonely. No-one really wants to give away their own secret, superstitions or rituals before they race. Like it is often said, at the highest level the difference between winning and losing is small. I mean Mr Focus and Mr injury were in America and they were pleasant enough and we sort of hung around sometimes off the circuit, but in training and completing shuttle runs, there was no let up from these guys. They were so competitive, they wanted to win everything. If you ran it they wanted to win it, I mean If they ran a bath they would think of something competitive about it to turn this mundane task into something worth fighting for, in fact almost something to fight about. That was important in a runner, but I never had that urge or willingness to prove myself. I was an introvert and really wanted the real talent to always win the races. Not the anger or the greed or the sheer bloody mindlessness to win through. I was a purist and therefore often referred in coaches I have had as naive and out dated. But one had to have principles surely?
 
In America I had discovered many things and drugs and girls were some of things that were always there. But the drugs seemed to always attract me. It was curiosity at first and I knew it was going to be ‘bad’ but I thought I could handle it. I was different right? I had a fit body that was in top physical shape; nothing could hurt me that much right?
 
*          *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *         
 
“ It was then I had to admit to myself that I had a problem.”
 
Yes, there I was in my seven rehab placement. Drugs were a bummer really and in many respects summed up all that is wrong about consumer culture. For the very great high drug give you the ‘come down’ lasts so long and it is never really remembered. You go again for that cheap and nasty ‘high’. And again, and again. It takes so long to wake up that the majority of time on drug is shit, but that’s what we all think.  If I buy this or that I will feel better, consumer culture right? Drugs illustrate this so clearly for me now.
 
However it was in my seventh rehab that I was key-worked by a worker who seemed to always say though provoking things to me. It seemed to challenge my laissez-faire attitude of ‘ Hey there is always tomorrow and I am young….’
 
“You need to discover a different motivation. There must have been something that gave you that ‘rush’ you know… that would not have been so self-destructive.”
 
At first I thought what a twat. But it did make me think about what changed me and gave me opportunities. It was running, but when the time came to train with the ‘real’ runners I had come to see running as a chore. It was earlier that I really focussed and got something out of running. I knew it was one of the few talents I had that would enable me to escape poverty. That was my motivation initially, but the attention and respect I gained from racing was also so good and a real motivator. But in rehab I was nowhere near that sort of shape and I had lost the urge to show my talent, as being fast was not enough, you had to want it more. That made a winner they said. I was never going to be that. 
 
“ You can always come here again and again, but really those people who are multiple admissions are not trying to stop for themselves. They are only trying to appease the parents. You can tell them always. Not sure about you though? But this is your seventh time?”
 

He sort of knew that I was not really doing it for sure but, I certainly was not doing it for my parents. They were long gone from this world. The area I escaped was not a place that was known for people to live long and prosper. I escaped with my parents blessings. I was not doing it for them. I was really wasting time. But in that time I realised I was also wasting my life. That was not good. I was one of a crop of top athletes six years ago. I was twenty-seven now and I looked like shit. I had the body of a person built for fast consumer culture based on crack and a big Mac. The one thing I needed was to stop wasting time and find the motivation that I had years ago. It was that feeling that had somewhat become lost, and I needed to regain it. He definitely had a way with words and me and I thank him for that, because he kick started me again. He really made me ‘ME’ again.

 
*          *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *         
 
“ Get ready to start and enter into the blocks now please…”
 
This was it. Here was I the rank outsider who everybody wrote off as the comeback that would fade and die. I was too old, too out of shape and did not have enough time to train and run to really give myself a chance. This was being debated in the media and off the track I know that. But it was true. I was not in the best shape and I could have done with more altitude training to get those red cells in motion. No epthyropitien for me now that it was a banned substance. But here I was in the final with the Big boys and some of them I still knew and they were only a few years younger than me. But it had to be said Mr Focus had really filled out and looked every inch a running machine.
 
*          *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *                     
 
“ Remember you get one chance… you’re a runner right? You know that to make your mark in races you only get a few chances to get it right. You may slip up …run the wrong race and even be unfit. But you train to get it all right once. That time makes all the other pains and near misses worth it. You understand that right?”
 
Again the guy got me again. I remember that conversation where this statement emerged was the turning point for me, that’s for sure. I actually thought he must have been a runner or sportsman of some sort to mention this. Dare I say it that showed some real insight. Boy How I hated that word now, all ‘rehabed’ out of me.
 
