Friday, 30 July 2010

The Shite Of Icarus

It can be windy, rainy; I can be hungry, tired or sore; workouts could have been awesomely quick or depressingly slow. None of said conditions can be reliably used to predict how a race might go. There's only one reliable indicator - and that's the log index.

I'm not going to race well if I do fewer than 4 poos on race day and, ideally, by the fourth they'll be the texture of one of Delia Smith's discards. So it was somewhat concerning that nothing passed my cheeks in the 10 hours prior to Wednesday's race at Watford - even more so that there was none of the pre-race respiratory tightness.

Lining up for the 1500m race I was curiously detached - I'd either tapped into the elusive zen-like pre-race calm or I shouldn't have been racing. Hoping it was due to sky-high confidence I decided to embrace the novel pre-race feeling.......and proceeded to run like shit. There are some performances that should be analysed and some that should just be consigned to the lesson learnt bin. Nothing there to really put your finger on - I was flat, never comfortable, incurred lactic acid a lap earlier than I should have and ended up coasting the last 150m to a relatively poor 4:10 clocking.

A race too many or too soon after Hungary? I'm hoping I managed to minimise any damage by backing off as we are journey to Glasgow tomorrow morning for the 3rd British League match and I'm pulling treble duty again.

In the meantime, whilst the athlete runs poorly the shameless self-promotion is just getting rolling.....

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