Tonky Talk

There’s nothing wrong with a bit of friendly competition. Nothing at all

Anthonyway was my first running nemesis. Every year we’d battle it out in the school 1500m. It was the time of life when you wouldn’t run all year round, then do some sprints the day before to train for sports day. The whole school would take the day off and sit in the sun and flirt and scoff and scrap and race. Does life get any better?

I had only one tactic: to race from the front. Way had the faster finish so I’d barrel to the front like a nutter in a usually successful attempt to drop him before the last lap. One year he stayed with me, limpet-like, into the final 400m. I can still remember hitting 300m to go and launching a lung-bursting sprint for my life. I held on, just, and victory was mine. Then Jonathan Beadle came from nowhere the following year. He’d been training on the quiet; he ghosted past me in the back straight. My winning streak was over.

When I returned to running as an adult, I ran lots of different events for lots of different reasons. Mass participation marathons to finish; local fun runs to pace my son or wife. Then I joined a club, got serious and Trevor emerged. At first I didn’t notice him. At sessions that first summer, I was a bit faster than him, so he wasn’t really in my orbit. Then one night, as autumn approached, he over took me on the last rep of an interval session. He has a low-armed, smooth, economical style, which only made it more irritating as he breezed past. I tried to respond but my legs had the all the strength of pipe cleaners. We had a laugh afterwards – ‘got you at the end there!’ – and introduced ourselves.

That winter, amid the crowded chaos of cross-country races, I was often in his vicinity. I often started off faster than Trevor and then he’d breeze past me again. I’d think, ‘Oh – there’s trevor. I’ll let him go now and peg him back later.’ But I wouldn’t. He’d be waiting at the finish, smiling again.

I then began doubling down for an assault on themarathon. At the Watford Half, we locked horns again. That day I found a groove and took four minutes out of him. I was very focused at the time. Along the way I beat Trevor another couple of times and normal service was resumed. Postmarathon, for a couple of months, I was flying on the track. I’d found a new level of speed. I was charging away close to the front of the B group! Then a couple of niggles, a holiday, and things got complicated. Trevor thrashed me in the club handicap. I beat Trevor in the Middlesex 10K by 42 seconds.

Now, it has to be said, I really like Trevor. Some might call the whole thing pathetic. But it keeps me interested. There’s nothing at stake, but Trevor’s become a marker of something: beating him is a standard I want to maintain.

Recently, I’ve been a bit off the boil. Loads of travel and a dodgy knee has meant my appearance at Tuesday track has been sporadic. Onmy return a couple of weeks ago, I couldn’t help but notice Trevor had lost weight. He’d hit a bit of form and had clocked a Pb in the Seville Halfmarathon. That night hewas comfortably ahead of me on every rep as I slid down the B group.

It’s affected me, got me motivated again – in a good way. It’s more miles, fewer cakes. Now most of this is for honourable reasons. I’m getting fit to pace the London marathon in April and I want to run a solid ultra in May. After that, who knows – a quicker marathon? But sometimes, as I accelerate up a hill towards the end of a so-called steady run, I can’t help thinking – what I really want to do is beat Trevor.