“ You can still aim for it or whatever you want but that motivation and ‘spark’ need to be there. But it will not be the same, instead of it being a adrenaline rush you need to be in control of it. Not it in control of you. That is the objective stance that rehab will teach you. While the feeling will be the same, it will be more useful to you that way?”
 
Yes well this was starting to make sense to me now. I guess the seventh time of doing this I feel the penny was always going to drop. But that was exactly the point. The running was so important and made me feel alive, but I could not control that ‘feel god’ factor. Now maybe I could. But it had to be said what was Rehab guy reading? How did he know what to say? 
 
*          *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *         
 
“ Get ready….”
 
I knew that this was a good position for me now. I was never expected to make to the final. I knew that a good performance was to get through the heats at least. But there was something different about me now.
 
My shape was not the best and I have looked better I know that. But I trained hard and even though I was really pushing myself my physical frame was still good. I had height and was always good at moving my body fast. I had also experience of how to run a good race. A quick break from the blocks, a steady pace keeping with the ‘pack’ then the final push and dip for the finishing line. All that got me here. Also importantly I had no coach, as one would not really work with a real drug dependent athlete. Steroids were Class D drugs as far as athletes were concerned and one could forgive that. But crack I found to my detriment was in a different league. I had Rehab guy to talk to though and while he was not a coach he was a really effective motivator for me and that was important in getting me back on the track. He was too embarrassed to be here, but I had regular telephone contact with him.  
 
“ Remember the journey you have had in getting back there. Remember what you have learnt and the most important thing is a rational ability and the idea of being in control of your emotions is paramount.”
 
It was, especially walking through to the track with theses guys. They looked at me with distain and that would have got my emotions running. But I was different now. I had a rational ability to deconstruct my anxiety and focus it into a more constructive way. It was useful in the semi-finals and it will be here.
 
“ Get set… “
I hope this is a new beginning for me really as that’s how I see it. I have come back from a place where some people never escape. I have come from that place determined never to go back. Being in the final makes that feeling stronger and I feel more confident in that. I am in the final and not in my best shape. Surely things can only get better? I hope so. But the difference in me was psychological. I had lost so much and regained it and the journey back was painful. I wanted this now. I finally realised I had the hunger and desire of a winner, that competitive spirit. Would it be enough? Would I emerge a winner?
 
“ Go…”
 
Getting to the final I guess I had won already, anything else would be a bonus. Best not to be too greedy. Been there and done that.    
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Escape

This was more than just being here in the final. Running is what these guys always aspired to and it was central to themselves. For me it was an escape from a place where I did not want to be and never want to go back to. It was something nearly every desperate child tried to do was to escape the trapping of poverty. In the economics of Galbraith, poverty leaves you with limited choice. But in my case there was only one choice and that was to be the best at running in the county. I had to be ruthless and friendships were always hard to nurture and sustain with so much at stake. There were so many people and children attempting anything in desperation. I mean some of these runners here do not know what a privileged lifestyle they have had. What problems could any of theses have had.

 
I left my brother to rot in my disastrous country, run by crooks who said they were politicians and there for the people. Sometimes the concept of democracy needs to evolve and not put on people who are not equipped with the basic skills of reading and writing therefore able to make an informed choice. The west always under estimated this and in its pious attempt to better things its arrogance and lack of understanding just in many cases made things worse. There have never learned from Vietnam to Iraq, the same mistakes were always repeated. Africa has died a thousands times under there politics and there idea of a western democracy being for the good of the people. It took Britian thousands of years for this to evolve in their country. Do they really think it was applicable to the West coast of Africa? Honestly, it made to shudder to think of it. My brother was in the resistance army. They had a lifespan of two years so I guess his time was nearly up. He was always the brighter one but not as physically developed as me. He was such a support to me in many dark moments in our childhood, I hated to think of him suffering. It was so painful for me to leave him, but if I did not go I would not have know any of this. I would not have realised I was a world-class athlete. He always said it would be worth it, and if that meant leaving him behind then so be it. 
 
“ Look there are the county races in the capital. You need to get there. Do not think too much about how I will figure that out. There will b coaches from America there and you can get your break. You know… your chance to escape. You have something special you know. If you stay here it will rot like the corpses in the street we see everyday.”
 
I felt bad though. I did not want to leave him. He was the only family I had and to lost him… well I do not think I would ever be able to cope. But he was making the noble sacrifice of giving me a chance. He knew he was not as good a runner as me. I was always winning, even when I was thinking about snipers in the crowd, I won easily most of the time. This was even though the competition for a scholarship abroad was fierce. It must have been a talent bestowed upon me.
 
