Run, run, run away Baby!

There was something so special about being back at a school sporting event at an athletics club. Seeing colours. Children screaming, ice cream vans, sun glasses and the relay. Everything about it brought back sweet sweet memories. 

As a child, I told myself that I hated sports day. It was partially true. I hated sport but yet I loved the day as a whole. No school, tanning, eating outside and a general sense of happiness. What could be better? It was like a holiday, in the temperamental English weather of a field just at the back of our school. 

I relished in the idea that I would be part of one of the activities, every year. I was disgustingly below average at everything but half decent at running. As much as I hated it, I knew that I couldn't have a sports day without joining in. I replaced injured or reluctant classmates (and never managed to live up to their expectations) and I was buzzing. I was secretly waiting for my Usain Bolt moment. When I suddenly, after no training at all, flew across the track in record time. I thought it every time. And every time I was disappointed. 

On my last sports day, in Dubai, I felt like life as I knew it was over. No more days of boosting school morale in an attempt to promote sport. None of that. Just adult life. End of story. 

Now, I don't feel like I ever get an opportunity to go back onto the athletics track. There is no need. There aren't hundreds of children anticipating their run and waiting to pick positions for sports. Just me. 

As my cousin flew round the track on her relay run, I was on the verge of needing a pee. I knew that feeling. The baton handover. When it was all up to you, and I would always need a wee. 

And then when she won, that was the proud icing on the top moment which requires such pre-planning and effort. She sat in the 1st spot, smiling. A winner. But she would have been that to me anyway, even if she hasn't won. (I, finally, understand all this parental pride!) 

I wished that I could go back to those days, however uncomfortable and embarrassing they were. I have a feeling, in another 'Olympic super-athlete moment' that I might actually be good at the hurdles. There are days when I see a nice field in the sun and just want to run and run and run and run and run. That's got to count for something. 

I'll try it. 

I'm pretty surprised with myself at the moment - wanting to do running, missing sports day, watching tennis: who am I?