November 3rd 2016

Today I set a new personal best over 400 metres. 62 seconds. (Please ignore the fact that this picture says 64 seconds, the man with the stopwatch told me it was 62 and he wouldn’t lie to me)


On Thursday’s we go to the running track at lunchtime. Last Thursday I set a new personal best 400m time of 74 seconds, and this week I managed to somehow beat that time by 12 seconds. I’m inclined to believe that the increased speed and decreased time was either because I was fully rested, having not run as frequently this week, or because I had my ten o’clock coffee at eleven o’clock, so my 62 second 400m was basically entirely a caffeine rush.

To be honest, I’m not sure where it came from. The annoying thing is, that I still didn’t win the race. Ross also ran a 62 second 400m, but it was a quicker 62 seconds than mine. I think perhaps his presence is what spurred me on, and in my determination to win, I accidentally knocked 12 seconds off of my previous PB – and still didn’t win.

Interestingly, and perhaps also annoyingly, I’ve had to concluded that I do not have  a superhuman heart rate, I just possess a malfunctioning running watch. Because apparently whilst sprinting at 2:30 min/km (24 kilometres per hour, 15 miles per hour) my heart was pounding at a steady 103 beats per minute.

Screen Shot 2016-11-03 at 22.29.05.png

A resting heart rate of 100bpm would not be deemed medically concerning in a patient with, uh… horizontal abundance. To have such a low heart rate whilst sprinting faster than town centre traffic would probably be medically concerning. So, at the very least, my watch is fucked.

After the 400m was a 600m that I ran in 126 seconds – which sounds significantly slower considering it’s only an extra 200 metres, but let me tell you, 600 metres is definitely a lot further than 400m.

I basically sat out the next 600m. I don’t know why. I started it and then had the overwhelming urge to stop running after 200 metres. So I stopped running after 200 metres. When I get an urge to stop I can’t seem to fight it. That usually only happens in long distance running.

The thing I like most about sprinting is that it’s basically the only time when my mind is quiet, and I’m not thinking about anything. I think my body is so pre-occupied with the whole ‘making sure there is oxygen every where that needs oxygen’ thing that it doesn’t allow narration. So when a ‘stop’ thought pops into my head, it’s all that I can think about.

Sprinting is definitively primal. It’s stop, or go. It’s flight. It’s adrenaline. It’s 200 beats per minute.

Until tomorrow, or, at least, it should be.



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