It has to be mentioned that my focus on running did not become close to one hundred percent until I started to train in the United States, via South Africa. I could not run for South Africa because I was never made t feel welcome. I was the wrong shade of colour for them to fully accept me. It was post-aparthied but some people carry the concept in their mind until they die, despite the political changes. I knew this and it was a very naked concept in the ‘New’ South Africa. It was in the land of the free, free to be as rich as you can and free to feel as hungry, ill and abused as possible if you are a loser. Having no welfare state in the European sense was the main motivator for this race of self-deluded human beings.
 
But there was less ‘attitude’ towards me because of my background. The fact that a population of growingly assertive African Americans were the majority in sports colleges was a help. They knew about suffering and hand some connection with be being an African. This helped me run better. I have been given an escape and felt so good to be running and not thinking who is out in the crowd and not part of the resistance. At times my mind really did feel at rest. But at times the pains of guilt and who I had left behind came to haunt my mind. What was he doing now? Was he still alive? What could I do for him? Could I get him here?
 
I did inquire at the embassy but they told me to forget him. If I did not hear from him after one year I should assume that he was dead. Really… what good advice I worried even more. But in that time I did hear from him. I received a letter on the 18th May and this was just before the National College championships. I felt so relieved and in the final I ran without any worries for the first and maybe last time. I won and became the one to beat after that. I broke a record in that race and I figured that part of running and winning at the top level was all in the mind. But to let my brother go was too difficult.
 
That was the last I heard from him. It is now eighteen months since that letter and the race with fear, as I remember it. But I suppose the country I left is still in the middle of civil war. No-one has sustained peace in the region. The United Nations did try but lost so many men it became unsustainable. The French tried; as it was a former colony but they too suffered too many loses. It was a quagmire of human hatred and lies that nobody knew how to let go. That’s why its still there and in the times of peace are but moments. But those moments still give you hope. Well if you are a fool that is.  
 
However, I was here and in the final. I knew deep down that my brother was not alive now. The lifespan in the resistance as mentioned is short, just above the life-span of the butterfly I think? Anyway that realisation had distracted me throughout. I just scraped through to this final but I was in emotional pain. I could not focus. He sacrificed everything for me, I knew I should but that energy into a positive light but somehow I could not.
 
There was to opinion of the coaching staff at college. They normally said that the only thing holding me back was me. Not clever but obvious, but did they not understand the situation in my country? I could not just switch that off really. But it was something that I knew was different. Before in Sfrica every though my mind was not completely focused I always won. Here it was different, in that the athletes were bigger in physique and better feed with the right minerals and foods. This made a real difference, and I was behind in that sense. I did not think I could ever catch up and look powerful, but I still managed to win but that was rare. The stakes had been raised and I was not really confident in taking this new found field on.
 
However, I knew I could run if free of my past but really I was no robot and that would always be there. But I could run for the sake of my brother, to show that his death and sacrifice was not for nothing at all. I tried to think of this as a proper ‘mindset’ but it only really lasted for five seconds and the races I was running were just over ten. Not enough really. My mind had been ‘shot’ and really was in pieces. Still I made the semi-finals and this belief in me came from nowhere. I was the poorest runner with the worse time to qualify for the race. However, when I really should have been beaten out of sight I came third with my first race under ten seconds this season. Unsure why as the heats I ran a best of 10.15 seconds so this was a big leap. I was feeling good physically and felt calmer than usual. Even though my mind drifted towards me brother it did not hurt so much now. Unsure why, but I might as well roll with as Oasis say.
 
“Can you step up to take your starting positions please….”
 
Well I might as well make the most of this new frame of mind because it may be the last.   But I hope not… really but to be honest something had changed within me. As if either someone was watching or pushing me forward, I guess I knew who that was.
 
“ Enter the blocks…”
 
I was feeling good physically but that was never my main problem, it was the worry and the mental state I thought was normal. But I grew up in turmoil and that was not good for my running and me. I looked across at Mr Focus, always looking so concentrated, he looked like he had won before the race began. I used to envy him so much but not I guess…I know …now.
 
“Get set…”
 
For you my brother it feels like you are with me and I am glad we are at last together again. I HAVE A CHANCE. At last I have a chance and it will be more important that I use this stamina and strength to show my talent. It’s true at this level, it’s all in the mind.
 
