No matter how tired you think you are, you can always squeeze a bit more energy out if you have to.
We take a light hearted look at some of the motivations behind this theory.
We take a light hearted look at some of the motivations behind this theory.
The Fruit Thief
A thief runs fast. A thief being chased runs even faster. One passed me in Newcastle the other day. He had pinched a bunch of bananas from a market stall and when he realised he was being chased he sped up. I reckon he must have completed 200 metres in about 22 seconds! 'Just think what he could do with a bit of training' I thought. The fruit thief had one advantage though - he didn't want to get caught. Can you get motivated enough to run like the fruit thief?
A thief runs fast. A thief being chased runs even faster. One passed me in Newcastle the other day. He had pinched a bunch of bananas from a market stall and when he realised he was being chased he sped up. I reckon he must have completed 200 metres in about 22 seconds! 'Just think what he could do with a bit of training' I thought. The fruit thief had one advantage though - he didn't want to get caught. Can you get motivated enough to run like the fruit thief?
The Alsatian
I was about three quarters of the way through my long, slow Sunday run a couple of weeks ago, exhausted, not looking good and wondering if I was going to make it all the way home without stopping when I heard it. I heard the footsteps first then came the barking. An Alsatian was approaching from behind, bounding up, looking to attack. Did it attack? I don’t know, I legged and (after a girly shriek of fear) must have ran the next 400 metres quicker that Michael Johnson did in the Atlanta Olympics! I eventually looked around and the dog was nowhere to be seen.
As I resumed my 'plod' I wondered where that extra energy had come from. I wasn't sure. The only thing I was sure of was that we always seem to have a little bit extra when we need it. I must remember that in the next race I do.
The Chav Gang
Eight pints of lager the previous night doesn't bode well for a good run the following day. So, decision made, it's an easy one - down to the roundabout, past the shops and back, simple as that. 2 miles gone and I'm feeling sluggish, tired and insisting to myself that next time I won’t drink as much. As I was wondered off amongst thoughts of self-pity there they were - a group of local youths (or 'chavs' as they seem to be called) who thought it would be funny to run alongside me. 'howay mate, my grannie could run faster than this' said one 'and she's got a wooden leg' said his charming friend. I looked at them, jeans, shoes, hoodies, running with me stride for stride, yes they were probably right. The remarks came thick and fast, becoming less funny by the second but best not to antagonise them, best to burn them off. I speeded up, maybe they won’t realise at first. Good grief they are still there! What do they feed these kids! That's it, despite my hangover, weak legs and tormented sole, I go for it. I didn't want any of this but it had to be done. Arms pumping, legs going ten to the dozen one or two drop off before eventually the remainder stop and shout abuse as I carried on. There was no need to turn back and return the verbal abuse, I had made my point. I felt 10 foot tall and I kept a decent pace going all the way to the end of the run.
I was about three quarters of the way through my long, slow Sunday run a couple of weeks ago, exhausted, not looking good and wondering if I was going to make it all the way home without stopping when I heard it. I heard the footsteps first then came the barking. An Alsatian was approaching from behind, bounding up, looking to attack. Did it attack? I don’t know, I legged and (after a girly shriek of fear) must have ran the next 400 metres quicker that Michael Johnson did in the Atlanta Olympics! I eventually looked around and the dog was nowhere to be seen.
As I resumed my 'plod' I wondered where that extra energy had come from. I wasn't sure. The only thing I was sure of was that we always seem to have a little bit extra when we need it. I must remember that in the next race I do.
The Chav Gang
Eight pints of lager the previous night doesn't bode well for a good run the following day. So, decision made, it's an easy one - down to the roundabout, past the shops and back, simple as that. 2 miles gone and I'm feeling sluggish, tired and insisting to myself that next time I won’t drink as much. As I was wondered off amongst thoughts of self-pity there they were - a group of local youths (or 'chavs' as they seem to be called) who thought it would be funny to run alongside me. 'howay mate, my grannie could run faster than this' said one 'and she's got a wooden leg' said his charming friend. I looked at them, jeans, shoes, hoodies, running with me stride for stride, yes they were probably right. The remarks came thick and fast, becoming less funny by the second but best not to antagonise them, best to burn them off. I speeded up, maybe they won’t realise at first. Good grief they are still there! What do they feed these kids! That's it, despite my hangover, weak legs and tormented sole, I go for it. I didn't want any of this but it had to be done. Arms pumping, legs going ten to the dozen one or two drop off before eventually the remainder stop and shout abuse as I carried on. There was no need to turn back and return the verbal abuse, I had made my point. I felt 10 foot tall and I kept a decent pace going all the way to the end of the run.
This was just another example of there being more in the tank than I realised. Yes, must remember that the next time I'm coming to the final part of a race and don't think I can give any more.