“Go…”
 
 
*          *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *         
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

The rookie

It has never been easy, but that is what they all say. But I have always been confident in my ability. I know I can run and run with a ease that other cannot compete with. They would train for years but they would never be as good as me. It was my talent I only was glad to have discovered it at a young age and have never looked back.

 
Here I was in the biggest race of my life so far. It was a class field and I did have to pinch myself that I was in the same final as Mr Focus and the British injury prone guy. The Brit I felt sorry for he was coming to the end of his running career and he had never fulfilled his talent. His foot was never there, he blamed his girlfriend for some reason, unsure why really. But hey some people can never handle the responsibility of having a talent and the purpose you have it is to honour it. I knew that already and I was only eighteen. I was the envy of the final and you could smell the fear I gave everybody. It made me feel powerful and important, knowing I had the influence of the prime runners, the people I had always admired.
 
But there is not sentiment in running, and for me I had to honour what I was given. It was special and I had to try the best that I could. I was here and so was my father with my sister. My mother was here in spirit and I knew she would have been so proud that I made the final and the favourites nervous. But despite my family being there, I always felt I had enough in me to get here on my own. No disrespect to my coach and family, I knew I would make it. I knew also I had a chance of a medal…it was too much for me to win as physically I had not developed as much as the fully grown athletes. I mean I did not take drugs like some in the field, but like he said he made a mistake. I was young but I would never make a mistake like that. I can assure you of that.
 
My coach had not really said much. Or even really coached me as such but he was always encouraging and straight away acknowledged my potential. He did not have to motivate me as I was already there. I was in the zone and knew my purpose. Sounds corny. But it is true.
 
The first national race I destroyed the field over seventy metres, but the novice in me did not focus on the science and tactics of running. I used all my energy in the first seven seconds and burnt out. I still managed to finish fifth and make the team due to an injury. I knew I could do better but the front- runners though I was young and naïve and could not really do anything here. But I was here on day three in the final. I had won the heats and the semi-finals and knew I did not even break into a sweat to win them. I was yet to be tested.
 
*                                  *                      *                      *                      *                      *         
 
“ Wake up… Wake up fucking hell….”
 
 
“ Why the fuck did you hit him so hard?”
 
“What?  You made me … You told me he was giving you grief. That’s the last time I get involved in your fucked up life.”
 
“ You’re my cousin and you’re older …plus you always said you would look out for me… not knock someone out.”
 
“ Jesus… wake up for fucks sake wake up…please I will do anything please God please anything. ”
 
Then he woke up. Actually he spluttered blood and then vomited. But it was relief to realise I did not kill him.
 
It was destiny and I knew I had to follow through, although I expected to suffer for having such a close call. But the nervous energy I had waiting for the ‘bad’ thing to happen always made me twitch. I only ever lost it in the summer and running for the school. This became my new hobby and then obsession, as it released me from my guilt and anxiety over what had happened that day. It was funny and as they say the Lord works in mysterious ways. Well I guess I was proof that he did…I mean he can’t be that obvious can he?
 
*                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *                     
 
The flashback… of course it seemed to be the reason I started to run and happened to get here. It was always on my mind and it was useful to focus on the journey and the importance of the race. There was a reason I was here. I had talent and was given a second chance. Let’s face it. it was better that Death Row and ‘Flabby Jones’ wasn’t really worth it. I wonder if he still had a weight problem?
 
“ Take your starting positions…”
 
The flashback was over and the call had happened. It was time to show the world and my cousin (Now an accountant) what grew out that day. He was really overjoyed at the fact that I was really good at this. As soon as I started running he swore to me he would never get into trouble with his smart arse mouth again. He kept he promise, which has to be said.
 
The detention and the guilt and the difficult visit to hospital humbled me. I was always the confident safe kid. I never under estimated anything…but one thing I realised from the ‘flabby Jones’ incident is that I do not do violence well. It was never meant to be for me. For Mike Tyson yes and also for The Krays but not me. It terrified me that I hit some one and they fell over and were knocked out. I panicked and thought I had killed him. Not the thoughts of a villain I assure you.
 

The guilt over that incident was less now but the thought and purpose of running had taken over. It seemed to make sense that all the events came together somehow. It was the making of me that incident and despite the irony of it…it was supposed to happen I guess.

 
“ Get up to the blocks.”
 
You could feel the tension and the fact that some of the athletes where nervous. They were always the ones to look around. Never straight ahead. That was the look of nerves… you could sense it from lane four. He looked around and around…unless he was winding everybody up. But as for Mr focus…well awesome really he looked mean and perfectly focussed. Was I up to this? Well I was here and never had been tested yet. This was the ultimate test. I need to experience this tension and make it work for me. Flabby Jones was watching.
 
But I was slightly in awe of the field I was in and it was a new experience for me. But it did not make me feel nervous just proud of the fact that I was in the final. With these guys… I mean I must be good to be here. I just now needed to know how far could I go. And that was a question that had not been answered yet.
 
“ On your marks…”
 
I am in the blocks and the start for me was the best and most crucial part. I have come through the start well in all three previous races. I needed that to be so. Mr Focus and the British ‘foot’ guy were always good starters and in the tournament they had shown this. I needed to get a good start to give me a chance.
 
“ Get set…”
 
*                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *                     
 
“ You know if I knew that you being a champion runner was the result…I would have mouthed off to that bully Jones years ago. I never thought you had it in you.”
 
That made two of us, but I know now and this was the ultimate test. How good am I? Well let’s find out.
 
“ Go…”
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

The Daddy

 

 

“Go….”

 

I was off and I knew that I had to find some kind of rhythm and fast. I was never going to be in the pack with a chance unless that was the case. I was nearing thirty and this was now so much a young person’s game. However I had pedigree in the sprints and had shown my class. This final was seen as my last swan song. The bastards I will make the press run for their lives after these ten seconds ( Or less) have been experienced.

 

I began concentrating on my breathing and arm movement. It was important for me as stated to gain a sense of rhythm early on. I was always very visual and needed to see my arms pumping up and down to influence my breathing and then everything would hopefully click. Or so I hoped.

 
Mr focus was already gaining ground on me and was in the lead at this point. But I knew if I could see and think about him I was not focussed enough… remember… rhythm… rhythm…. Rhythm.
 
I could feel myself getting into my stride and I was making a fight of it. Here I was the daddy of the pack and I was in it although Mr focus and another were too far for me I could hang in on there.
 
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“ Hang on in there…. Fucking hell… hang on..”
 
What’s going on?
 
“ RTA and this is the worse one…terrible pile up and he is lucky to be alive. Two broken legs…multiple fractures…blood loss excessive and a head injury.. not clear what the damage is GCS unstable.”
 
“Ok in cube three… get some blood … what type is he?”
 
“ Well...I did not ask really… as you know… he is unconscious!”
 
” Never liked you, you smart arse …. Cube three then fuck off, I will take it from there.”
 
That road traffic accident was nearly the end for me. I was badly damaged and that’s what you get from driving fast cars and hanging around with women you don’t really know. I was told I was not focussed on my running, but I had won so many the need for it vanished. I started to enjoy the rewards too much and I knew they were shallow. Ironic really that accident gave me something to fight for…it really did…I wanted to get better and wanted to race again. My imagination had been engaged again. But thanks for that God the inspiration but was it necessary and did it have to hurt quite so much?
 
I took three month to recover to a walking stage. After many CAT scans I was never really sure how badly my head was damaged or more importantly, my brain. But that aside the body recovered quickly. I had to wait for my speech and articulation.
 
Funny but it was so predictable. My girlfriend …or so she called herself vanished. So did my temporary best friend who I drove everywhere, as he was to lazy to walk and vain enough to realise that walking just did not look cool. Twat.
 
The only one who came was my brother and he was my rock through this crisis.Visiting every day, talking to me and passing on his wisdom. His wisdom was blunt and really, sensitive was not a word I think he knew.
 
“ Fast cars and loose women… was the sex that girl gave you worth it? Really, they have better looking women on porn websites now… you can do it at home… and that’s safer that driving that jet engine car you had.”
 
Yes, well…he had a point. Maybe I will buy a computer soon.
 
Anyway the pain was really bad and I had intense speech therapy and physio to get better. It has to be said, the NHS and the medical professions are all saints really. They really helped me recover. At times it seemed that they wanted it more than me…they realty needed it to work to show their skills could change people’s lives. I knew they were doing that just by being there and encouraging me. 
 
“ You may never be what you were… but you will walk again soon. I am not sure about the damage to your brain. The CT scans were inconclusive really. I wish you all the best.”
 
“ Thanks Doc… but really I will me fine.”
 
Funny that…I knew I would be OK but there was no guarantee. But I was confident for some reason.
 
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I was in a good rhythm now I could feel the joints working and the arms moving in perfect symmetry and I was feeling good…after so long the will to com